As I clicked through the "news" on yahoo.com this evening, I almost thought I wouldn't be able to keep with my shtick of making fun of it. Whether or not I found it relevant, it seemed to be stacked with actual news stories.
The first story that caught my attention was regarding a $100,000 razor. Yeah. As if I would spend 100 grand to kill my sideburns. To quote that article, "Its blades are made of sapphire and its handle contains metal from crashed meteorites." Okay, fuck the sideburns, I want it. They sold me in one sentence.
Some of the other articles included:
"Clooney's ex heats up Web"
A puff piece to be sure, but he's a celebrity and the media are whores. I get it.
"First lady shines in Africa"
I doubt there's much in the way of politics in this article, but it is news.
"Outrage over $5 tap water fee"
Remember when water was free? Remember when you could just drink it from the faucet or from the hose refreshing yourself on a warm summer day? Still...I spose this is somewhat a legitimate article.
"Top 10 dirtiest foods"
I was about to pick this one, and then I realized they weren't talking about cucumbers, hot dogs, and other phallic shaped treats.
Then I saw it. It called out to me. It said, "G! Hey, G! I'm here! I'm here just for you! I'm here to fuel your anger and rage at society and the world! Embrace me!" And I did. Tonight's rant is sponsored by...
"How Wiffle balls are made"
That's right my friends. As the 2012 election grows ever nearer, Soldiers across the world die each day in never-ending war, and a new Twilight movie looms in production...thank the good Lord above that we are kept informed by those news sources that we put so much stock in. Thankg God All-fucking-Mighty that we are finally able to know how the fuck Wiffle balls are made!
To think, there are children in third-world countries that can't afford text books in school, and they may never know how the great sport of Wiffle-ball builds it's primary weapon!
Really? Really, America? Is this worth our time?
I want you to think hard and really imagine this. Take the time to build a mental image of how this works. Somewhere out there is a person. This person has a desk. On this desk is a picture of this person's family, probably some sort of cute little inspirational desk toy, a coffee cup that says "I hate Mondays," and an assortment of pens, pencils, and sticky notes.
So this individual, we'll call him Jerry, Jerry comes into work on Tuesday and there's an e-mail waiting for him. It's marked "Urgent" and it's from his boss. Well Jerry knows that time is of the essence, so he quickly opens the e-mail.
"Jerry, we need you to scrap that piece you're writing on the off-shore drilling of baby pandas and get on top of this BREAKING NEWS! How the fuck are Wiffle balls made!?! The American people want to know! Get this story on my desk by 5:30 or you're in the bread lines tomorrow!!!"
Enough with the build up. Let's see what this steaming pile of excrement and cum has to offer in the way of entertainment value. I'm betting it's incredible.
On a side note, I want to make something clear. I don't read these articles until I start writing these rants. I choose the article solely from the title and splash sentence, because that's what they use to lure you, and that's where the real bullshit artist makes their mark. So, let's read this together, shall we?
(I am enclosing a link to the article below so that you will know I'm not exaggerating the true depths that humanity will plummet to for the sake of a by-line.)
http://finance.yahoo.com/career-work/article/112975/making-a-wiffle-ball-wsj
First things first, the actual title of this article once you get to it is, "Making a Wiffle Ball." Well that's not really as dramatic as the splash title, all thought it does pull the reader in. This is no longer a documentary about the great American (or Mexican, Indian, or Chinese) Wiffle ball-maker. No, siree. We're going to bring you into the story and make you part of the action! Strap on your fucking seat-belt, Dorothy! It's about to get WILD!!!
Fuck! The author's name is Joshua. I was pretty fuckin close though, wasn't I? I mean Jerry...Joshua...right, so... Joshua...where have I heard that name before? Oh, that's right! joshua is a Hebrew name meaning "Jehovah is salvation!" Oh lawdy! My friends, it is no coincidence that this man's name is biblical in origin, because what we have right here is the fucking Holy Book of Wiffle ball manufacturing.
Skipping down a bit...and..what? provided by the mother-fucking cum nugget shit stain bitch fuck fart-pissing butt bubble the goddamn WALLSTREET MOTHER FUCKING JOURNAL!?! I...I...there are no words. My anger and loathing has reached a plateau, and I have now entered a state of Zen-like tranquility. Ah, fuck, it's over. Now I hate the world again.
So we start with a tour of the company. The Wiffle ball company. What's it called? Wiffle Ball Inc. Of course it is. How could it be called anything else?
The tour, with all of it's intricate details, background, site-seeing, and...wiffling...takes 20 minutes. 20 minutes? my last bowel movement took twice that long! (in WiffleWiffle ball factory!"
Even more impressive is that the entire tour is summed up with two sentences. "The top floor is used for packing and storage. The ground floor is offices and the machine that spits these little fuckers out." Actually we could make that a compound sentence and cut the tour in half.
More amazing still is that the staff consists of a whopping 15 employees. And we wonder why there's an unemployment problem in this country. 15 employees that makes thousands of balls a day. For that matter after the 5 minutes of explanation as to what a Wiffle ball is, there's still time left over to formally introduce yourself to each of the individual workers.
Of course you can't write a suspenseful article like this without showing just how useful and incredible the Wiffle Ball really is. So impressive that "Wiffle Ball has had orders from couples who wanted their names printed on bats so they could give them out as party favors--at their wedding." I'm going to disregard the fact that the article suddenly gives up on trying to make Wiffle balls entertaining, and instead turns its attention to Wiffle bats.
In all honesty, though, this had to be one hell of a wedding. Wiffle bats for everybody! Picture a large wedding party. Lots of drunk desperate men and horny self-esteem lacking women...all with plastic bats. The only thing more entertaining would be an order of Wiffle bats for a Divorce hearing. Now that would be a Kodak moment.
The closing of this article may be the most fitting that even I could ever conceive. Almost as if he knew how embarrassed the author must have been to take on such a ridiculous piece of bullshit, the article ends with a quote from the owner and heir to the Wiffle fortune, Mr. David J. Mullany, "Let's not overthink it. It's Wiffle Ball." More poetic prose have never before been uttered.
And with that fine conclusion, I thank you for dropping by and letting me vent the psychotic fucking hatreds that make the moon howl at me. Stop by next week for another installment of the POISONsperm Chronicles. Same Poison time...same sperm channel!
As always, love, peace, and erotic Wiffling to you all.
I remain,
- G