Sunday, November 18, 2007

Golf: An Amateur’s Guide



Thought that might get your attention. Now, on to business .... let's talk golf.


Golf, the “sport of kings”. Or is that tennis? Or maybe squash…..I’m pretty sure there is a racket involved. To be honest, I have no idea what sport Kings play, although I am certain that Don King is involved in boxing in no small manner. Also, I’m pretty sure “The King” Elvis Presley did some surfing in one of his movies. Additionally, I seem to recall a scene in Macbeth where the title character plays a midmorning ‘Texas Scramble” three-some on the back 9 with Donalbain and Fleance. Whatever the case, I think it is fair to assume that at some point in history a “king” played “golf”, therefore my original statement stands.

Golf is universally recognized as the most infuriating of all sports. It’s level of annoyance lies somewhere inbetween that of Reality TV and Rosie O’Donnell. Amazingly, as maddening as it is, more people choose to play golf than Water Polo, Australian rules football, and lawn darts combined. Whether it’s hitting the links with Stew and Brian from the office, or an early morning duo with dad, people everywhere are choosing to thrash around a small white orb with astronomically expensive metal alloy and carbon fiber sticks.
In order to help alleviate this bizarre affliction that is infecting our country, I have taken it upon myself to create a user-friendly guide for all you golfers out there. Drawing from literally hours of experience, the guide will help lead you through even the most challenging courses, all the while steering you through the many subtle nuances of golf etiquette. With this guide in hand, you will be on your way to a great golf game.

I will begin with a word on the scoring rules of golf. First and foremost you must realize that the objective is get the lowest number of strokes. I spent a year and half thinking the opposite, and thoroughly clobbering all of my opponents. A “stroke” is one swing of your club where you make contact with the ball, and is so named because of the number of cardiac arrests poor ones have caused. The most useful scoring device in golf is the “mulligan”, which allows you to redo a poor stroke. Although you should be warned that repeated use of mulligans may cause your opponents to call you a “cheating bastard” and cite the official “rules” that don’t allow for mulligans. Just ignore them, and accept that you were never that popular at the office anyway.

Your round of golf will begin at the tee box of the first hole. Insist that your partners tee up first. Watching them clobber their balls laser straight 250 yards down the fairway will inspire you to do the same. When it comes your turn, be sure to utilize the ball washer, and then carefully browse through your club selection. When Pat offers the friendly suggestion that you “move it along” because there are other golfers waiting behind you, simply ignore him. Choose a 3 wood, take a few practice swings, and then put it back and pull out your driver, cockily saying you’re “pull'n out the big guns”. Follow this up with a double click of your tongue, a point of your finger, and the most suave and smug wink you can pull off. When Brian starts to loose his temper, that’s your cue to tee off. After a few wildly out of control practice swings, crank a wild slice into the trees 150 yards down; this will lull your fellow golfers into a false sense of security. Remember, golf is a mental battle more than anything else.

When you go to look for your ball in the woods, keep in mind that a courteous player is always mindful of the players waiting behind him, and it’s probably best to take a penalty free drop in the rough well outside of the trees. From here, if you make the proper iron selection, you should be able to make the green in as few as 6 strokes.

A word now on the use of irons. Remember that it is important to always take a “divot” with an Iron stroke. A divot is a chunk of surface sod uprooted from beneath your ball and was named after Lord Earl Divotting who was quite famously a total sod. Learning to slice out just the right divot can take some time. Try not to be discouraged when your 5 Iron shot hits the ball "high", and sends it skimming a foot above the ground, and then off a tree and finally to rest on the paved golf cart path. Also, ignore the mocking laughter of your golf partners and jarring pain in your arms as your next shot "cuts" too "deep" into the paved path and sends a shower of sparks and a shattered club into the air.

With just a few more carefully placed iron shots, you should now be in range of the green. Here’s where your ‘short game’ comes into play. With the usual exaggerated thoroughness, select your club. An open face club or wedge should do the trick. Be sure to boisterously and arrogantly declare your selection, adding that “just the right amount of backspin should let me clear that bunker and then draw my ball back to the hole.” Now with just the right amount of finesse, clobber the ball to hard and clear the green. Remember to blame the “down hill lie” for the poor shot. I cannot stress this enough, always blame the down hill lie.

When you finally make the green its time to pull out that cruel bitch mistress the putter. One rule of etiquette to note before we continue; it is important that you always walk between the hole and your opponents balls causing small deviations in the green that will upset their putt. When you purposefully go out of your way to do this for the 5th time, Phil will most likely object. Your response to this objection should be a childish, guiltless sigh, followed by “come on Phil, its just a game, relax.” Before he has time to respond, shift quickly from innocence to white hot rage and say “Alright, Phil, fine! We’ll knock you back a stroke! Are you happy?” Now quickly stalk off to the next tee box, there’s no need to retrieve your ball, just get clear of the area before Phil’s exasperation manifests itself vocally.

Back to putting; it’s critical to remember that putting requires a tremendous amount of subtlety, finesse, and concentration. When you ‘three putt’ a simple 4 foot shot, it’s only healthy that you release that built up concentration and energy by unleashing a unholy string of sacrilegious profanities so deprived and scatological that they’d make a Marine blush. At this point, your golfing buddies may start actually fearing you, or at least they will question your mental stability. Remember, golf is a psychological game, so embrace their fear, and use it to your advantage.

On the next par 4, your strategy should revolve around taking 6 or 7 strokes and then ending up in a bunker just in front of the green. The sand shot is one of the most feared shots in golf. A tactic that works well in the bunkers for me is this; have your first swing cut deep under the ball, spraying Stew with several cubic feet of sand and moving the ball 2 inches forward. Without stopping to apologize, quickly swing again, this time hitting the ball "high" so that it flies low and hits the rim of the bunker, and roles back in. Following a number of single word exclamations, tee up on the ball, swinging “100%”, and send it well over the green. Follow these key points, and you’ll have nothing to fear in the bunker.

If you follow this general outline, you should find your golf game improving drastically. That or you’ll eventually run out of people willing to golf with you, and will be forced to give up the sport. It’s a favorable outcome either way.

Friday, October 5, 2007

The Lighter Side of Shit

The Ideology and Religion Shit List

Taoism: Shit happens.
Confucianism: Confucius say, "Shit happens."
Buddhism: If shit happens, it isn't really shit.
Zen Buddhism: Shit is, and is not.
Zen Buddhism #2: What is the sound of shit happening?
Hinduism: This shit has happened before.
Islam: If shit happens, it is the will of Allah.
Islam #2: If shit happens, kill the person responsible.
Islam #3: If shit happens, blame Israel.
Catholicism: If shit happens, you deserve it.
Protestantism: Let shit happen to someone else.
Presbyterian: This shit was bound to happen.
Episcopalian: It's not so bad if shit happens, as long as you serve the right wine with it.
Methodist: It's not so bad if shit happens, as long as you serve grape juice with it.
Congregationalist: Shit that happens to one person is just as good as shit that happens to another.
Unitarian: Shit that happens to one person is just as bad as shit that happens to another.
Lutheran: If shit happens, don't talk about it.
Fundamentalism: If shit happens, you will go to hell, unless you are born again. (Amen!)
Fundamentalism #2: If shit happens to a televangelist, it's okay.
Fundamentalism #3: Shit must be born again.
Judaism: Why does this shit always happen to us?
Calvinism: Shit happens because you don't work.
Seventh Day Adventism: No shit shall happen on Saturday.
Creationism: God made all shit.
Secular Humanism: Shit evolves.
Christian Science: When shit happens, don't call a doctor - pray!
Christian Science #2: Shit happening is all in your mind.
Unitarianism: Come let us reason together about this shit.
Quakers: Let us not fight over this shit.
Utopianism: This shit does not stink.
Darwinism: This shit was once food.
Capitalism: That's MY shit.
Communism: It's everybody's shit.
Feminism: Men are shit.
Chauvinism: We may be shit, but you can't live without us...
Commercialism: Let's package this shit.
Impressionism: From a distance, shit looks like a garden.
Idolism: Let's bronze this shit.
Existentialism: Shit doesn't happen; shit IS.
Existentialism #2: What is shit, anyway?
Stoicism: This shit is good for me.
Hedonism: There is nothing like a good shit happening!
Mormonism: God sent us this shit.
Mormonism #2: This shit is going to happen again.
Wiccan: An it harm none, let shit happen.
Scientology: If shit happens, see "Dianetics", p.157.
Jehovah's Witnesses: Knock... Knock
Jehovah's Witnesses 2: May we have a moment of your time to show you some of our shit?
Jehovah's Witnesses 3: Shit has been prophesied and is imminent; only the righteous shall survive its happening.
Moonies: Only really happy shit happens.
Hare Krishna: Shit happens, rama rama.
Rastafarianism: Let's smoke this shit!
Zoroastrianism: Shit happens half on the time.
Church of SubGenius: BoB shits.
Practical: Deal with shit one day at a time.
Agnostic: Shit might have happened; then again, maybe not.
Agnostic #2: Did someone shit?
Agnostic #3: What is this shit?
Satanism: SNEPPAH TIHS.
Atheism: What shit?
Atheism #2: I can't believe this shit!
Nihilism: No shit.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

SUV Love

A little more light reading? Why not.


The history of the horseless-carriage, motor coach, or “car”, culminating in the modern SUV, is a long and surprisingly uninteresting one.

The first self-propelled road vehicle was invented by the prissy(I assume) Frenchman Nicolas Joseph Cugnot in 1769. His three wheeled steam powered vehicle was built for the French army to haul artillery. Sadly, it failed in this military application as early models did not feature a reverse gear. The same vehicle was marketed to civilians, but sales were poor due to a top speed of 2 ½ MPH, and the unfortunate name under which it was sold, “Le 69 Grande”.

Following the failure of these steam powered Francophone experiments, a Scotsman by the name of Robert Anderson invented the first electric car in 1839. The vehicle was thus described, “heavy, slow, expensive, and needed to stop for recharging frequently”. With these characteristics, there is no doubt that Anderson’s vehicle was the forerunner to the modern SUV.

After the experiments with electrical cars there were many trials involving internal combustion engines. This new line of testing in transportation emerged when the obviously crazed Francois Isaac de Rivaz of Switzerland decided that the engine, as it stood in his time, didn’t involve enough highly volatile and explosive materials. Later, Gottlieb Daimler and Karl Benz in Germany competed to make the first practical gas powered automobile. While the cars that resulted were described as “particular” and “humorless”, they got the job done.

In today’s modern and fast paced world of TV-dinners, nuclear powered refrigerators, and moving-picture entertainment, having a motor-vehicle to move you between your box-socials and philanthropist charity events is a must. The latest innovation in vehicular travel is the Sport Utility Vehicle(also known as the Seemingly Unattractive Vehicle). The popular abbreviation SUV is pronounced “S-uh-‘v”.

SUV popularity skyrocketed in the 1990’s as the average jackass looked for a way to articulate his overconfident and pompous attitude while traveling. This merger of arrogant idiocy and multi-ton, super powered, steel reinforced vehicles of dubious construction soon took the world by storm.

The SUV itself is best described as an amalgamation of features found in other objects. It has the seating capacity of a small gymnasium, the fossil fuel expenditure of a minor South American country, the cornering ability of the Exxon Valdez, and the ground clearance of an M1A2 Abrams Main Battle Tank. All of these features are wrapped into the vehicular equivalent of the rugged good looks of Clint Eastwood.

Today, the discerning consumer has a nearly infinite choice in SUVs. There is the Ford Excursion, with a V-10 engine, 11,000 pound towing capacity, and 9 person seating. A vehicle no doubt built for Baldwinian sized families and Cruise Liner Captain wannabes. For a slightly smaller vehicle, there is the GMC Jimmy. Assembled entirely out of crushed beer cans in Guatemala, the Jimmy is custom built for drivers interested in spending the entirety of their children’s college funds just to keep the vehicle running. Also, it caters to those individuals who go by the name Jimmy, and wish to have their name emblazoned on every side of the vehicle.

For those seeking a vehicle whose combined length and width dimensions are less than the total height measurement, there is the Geo Tracker. This nifty little SUV has all of the features of a compact car, without the reasonable price. Also, it's center of gravity is approximately that of a top. Finally, there is the so dubbed ‘cross-over’ SUV which is an SUV built on a car chassis. An example of this is the Honda CR-V. The CR-V features the off-road ability of a Civic, the seating capacity of a Civic, the smooth ride of a Civic, and the raw horsepower of a Civic, all built on the sturdy chassis of a Civic.

However many SUVs there are to choose from, our love affair with these mighty vehicles is in danger. Soaring gas prices threaten to eliminate any vehicle posting less than 12 gallons per mile. Moreover, Darwinian Law dictates that a vehicle unable to corner at speeds over 17 MPH may indeed succumb to natural selection. Nevertheless, however shaky the future of the SUV may look, we can rest assured knowing that at least one French inventor is spinning in his grave as he looks over what has become of his cherished creation.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

Fatwa Reality TV



Celestial Junk prides itself on its hard hitting analysis of current events and global happenstance. In order to stay on top in this game, our organization, like any other in “the business”, must maintain useful and timely sources to assure we have all of the latest breaking news. While this point applies to important, world shaping news, there is also a certain crossover into lighter entertainment reports, which is exactly the occurrence today.

One of Celestial Junk’s exclusive sources has given us an inside look at this fall’s yet to be released Middle Eastern Reality TV lineup. Enjoy, and remember, you saw it here first at CJunk, “the most unadjusted name in news”.

Pimp My Jihad

Tagline: More Bling for your Bang!

This show features young upstart Jihadis who send in audition tapes trying to convince show host Mullah Xplozive to “pimp their Jihad”. After the audition segment, the Mullah pays a surprise visit to the participant's home (usually under cover of darkness and in disguise) where he commences pimping the Jihad. With the help of Al Qaeda Costumes, the Jihad is “totally tricked out”. The final segment of the show is the trademark “Xploding” finale. In addition to their new pimped Jihad, all participants receive 72 virgins.

Big Brother: Iran Edition

Tagline: Mullahs Watching You.

Conceived, ironically, by a group of people entirely out of touch with reality, Big Brother: Iran Edition, is advertised as a more ambitious version of the popular western series. The show features over 65 million participants isolated in a large west-Asiatic nation where their every move and thought is monitored. Participants are periodically “eliminated” from the reality show, and from reality as well. In a recent interview, show producer Muhammad Babaganoosh of MGM productions (Muhammad-Gaza-Mahir) mused over his creation, saying, “The whole experience has just been wonderful, death to George Bush! The cast is great, the crew is dedicated, and the fans are devoted, death to Zionists! All around its just been the experience of a lifetime, and I thank Allah for the opportunity every day. Oh, and death to infidels!”

Zealous Eye for the Blasphemous Guy

Tagline: Five Fanatics - Out to make-over the world - One infidel at a time.

Zealous Eye is something of a crossover show featuring elements of reality television, make-over TV, and barbaric violent religious fanaticism. It stars five flamingly fanatical theocrats (the “drab five”) who completely make-over a participant’s wardrobe and home décor, eliminating any hint of western influence and sacrilege. The show has been the target of much criticism for allegedly perpetuating a stereotypical and clichéd image of fanatics. Show producers responded to the criticisms saying simply, “We’re here, we’re zealots, get used to it!”

The Simple Life: Mujahedeen

Tagline: From Filthy Rich to Tiny Bits.

The Simple Life features the wacky exploits and off-the-wall unscripted comedy of once rich Saudi socialites as they struggle to survive in the Hindu Kush. While much of the action isn’t captured on film, the participants appear at irregular intervals in “candid confessionals”. The high “turnover” of participants in The Simple Life has had an adverse effect on its ratings.

Fatwa Factor


Tagline: Fatwa Factor: Have You Gat-wa’ it Takes?

Each week, contestants on Fatwa Factor are forced to face their biggest fears and find out if they have the guts to see through their Fatwa. Filmed in sunny Guantanamo Bay, the show has often been criticized for its “shocking” and “over the top” stunts, which have in previous seasons included feeding contestants “infidel” cuisine, reading from Korans printed in Tel Aviv, sitting on made-in-USA prayer rugs, and being forced to negotiate truthfully. Further stunts included physical contact with female guards, listening to rock music, and gazing at illustrated images of Muhammad.

Extreme Conversion

Tagline: Finally, a Makeover show willing to go ‘Allah’ the Way.

Billed as a “makeover show for the modern extremist”, Extreme Conversion takes place in numerous 1st world countries. Contestants must be 2nd or 3rd generation citizens whose parents and grandparents immigrated to the host country. Each contender, an everyday "average Jamal", must attempt to undergo a “conversion to the extreme!” The makeover is often so extensive that close friends and family cannot even identify the remaining "bits" of the contender.

Who Wants to be a Martyr

Tagline: Martyrdom made Easy.

Hailed by the Gaza Strip Gazette as the greatest television show since Everybody Loves Yasser, Martyr is unique among game/reality shows in that every contestant is a winner. After the “fastest trigger finger” opening round, host Riyah Philbin puts participants in the “hotseat”, a vehicle loaded with explosives. There, contestants must use their wit and savvy to answer the tough questions posed by border guards. Once through, contestants choose from ironically titled “lifelines”. They can use a “50/50” (50% explosive, 50% nails), “Call an IED”, or “Ask Pedestrians for directions to the nearest bus stop or cafe."

For further Fatwa reading, see:




Sunday, May 20, 2007

Celestial Junk: Between the Posts

Often, readers inquire about the origins and methods of Celestial Junk. While most fans, and indeed the greater blogging collective, are familiar with the hard hitting and award winning blog posts of Celestial Junk, they crave to know what goes on behind the scenes at this blogging leviathan called Cjunk. They yearn to know, what makes Celestial Junk tick, and where did it all begin? As a result, we have decided to illuminate that which has till now been somewhat murky, and we guarantee that all of our reader’s enduring bewilderments shall be answered. We are this day proud to present to you, the judicious readers of Celestial Junk, a full expose of the history and behind the scenes workings of this, our beloved blog. Without further distraction, we present to you in glorious Technicolor®: Celestial Junk: Between the Posts.

Timosh Vladoslav Nedvyed (translated Tim Vlad Bear), came into the world in 1923 just outside of the small Czechoslovakian boarder town of Ostrava. He was born the bastard child of an unsuccessful Moravian turbots farmer and a drifting Bohemian tramp, or as they called them in Czechoslovakia, velka holka (big woman). Bear lived a commoner’s childhood, typical of the era. He spent his mornings collecting lichens from mountain rocks to feed the turbots and in the evenings he “scraped” the fish to collect their valuable slime which was sold as a powerful industrial binding agent. Today, Bear professes that he first gained a disdain for Liberals while working with those cold-blooded bottom-feeders.

Bear’s family was forced to leave the ‘old country’ during the great mad-turbot disease outbreak of ’37. After several years of traveling, they settled in the blossoming western Canadian township of Saskatoon. Here, a young Bear found himself engulfed at the epicenter of Canada’s political scene. While he was always to be found at the core of any political discussion, it wasn’t until the early 50’s that Bear became officially involved in politics. In 1952 , he ran as the candidate for the National Conservative People’s Popular Christian Alliance Front(political wing)[the NCPPCAF(p.w.)] in a heated bi-election for the 2nd seat councilman of the Sutherland township assembly of NNE Saskatoon. While he did manage to garnish a respectable 7.8% of the vote, it wasn’t enough. Disgusted with “official” politics, Bear gave up on his pursuit of elected officialdom.

It was shortly after, that a basket was left at Bear’s small apartment door. The basket contained a tiny infant. An attached note left little doubt that the mother of the child was one of Bear’s many lady acquaintances; either the prostitute he had met once while on vacation in Estevan Saskatchewan, or one of several such lady friends from Saskatoon’s dingy west end. Nevertheless, Bear raised his new son, Phillmore Wentworth Richtenstein Bear. Young Phillmore grew up to be as politically savvy and inspired as his father.

In 1974, while Bear and Phillmore were employed at the Saskatoon sewage and water treatment plant, they began formulating a political manifesto, and planning on ways to deliver it to a wider audience through unofficial and “unencumbered” channels. The manifesto was quickly solidified in the bold creators’ minds, and Celestial Junk was born. All that was needed now, was a medium with which to deliver it. It was a difficult sticking point, but a solution would soon present itself. A mere twenty years after Celestial Junk was conceived, Al Gore invented the internet, and ‘the boys of Cjunk’ had their outlet.

Said Karl Rove at the time, “Hot damn those boys have really got something. This is going to revolutionize the way we think about politics.” And indeed, it did.

The “golden” first post at Celestial Junk made waves across the political spectrum. It was entitled simply “F*ck Off You Scrotum Sucking Commie Wanks!” While it consisted mostly of incoherent and indecipherable ramblings and a poorly scanned pencil sketch of Ronald Reagan giving Gorbachev the finger, it took the world by storm. From that day on, pedestrian political speech was no longer denigrated to the coffee-shop; it was mainstream, and people everywhere stood up and took notice.

Recollects Vice President Dick Cheney, “The moment Celestial Junk hit the web, politicians everywhere had to reconsider their entire role in society. What Celestial Junk did, is it brought the mad traditionalist ramblings of a nut-job to the common man. This hit the public harder than a cardiac arrest and transformed politics into something more complicated than quadruple bypass surgery.”

The much lauded “second post” received just as much acclaim. Quaintly titled “I F*cking Hate Commie Pigs!”, it garnered Celestial Junk a record 27 hits, and assured “the boys of Cjunk” the title of Kings of the Blogosphere.

To this day, Bear and son Phillmore, AKA Debris Trail and Junker, insist that their thought processes and constructive methods have hardly changed since the early days. They have simply built upon that first “golden post”. Each day of blogging begins when the stalwart writers meet at the Celestial Junk Production and Publication Studio (Bear’s basement computer room). Here the creators begin to brainstorm their ideas for the day. Topics of discussion vary greatly, ranging from “why commies suck” to “how much commies suck”. Lunch hour is spent burning off a little of the friction worked up during the brainstorming session. The stress relief activities usually involve shooting old toilets in the backyard or burning great piles of “Macleans Magazine”, “Green Peace Pamphlets” and the “New York Times” with diesel fuel.

Returning from lunch, the writing and posting begins. In the early days of Celestial Junk, cumbersome proof-reading and spell-checking were quickly dispelled with, as the creators felt they only burdened the “raw” feel they were going after. To this day, no proof-reading is done on any Celestial Junk posts. The authors feel this distinguishes them from other writers who are considered “conventional”, “established”, and “skilled”. And the critics agree. Celestial Junk has been called, “odd”, “peculiar”, and “completely incomprehensible”.

Finally, late in the day with the clock ticking, the final hard copy of a post is sent over the wires and published online at Celestial Junk. The always bold and hard-hitting commentary is eagerly devoured by the readership, and another day at Celestial Junk wraps up. Its grueling work, but nothing is more satisfying to the “boys of Cjunk”.

Currently, the longevity of Celestial Junk is not in question. The authors vow to keep “fighting the good fight”, and indeed there is no reason for us to believe otherwise, even though Bear recently celebrated his 82nd birthday. Says political commentator Rush Limbaugh of the staying power of Celestial Junk, “There’s no doubt about it, ‘Junk’ will be around for decades to come. Those fellows are as tenacious as they are insane.” Or, as the leggie Anne Coulter once confided to Bill O’Reilly of Fox, “That Ol’Bear, he’s pretty hot… I’d love to see him shoot his gun, or both he and Phillmore for that matter!”

Indeed. Like the slime harvested from an east-Czechoslovakian turbot, the monolith that is Celestial Junk is sure to stick with us for a very long time to come.

Phillmore Wentworth Richtenstein Bear at a Moravian cultural event.


Timosh Vladoslav Nedvyed, remarkably sensual and attractive at the age of 82.

This post first appeared HERE.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

An Inconvenient Knob

An Inconvenient Knob
by: Junker

My personal limo slipped through the cool Tennessee evening. The soft glow of Nashville burned gently behind me as my driver expertly guided the large vehicle through the city suburbs. Ahead I could just make out my final destination. It was a home, larger than most, and indeed, the biggest in the neighborhood. All along its lengthy drive tall lamp posts pierced the blanketing darkness with splashes of light. The home itself stood in near daylight, bathed in countless lights that dazzled that eyes. Around its base a gaggle of limo’s identical to my own sat dispersed here and there. Normally, I preferred to travel by less conspicuous means, but the host had insisted, and sometimes one must comply to the insistent needs of blogging, and go where it guides.

I stepped out onto the cobblestone drive and embraced the sharp cool air. It was certainly unseasonably cold for Nashville this time of year, and it reminded me of home. Unconsciously I straightened my tux and strode confidently toward the entrance. The outward confidence I displayed was nothing more than a bluff, a cheap trick I had learned over years of doing this sort of thing. Inside I dreaded the prospect of an evening at this particular shindig. Still, my blog readers demanded, and I would certainly try to deliver.

My train of thought was suddenly cut short by the distressed cry of Steven Page, lead singer of the alternative rock band Barenaked Ladies. Turning sharply, I only just had time to see the source of his distress. Barreling across the front lawn was a new model Lexus RX 400h hybrid SUV. It careened through a rock garden and then plowed into the patio where the Ladies stood in a gaggle. I raced to the scene and, with the help of Ed Norton and Will Ferrell, pulled the casualties from the wreckage. Luckily the damage was minimal. Jim Creeggan received a minor concussion and Kevin Hearn a broken finger. The rest of the band had only cuts and bruises. The driver of the vehicle, Billy Joel, seemed unfazed by the whole episode, and stumbled into the crowd in search of a drink.

With the patio incident finally sorted out, I headed into the foyer, and was immediately accosted by Brad Pitt. Although I had more than once in the past faked epileptic seizures to avoid talking to Brad, he was at this point well aware that I did not have epilepsy, and the facade had indeed grown thin. I would have to bite the bullet on this one and speak to the fellow.

“Hey, if it isn’t the Bradster! What’s going on Brad-o-ramma? Enjoying the fundraiser Brad-meister?”

“I sure am Junker. But as you know, it is not, ultimately, about having a good time. We must all do our part.”

“Sure, sure. So is Jennifer with you tonight?”

“Ah, Jennifer Aniston and I got divorced two years ago J…..”

“Really? You’d think they would have mentioned that in the news. So who’s the lucky lady accompanying you tonight?”

“My wife, of course! Angelina…..”

“Jolie?” I cut him off in mid sentence, the slightest hint of fear in my voice. “You didn’t bring the kids along, did you?” I asked, my voice trembling faintly. A previous experience with Jolie’s numerous little trans-Asiatic tykes had left me emotionally scared and prone to nightmares.

“No….” Brad said looking at me oddly.

“Ah great, great. Say, I've been meaning to get something off of my chest. You remember the time I hooked you up with that big gig Troy? Well I feel just awful about that. I really do, I mean that sincerely. Now, Hollywood hasn’t exactly been pumping out a lot of ... what I would call, “watch-able” movies lately ... but that one in particular, wow ... I mean, an artist, of your standing, involved with that kind of drivel. That whole tired ancient Greek thing, with super short man skirts, endless dialogue, the useless plot that went on and on ... I guess, what I’m getting at here, is that I sincerely apologize for getting you a starring role in what was probably the worst movie of the year ... if not the decade. I can't imagine the financial hit you must have taken on that one.”

“J, I made plenty of money on that one, and I’m quite proud of Troy!”

“Troy, is that what I said? What I meant, obviously, was that Ocean’s Eleven thing.”

“J! I….you’re……what!?”

“Anyway, I do apologize again, and I think I see Lindsay Lohan and Paris Hilton about to get in a cat fight, so I’d best go and break it up. Best of luck with Ocean’s Seventeen.”

With that I graciously slipped away, thanking my father, Paul, for the polished social skills he'd given me; the ones that aided me in shrewdly avoiding a great many social blunders. Strolling through the crowd I recognized more than a few familiar faces. In a corner I spotted Cameron Diaz and Charlize Theron talking quietly to each other. It always scared me a little when my ex’s got together to share info, still there wasn’t much I could do about it, so I moved along, eager to avoid a scene. Stopping for a few seconds at the bar to grab a martini, I took note of David Suzuki in conversation with Laurie David. I caught only bits of the conversation, something about the inaccuracy of internet polling.

Lounging on a couch near the back of the room, I noticed old ‘Slick Willie’ slithering up to a nearly unconscious Liza Minnelli. These sort of scenes involving Bill always left disturbing mental images in my mind, and often expelled the contents of my normally iron strong stomach. Fearing a surge of dry heaves, I quickly moved on. On a small stage originally intended for the Barenaked Ladies, Neil Young was providing the evening's impromptu entertainment. At one point Howard Dean jokingly joined Neil on stage and the resulting cacophony sent me sprinting to another room. There I found myself standing squarely in front of the inseparable duo, Noam Chomsky and Michael Moore.

“Ah! J ... you’re appearance could not have been more timely.” Noam said. “Mickael and myself are in the throws of a most spirited debate, and have reached something of an deadlock. In the spirit of the evening, our topic of discussion is of course global warming, its far reaching effects, and its numerous causes. Now, personally, I believe the primary cause of global warming can be traced directly to rampant capitalism while Mickael here places the blame more squarely on the evil neo-con George W. Bush and his military-industrial complex which exercises its might violently across the globe. What have you to say on this matter J?”

“Well, I’m not sure about the neo-cons, but I did recently read some interesting information on global warming that paints a slightly different picture. Have you two gentleman explored any resources on global warming outside of the IPCC?”

“Well now, why on earth would we consult anything but UN approved documents? Have you lost your…..wait. Ah J, hahahahahaha, you droll fellow you! I have said it before and I will say it again, ‘I like thy wit well Junker’. One does guffaw when J is around. Your witty comedic musings are clever as always J. Isn’t that right Mickael?”

“Sure.” Muffled Michael through a mouthful of caviar and toast.

At that point I gracefully dismissed myself from the debate. I spotted the host of the evening, and decided, reluctantly, to make an appearance before him before my mental constitution gave way and I had to retreat.

“Hey Al, great party. I’m having a ball.” I said, opening the conversation and putting on a cheerful act that could have earned me an Oscar.

“Hello J, glad you could make it.” Droned Al Gore, reminding me very much of an automaton from a 50’s sci-fi film. “I hope you enjoyed your flight down in my personal jet. I like to treat my guests properly, and of course, the flights emissions are cancelled out by eco-credits.”

“Of course, of course. Say, my invite said most of the party was going to be held outdoors. Too bad about the cold weather ... kind of weird for March in Nashville eh?”

“Well, as you obviously know from watching my award winning documentary film, An Inconvenient Truth, this cold weather is just another blatant sign of global warming.”

“Riiiigggght. Speaking of that, did you catch the latest news about that seemingly inexplicable global warming taking place on Mars?”

“Well, as you obviously know from watching my award winning documentary film, An Inconvenient Truth, that global warming taking place on Mars is just another blatant sign of global warming.”

“Ah-huh. And what’s your take on the recently published data regarding historic temperatures on earth that seem to suggest that we are actually in a cool period, historically?”

“Well, as you obviously know from watching my award winning documentary film, An Inconvenient Truth, that is just another blatant sign of global warming.”

"Yep. Say Al, did you catch the Giants game last night?"

“Well, as you obviously know from watching my award winning documentary film, An Inconvenient Truth, that is just another blatant sign of global warming.”

“Sure, sure. Well, it was good talking to you Al. Great little shindig you’ve got here."

With that I practically ran from the room and headed for the exit. These fetes always left me physically and mentally drained, although this time around the effects were particularly pronounced. With blurred vision and what felt like an inner-ear infection, I stumbled to my limo and started my journey home. A slight dusting of crystal snowflakes fell carelessly from the sky, and I was reminded of home once again. This whole blogging gig is going to kill me one day, I thought to myself. Still, I was satisfied, with yet another post ready to roll.


Previous Shindigs
Hobnobbing with the Stars
Hobnobbing II: Return of the Knobs
Hobnobbing III: Knobs Unleashed

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Junk for Laughs Returns

“…Celestial Junk is funnier than Chretien’s face and has more laughs a minute than a Jack Layton press conference.”
-Western Standard Time

“It has been said that Paul and Junker are the wittiest chaps on the internet. This humble author might add ‘I like thy wit well’ CJunk! ”
-P. Barnsworth Wentington, The New Yorker

“…..a winning combination of comedy, crass, politics and style, the brilliant machinations of CJunk will have you rolling on the floor and voting conservative within 5 minutes of logging onto their site.”
-Rolling Stone Magazine

“Them there Cjunky boys are hilarious!”
-Some Kentucky hillbilly, Celestial Junk Comments

This slow news day is the perfect chance for you to enjoy the much acclaimed comedic stylings of Celestial Junk. Enjoy.

Pulp Fatwa - "Who's turban is this?" "It's BL's." "Who's BL?" "BL's dead baby, BL's dead."

SUV Love - Where the Jimmy meets the road.

Nice Beaver - A long and penetrating history.

Even Better Than the Real Thing – Are you a Probst-a-phobe?

Hobnobbing with the Stars - ONE MAN. ONE PARTY. SEVERAL DOZEN SOCIALISTS AND NO WAY OUT!

Hobbnobbing II: Return of the Knobs - Noam, Slick Willy, and at least one Baldwin, all in the same room! This years blockbuster must see horor.

Hobbnobing III: Knobs Unleashed - I brave pampered snobbery, ONE....MORE.....TIME

A Pant's Passing - RIP Levi's Dockers Wrinkle Free Classic Fit pants

The Hounds of Ottawa - I dare say the Liberals did it Watson, it is purely elementary

Fatwa Fashion File - The most explosive numbers in this years spring collection

The Case of the Crooked Faced Man - A most perplexing peculiarity of paramount proportions

War, what is it good for? – The Penn is mightier than the sword.

Harper’s Reich – Meinkampf for Manitobans.

“…not gay, metrosexual.” – Plaid, we hardy knew ye.

101 Damiens - Why doth thus torture us Disney? Think of the children!

Set Stupidity to Full - Goodbye Sci-Fi, you won’t be missed

What You Talk'n Bout Comrade?! - Communist TV and The bionic Six Million Ruble Comrade

Faith Lickin’ Good - What do Jesus, Odin, and Tom Cruise have in common?

Thought for Food - Satan thy name is Tofu

At the Ladens - The Red Carpet pre-show for the 10th annual Bin-Cademy Film Awards

Ba bababa, ba bababa, Baby! - Madonna, Abba, and a strange feeling of Voulez-Vous Vu

Celestial Junk: Between the Posts - VH2 presents an in depth look at the men between the posts

Give Me a Break - Only the resurrected corpse of Sargon the first can save us now

Can You Hear Me Now? - Dancing Babies on cell phones....the future is now

Gut Wrenching!: A Guided Tour to Popular Musical Theater - Need we say more?

Challenging Perceptions - Plugging Intifada Mountain...eat your heart out Heath.

J-Files: Jinn of Zion - Special Agents Fox Mu'huldir and Dana Scuhli are on the case

Thursday, November 9, 2006

The J-Files


Buried deep within a dust coated filing cabinet in a rarely visited basement office at the headquarters of the Fatwa Bureau of Investigation sit the Jihad Files. The J-Files are a collection of bizarre and unexplained cases; files filled with the paranormal or baffling. These long forgotten files, that more often than not, deal with dark elements of the great Satan, suddenly came to light after 9/11. Now, the skeptical Special Agent Fox Mu’huldir, and the devoted believer, Special Agent Dana Scuhli, have been assigned to uncover the secrets of these long buried mysteries. The J-Files have been re-opened, but there are forces more powerful than can possibly be imagined aligning themselves to keep the truth hidden.

But the truth is out there.


The Jinn of Zion


The Fatwa Bureau of Investigation Headquarters, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
“Mu’huldir, I came as soon as I got your message. Is it true that we have our first new J-Files case?”
“That’s right Scuhli. This report from Gaza just came across the wire. The authorities there claim that there has been a string of bizarre disappearances involving popular youthful members of the local community.”
“And how exactly does that pertain to the J-Files Fox? It sounds like just another Zionist kidnapping and organ harvesting operation.”
“Not quite, here’s the catch. These kids aren’t simply disappearing from their communities, they are literally evaporating into thin air.”
“That’s impossible Mu’huldir…..”

Tuesday, June 6, 2006

The Peaceful Majority


I used to know a man whose family were German aristocracy prior to World War Two. They owned a number of large industries and estates. I asked him how many German people were true Nazis, and the answer he gave has stuck with me and guided my attitude toward fanaticism ever since.

“Very few people were true Nazis” he said, “but, many enjoyed the return of German pride, and many more were too busy to care. I was one of those who just thought the Nazis were a bunch of fools. So, the majority just sat back and let it all happen. Then, before we knew it, they owned us, and we had lost control, and the end of the world had come. My family lost everything. I ended up in a concentration camp and the Allies destroyed my factories.”

We are told again and again by “experts” and “talking heads” that Islam is the religion of peace, and that the vast majority of Muslims just want to live in peace. Although this unquantified assertion may be true, it is entirely irrelevant. It is meaningless fluff, meant to make us feel better, and meant to somehow diminish the specter of fanatics rampaging across the globe in the name of Islam.
The fact is, that the fanatics rule Islam at this moment in history. It is the fanatics who march. It is the fanatics who wage any one of 50 shooting wars world wide. It is the fanatics who systematically slaughter Christian or tribal groups throughout Africa and are gradually taking over the entire continent in an Islamic wave. It is the fanatics who bomb, behead, murder, or honor kill. It is the fanatics who take over mosque after mosque. It is the fanatics who zealously spread the stoning and hanging of rape victims and homosexuals. The hard quantifiable fact is, that the “peaceful majority” is the “silent majority” and it is cowed and extraneous.

Communist Russia was comprised of Russians who just wanted to live in peace, yet the Russian Communists were responsible for the murder of about 20 million people. The peaceful majority were irrelevant. China’s huge population was peaceful as well, but Chinese Communists managed to kill a staggering 70 million people. The Average Japanese individual prior to World War 2 was not a war mongering sadist. Yet, Japan murdered and slaughtered its way across South East Asia in an orgy of Killing that included the systematic killing of 12 million Chinese civilians; most killed by sword, shovel, and bayonet. And, who can forget Rwanda, which collapsed into butchery. Could it not be said that the majority of Rwandans were “peace loving”.

History lessons are often incredibly simple and blunt, yet for all our powers of reason we often miss the most basic and uncomplicated of points. Peace-loving Muslims have been made irrelevant by the fanatics. Peace-loving Muslims have been made irrelevant by their silence. Peace-loving Muslims will become our enemy if they don’t speak up, because like my friend from Germany, they will awake one day and find that the fanatics own them, and the end of their world will have begun. Peace-loving Germans, Japanese, Chinese, Russians, Rwandans, Bosnians, Afghans, Iraqis, Palestinians, Somalis, Nigerians, Algerians, and many others, have died because the peaceful majority did not speak up until it was too late. As for us who watch it all unfold, we must pay attention primarily to the only group that counts; the fanatics who threaten our way of life.
Update:
More Reading: CLICK
The Proper Way to Dissent (No murder threats here): CLICK