Donald Trump promises, if elected, he'll send U.S. Special Forces to recover American jobs being held on foreign soil
Walter Mencken 2 p.m., May 28
Dunno why, but this seems legit:
Probably because she doesn't overdo it with the laundry list of iniquities suffered at the hands of a cruel world. I tend to disapprove of the overzealous beggar, supporting instead what I believe to be a more sincere panhandling methodology. Speaking of suspicious, is it not slightly suspish that this person has three dish racks?
Since when was one (1) insufficient to the task at hand? Strange... Much more practical a purchase than this, however:
Oooh! All the pain of falling off of a skateboard without the fun of actually going anywhere! Not quite ironic enough for a Runner-Up nod, however, since the Second Place Finish goes out to:
"Called the slammer hammer. Cant pass up a guitar called the slammer hammer." Oh yeah? Rilly? Call your bluff, brah.1 Still, not quite rad enough to win the Big Prize today. That honor goes to:
"Turns out we just weren't ready for the truth..." -New York Times
"The truth, the awful truth, shall set you free." -Chicago Sun-Times
"It has to be read to be believed, we never suspected the ABS." -Boston Globe
"Thank god we found out the truth before it was too late!" -San Diego Union-Tribune
So, you've been living your whole life next to your ABS, never suspecting a thing? "Well, they're just my core muscles, aren't they?" you might have asked yourself. "What could we ever have to fear from the core?"
Well, you were wrong. Dead wrong.
Like a bolt of lightning from Zeus' own hand, the Truth about ABS shatters the myths and mysteries surrounding the core muscles. For generations the ABS have lurked in the murky darkness of the core, their real purpose kept secret from the other, skeletal muscles by the cunning deceptions which have marked the ABS time on Earth.
But now, the Truth is Out!
Sent from the deepest, darkest, spaciest depths of all deep, dark space, the ABS arrived in our galaxy some ten gajillion2 lightyears ago--in a distance when time meant something other than it will mean yesterday. Their purpose was unclear, as in that distance the ABS were naught but a formless, shapeless, spaceless, sizeless, gormless entity, without form, shape, space, size, or gorm to call their own. As the beardseconds passed and the expansion of the universe carried itself shakily onward by more than a few shakes of an admittedly shaky lamb's tail, the ABS grew sentient(ish) and their mission became clear(ish).
They were to destroy humankind. Sooner or later.
Eons3 passed and the ABS have still not made their move. Time is precious to us in this, the final showdown between man and core muscle. Will the rippling, six-pack-shaped terror from the furthest reaches of further reached space make good on that ancient promise goodly made before humankind ever slithered and grimed it's slithery, grimey way out of the primordial Minestrone? Is it true that the ABS represent a cosmic power more cosmically powerful than the Power Cosmic4 itself? Is our hopeless situation utterly without hope? Should we, in the face of our desperate situation, despair? Are we doomed by our impending doom? Will the coming Armageddon be anything short of apocalyptic?
Not if the "Truth about ABS" has anything to say about it. Containing the raw, unfiltered, apocalypse-preventing power of Bruce Willis, Steve Buscemi, and Billy Bob Thornton (but not Ben Affleck) from Armageddon; Arnold Schwarzenegger from Terminator, Terminator 2 (but not 3), and Predator; Lori Petty from Tank Girl; Charlton Heston (in general); Harrison Ford from Blade Runner (and maybe The Fugitive, for the hell of it); and Keanu Reeves from the first Matrix movie, if anything packs the Wallop of Truth sufficient to the task of stopping the ABS, it is the "Truth about ABS."
Perhaps Michael Jordan said it best: "The 'Truth about ABS' is like eating your Wheaties, only with annihilating an ancient power hellbent on the destruction of human life as we know it!"
1. I was once slapped in the face with a raw steak following this exact phrase. I've worked in a lot of restaurants, and it's only a matter of time before some other cook waves a sirloin in your face and threatens to "hit you in the face with his meat" (crude innuendo, anyone?). Needless to say, I was stunned and slightly appalled at the cold, slimy, and entirely unexpected THWAP of a thee-quarter-pound cut of beef connecting with my cheek. Certainly an experience I won't willingly repeat.
2. Gajillions of laffs here.
3. Eon (n.): comical mispronunciation of my first name. Alternatively, the length of time separating the chaste thoughts of a teenage boy.
4. Not to be confused with The Power Cosmic. Obvi totes.