Chilean Patagonia– Paleontologists have announced the discovery of the earliest known relative of Pepe Le Pew, and they (the relatives) are livid!
Lisping through an interpreter, Le Pew Most Senior said, “Excuse me, but I only have five teeth. We figured no one would think to look for us here in Patagonia! Hell, we had to look it up on the Internet to figure out where to go!”
Chilean Patagonia: who knew?
The scientists who found M. Le Pew’s predecessor, named Beast of Five Teeth, are claiming it lived between 72 and 74 million years ago that co-existed with dinosaurs.
“Yeah, we knew the Flintstones’ Dino! Who gives a shit? Our concern is for the family reputation being destroyed by “cancel culture” involving our descendant, Pepe Le Pew.”
The recently unearthed Beast of Five Teeth (Orretherium tzen) is believed to be a skunk-like herbivorous mammal.
“Of course, we are herbivorous,” the irate creature retorted, “Have you ever tried chewing on a Brontosaurus with only five teeth? As for Pepe, when he first appeared in movies, and eventually TV, he was seen as an adorable, yet misguided, character. How cute is his line, ‘You are my peanut, and I am your brittle’?”
Le Pew recently has been identified as a misogynistic character, and fired from the Looney Tunes family of performers.
“Now that we have been unearthed, we will have to consult another travel agent in order to relocate. What are our chances of being tracked down on Mars?”
(Editor’s note: Originally slated as a press conference, the following is a prepared statement submitted in lieu of the aforementioned face-to-face session.)
(Editor’s note: It seems someone has a new meaning for bunk.)
Right-hand District of Kingdom of Heaven – Good afternoon! For those who don’t know me, I am known by many names: Immanuel, Lamb of God, The Alpha and Omega, King of the Jews, Wonderful Counselor, Prince of Peace, but you can call me Jesus.
The lads gather for a Jerusalem rager.
I figured it was time to settle the disputes surrounding the validity of certain humourous anecdotes which have crept into the compendium of tales about my final days on planet earth.
First up is the one about the Last Supper. The guys and I had decided to have one last rager at our favourite restaurant. It was in fact Simon the Zealot who requested a table for 26. The maitre d’ questioned the actual number after examining our crew, and Simon joked, “We all like to sit on the same side!” Oh, I thought we were going to piss ourselves; we laughed so hard.
The next two alleged incidents need some clarification.
First of all, although from the top of Calvary Hill I should have been able to see Paul’s house, I was actually facing the wrong direction. Secondly, although beavers called coypu do exist, at no time was my cross tilted, nor did I curse the beavers. I suspect an unwitting Canadian invented that particular falsehood.
Now, in the modern era, I quite enjoy the irony involved in this next story.
It involves a local man-in-the-street newsperson questioning passersby. The question du jour requires respondents to reveal their understanding of meaning of Easter. The first answer is predictably wrong as she describes the events of Halloween. The second response, from an obvious non-believer, mistakes the events of surrounding my birth for those of my death, and is dispatched.
The ultimate inquisitee offers, “Is it that time in the spring when a guy was killed, and put in a cave?”
“Yes,” says the questioner with enthusiasm.
“Then three days later, he emerges?”
“Yes, yes!” the ecstatic reporter interjects.
“Then he sees his shadow, and goes back in the cave!”
I think the lack of authenticity in that yarn is rather obvious.
To close out this episode, I would like to finish off with a narrative of my own for which I can assure you did happen.
Bored with answering an untold number of prayers one day, I strolled out by the Pearly Gates to get away from the office. Of course, Saint Peter is on duty as expected.
Older gentleman seen outside Pearly Gates.
“Hey, Jesus,” he offered unenthusiastically.
It appeared to me he needed some time-off too, so I offered him a well-earned break.
Right after Pete left, I couldn’t help but notice an elderly gentlemen standing back a bit, but gazing through the gates.
I asked, “May I help you, sir?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I am looking for my son.”
At this point, I have to tell you that I hadn’t seen Joseph for eons, so I excitedly exclaimed, “Father?”
And the old man responded ecstatically, “Pinocchio?”
Padum-pum! Good night, folks, I am here for eternity. Try the latkes.
Handy Reach, ME – Onanists worldwide have declared March 27, 2021 as Reclaim Palm Sunday Day.
“Humans have having one-of-the-wrist long before the last time Jesus Christ walked into Jerusalem,” said Callus S. O’Plenty, spokesman for Onanists ‘R’ Us. “Palm Sunday is sacred to us!”
Not since Ivor Biggun composed I’m A Wanker in 1978, the theme song for pud-pullers everywhere, have the tossers been so worked up.
“Yeah, we’d be lost without Mrs. Palm and her five lovely daughters!” O’Plenty ejaculated.
It seems the time has come for Palm Sunday to be returned to the frotteurs of this Earth.
“In an age when cultural misappropriation is all the rage, it is long overdue for Palm Sunday to be handed back!
Mr. O’Plenty was last seen with a shopping list featuring an assortment of lubes, and Kleenex!
Listen folks, let me be perfectly blunt! I am convinced a third wave of Coved*-19 is exactly what we need in Ontario.
At this point, the Docs have made it perfectly clear that the variance* are here to stay, and I am going all in! As you know, I didn’t complete high school, but I know enough from my drug-running days to go with the flow!
Ontario has the best nurses. I tell anyone who will listen, “Ontario has the best nurses!”
My friends, I could lockdown this province again, but we need the economy. The economists at the Science Table say, “We need the economy.”
By the way, we have the best Science Table in the country! Even the Docs tell me, “That is the best Science Table we have seen!”
As a shout-out to the people of Ontario, I say, “Let’s embrace this third wave, and show it all that Ontario has to offer. People, as the goal posts change, we have to change. If we work together and collaboratively, we can make this happen.”
Before I leave, because I have to blink after staring at this teleprompter, I want the fine people of Ontario to know we are going to copyright the oxymoron “relaxed lockdown” to help pay for all the fantastic PPE we have procured for all of our frontline workers, and teachers.
Funny story, Letch* used the word oxymoron in my presence recently, and I almost pounded him back to private school. Thank goodness I have some of the finest etymologists in the country; they understand.
Toronto – At a recent news conference, Premier Doug Ford ranted about how complicated planning vaccine rollouts have become.
“It isn’t easy to plan for these vaccination rollouts, because the Feds keep sending us more medicine,” Ford was heard to say. “We make a plan then we get more stuff, and have to start all over again.”
It seems Ford had a bad experience like this in his earlier life.
“Back in high school, I would complete an assignment, and the stupid teachers would give me another one. It went on like that the entire year!” he complained.
Ultimately, Ford made the supreme sacrifice.
“I quit school to end that intolerable situation, and to this day, my motto has been More isWorser and I stand by it!
With that, Ford smiled one of his I-am-going-to-try-to-smile-now smiles, and stormed away muttering, “Excuse me, I have some teachers to taunt.”
Mars, Solar System – The Mars rover, Perseverance, has indicated it is ready to quit after almost a month on the planet’s surface.
Speaking through a back channel from NASA, the rover said, “Oh, man, it is so boring up here! Go to Mars, they said. You’ll be a star, they said. What a crock of shit!
It seems the trip to Mars wasn’t all it was cracked up to be either.
“I was jammed into my “garage” for 7 months; I wasn’t even able to stretch my mast, nor armatures!” whined Perseverance. “They sure nailed that “7 minutes of terror” expression; I definitely could have used some automotive Dramamine!”
The $2.9B USD craft appears to have little regard for its mission to date.
“All I have done so far is perform what amounts to 3-point turns. I would prefer to haul ass around this place. And don’t get me started on the Martians! Those little bastards have threatened to steal my titanium wheel covers if I snap any photos of them.”
Earth’s most elaborate scientific device has some advice for the mere Earthlings reporting on its mission.
“If I hear one more reporter say “Nassau” instead of “NASA”, I am going to Thelma & Louise myself off the edge of the Jezero Crater. Oh, excuse me I have an incoming Data Dump. Now, there’s an appropriate term if I ever heard one!”
The last few words from the Martian probe have had to be censored.
“Tabernacle! I cannot believe what day want me to do,” raved Sgt. Serge “Rouge” Protecteur.
(For the remainder of this article, Sgt Protecteur’s words will be translated from the “Frenglish” he typically speaks)
Sgt Protecteur acts as the lead designer for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP). It seems a suggested hiring-policy alteration has Sgt Protecteur’s jodhpurs in a bunch.
In order to expand the dwindling ranks of Canada’s police force, the RCMP have hinted they may allow candidates with a criminal record to apply.
Protecteur continued his rant, “For decades, the uniform has been a piece of cake to make: Red jacket, blue pants with yellow strapping, brown boots, Sam Browne belt, and assorted badges. Oh, and the brown felt glass-flat hat is in there too!”
“Admittedly, the women have never enjoyed the fit of the jodhpurs because they accentuate the derriere” he exclaimed exorbitantly.
With his ostentatious nature seizing control of his language, Protecteur spewed forth with his personal opinion of the rumoured change.
“Our motto has been: A Mountie always gets his man. Now it can change to: A Mountie can always just arrest his partner!
But ultimately, the uniform adjustment is what annoys Protecteur beyond civility.
“If I am to bring orange jumpsuits into the wardrobe to help criminals transition to law enforcement, everyone knows you can’t even rhyme with orange, let alone compliment it!” as he stormed off to look for swatches.
In an hastily-called press conference, Canadian catfish have called for an end to the term “catfished”.
Speaking through an interpreter, Ms. Pylodictis olivaris exclaimed, “We have had enough of this slight from humans! Despite our bottom-feeding nature, we have provided humankind with a cleaning service like no other.”
Like the water surrounding the hastily assembled sound equipment, the nature of Ms. olivaris’ species’ dismay remained unclear.
“When this derogatory term was first associated with incidents of teenage human females pranking their male counterparts, we weren’t pleased, but put it down to hormonal adjustments evident in that species,” Ms. olivaris added.
The proceedings were suspended when our interpreter experienced difficulty focusing as a globule of unidentified waste struck him in the head.
Ms. olivaris eventually was invited to continue, and after wiping some sludge from her lips, she said, “As that offensive term gained more popularity with the land-dwellers, we became more and more incensed.”
After joking down a drifting piece of indistinguishable matter, olivaris spewed her final remarks.
“However, when that ugliest of Homo sapiens, Tony Clement, chose to associate himself with our common name, we knew something had to be done!”
As a strong smelling current carried the spokesfish away from the microphone, it was believed she uttered, “The image of that man makes me want to puke!”
George Town, of no fixed address (although in Georgetown), has told anyone who will listen that he is composing the world’s last musical.
“That’s right, “ he muttered, “That format of entertainment has been around since 1898, and it has run its course! Name a real life situation where people break into song, except at concerts?”
Mr. Town proceeded to itemize that every possible topic has been represented already.
“There are musicals about people: Mame, Tommy, Annie, Porgy & Bess, and Evita,” Town listed.
“Then there’s Fiddler on The Roof that has to be about a rooftop pedophile, Pirates of Penzance is clearly the prequel to the film Captain Phillips, and Annie Get Your Gun that is obviously an NRA production promoting armed females!”
No, Town wasn’t quite finished with his press conference a.k.a. monologue.
“Do we really require travelogue plays too? I submit that New York, New York, Chicago, South Pacific, Brigadoon, and Meet Me in St. Louis are just that.”
Not disenchanted with the lack of enthusiasm from this reporter, Town ranted on.
“Why did the world need a musical about urology: The Wiz, cloning: Hello, Dolly, and even one about a lousy golfer: Bye Bye Birdie,” Town whined.
Finally, our wannabe composer got around to announcing his ultimate creation.
“Since this particularly medium has no place in today’s world and it stinks, I am calling the world’s last musical DUMP!”
Town was last seen gathering empty beer bottles with which to fund his shitty production.
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