This year, however, was different; and Janie was excited and quite nervous as she made her way to the dais, having only entered the contest at the urging of her mother and aunt, and having not had any real expectation of placing in, let alone winning… but before she could reach the microphone to thank her teachers, family, friends, God and of course, her numerous household pets, suddenly rapper and self-proclaimed King of All Geniuses Kanye West appeared as if from nowhere, landing upon the high platform in what appeared to be a pair of very stylish, custom-made spring-loaded platform shoes, as if he’d been catapulted into the fair by some sort of ancient hurling device. West immediately seized the mic, and Janie’s spotlight, and proceeded to turn the once-orderly and happy event into utter chaos.

“Wait a minute, now, wait a minute–I munna let you finish, I munna let you finish, I just wanna say that Old Lady Crawford makes the sweetest sweet potato pie OF ALL TIME!, I tell ya, it’s hot and steamin’ and so sweet you wanna die! It’s THAT good, it’s that good!–AN’ PRESIDENT OBAMA DON’T LIKE BLACK PEOPLE!Rather than being thrilled, Obama looks somewhat uneasy during this chance meeting/photo op with Mrs. Butterworth” he concluded quickly and defiantly as local 4-H’ers grabbed their bullropes and pitchforks and began forming a number of posses and mobs spontaneously… but before they could do anything more than mutter fearfully amongst themselves or light a single torch, West was gone again, disappearing into a puff of dry ice, and little Janie Lymon was left sobbing upon the stage, holding her sad little pie, from which a very large piece was now conspicuously missing.

“It was horrible,” said one of the judges for the contest later. “It was as if someone had stuck in their thumb and pulled out a plum, then another and another… just gruesome. How could someone violate something so sweet and innocent that way? And now no one wants to touch her pie or have anything to do with her. That little girl’s life is basically over.”

Reached at the White House for comment, a spokesman for the President said simply “Kanye who?”

A spokesperson for Beyonce Knowles repeated that very same response verbatim to members of the music press, just as they’ve been doing regularly for these last several years.

a C.H.U.M.P. rally in Rockford, IL

Do you roll your eyes whenever some shrill, nerdy lesbian on MSNBC “exposes” still more “evidence” of the corruption, racism, homophobia and hypocrisy fueling Michele Bachmann’s presidential campaign, secure in the unassailable knowledge that the Liberal MediaLiberal media mogul William Randolph Hearst, whose New York Journal was implicated in the assassination of President William McKinley
is singling Bachmann out because she’s a good Christian woman?

But because you’re a unique, complex person with superlative taste in shoes; the phenomenon I’m describing may be possessed of a certain je ne sais quoi. Maybe you recently skimmed part of an article in an old copy of Elle in the waiting room at your OB-GYN’s office, a piece obviously written by someone with no life, about Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut (a film you and anyone who matters remember as being a excellent cure for insomnia), tossing it aside when it made you ponder (for a second or two) the abhorrent idea that, like Nicole Kidman’s character, you are a shallow trophy-wife whose only real responsibilities are to look fabulous at parties thrown by your husband’s friends and to teach your daughter all the math she’ll ever need to know.“…Joe has two dollars fifty and Mike has one dollar seventy-five cents. Joe has how much more money than Mike?”

If you’ve ever wanted to ban a Kurt Vonnegut novel you’ve never read from your children’s school library, then you are not alone…

Last month, the newly-formed Coalition for a Homeland Under Moe Party (C.H.U.M.P.) held it’s first political rally in Rockford, IL. Attended by either “a fuckload of people” or “I lost count after my ninth beer,” depending on who you asked, the C.H.U.M.P. gathering featured speeches, yelling, drinking and swearing as well as musical entertainment by a local band from Cherry Valley who “did a smokin’ version of ‘Snowblind’“Don’t you think I know what I’m doing?… Don’t tell me that I’m doing it wrong… Youre the one who’s really a loser… This is where I feel I belong.”
” according to C.H.U.M.P. chairman and keynote speaker Kenny McMahon.

As they elbowed their way to the front of the lines for the portable Wells Fargo ATMs set up onsite near the beer garden, many among the “hordes and hordes of supporters”“The great thing about C.H.U.M.P. is that by not going anywhere or doing anything at all, you are already a major supporter.” — Kenny McMahon
of this new and virulent political movement sustained numerous head, eye, ear, nose and throat injuries.

The followers of C.H.U.M.P. elder statesman “Chairman Moe” are incredibly disorganized but singularly focused, energetic and voracious in their efforts to change the political dialogue, perhaps the entire landscape, in ways previous grassroots organizations have failed to do in the past. “We’re here to fix the sink,” says Curly lookalike Carla Finer, who legally changed her last name “as a little joke, and also as a tribute to the most underrated of the Three Stooges,” unbowed by the fact that Fine was actually Larry’s surname.

Ol’ Blubberbutt, as he has been known by his colleagues on both sides of the aisle in Washington for many years now, has been showing signs of his signature hysteria for weeks now, ever since he saw a replay of himself on tv from a few months ago, saying he’d gotten 98% of what he’d wanted from President Obama in the last round of negotiations, conducted over the threat of another government shutdown. “That missing 2% is really starting to get to him,” said one aide on condition that we attributed the source to someone else, preferably a Democratic aide. “Y’know, he doesn’t really have a lot of friends… it’s weird, but I think it’s sort of like a reverse Stockholm Syndrome; he misses his hostages,” he concluded, referring of course to the American people.

Scientists have issued an anonymous warning to the general public that Mr. Boehner’s tears should not be touched or even approached, as they are extremely caustic to human flesh. “These tears are not like human tears, or even crocodile tears; they’re thick and glutinous and black as the pits of hell. We’ve even heard reports of these ‘tears’ turning into little black spiders–well, they’re like spiders, only with ‘way too many legs.” said a trembling scientist on condition of total anonymity, or at least a guarantee of a quick and painless death, for himself and his family, if he was ever somehow revealed. “And let me tell you, if you get one of those things on you… well, just don’t. Don’t even look at them. Really.”