CJunk Oldies: Pulp Fatwa

“Ok, so tell me again about the hash laws.”

“What do want to know?”

“Well, hash is illegal there, right?”

“Well, that depends. Here’s how it breaks down. Its illegal to own it, its illegal to sell it. Its illegal to carry it, but that don’t matter. Get this, if the cops stop you, they won’t search you.”

“What do you mean, they can’t search you?”

“No man, they’ll just start beating you right there. Just up and beat you to within an inch of your life!”

“And that’s if you don’t have the stuff on you???”

“Exactly. If you do have the hash, you’ll get a trial. That usually takes about 15 minutes, then you’ll probably find yourself hanging from a lamppost!”

“Oh man, fuck that, I ain’t goin, that’s all there is to it!”

“Yeah. But you know what the funniest thing about Arabia is?”

“What?”

“The little things. They got the same shit over there, just different.”

“Example.”

“Alright, well you can walk into a movie theater in Riyadh and there aren’t any women, anywhere. I mean, they’re there, but they’ve got their entire face covered in this veil thing. And you know what’s more fucked up?”

“What?”

“Women can’t leave their house without a man. I mean, how do you meet chicks?”

“That is fucked up man.”

“Yeah. Still, they’ve still got everything we’ve got. They’ve got more MacDonald’s than we do, but there are these little differences. You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?”

“They don’t call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?”

“No man, they’ve got the Arabic system, its all screwed up. They wouldn’t know what a Quarter Pounder is. They call it a ‘Intifada, with cheese’. And a Big Mac is a ‘Big Mustafa’.”

“What do they call a Bacon Burger?”

“Well, they ain’t too big on pig, but I think they call it a ‘Infidel Burger’. Guess what they’ve got instead of beef?”

“What?”

“Mutton. Every where you look, mutton. They’re drowning in that shit man. But listen, forget that, what happened to Marsellus Wahabi and his sister?”

“Well, Marsellus was out of town, right. He leaves Ahmed with Mia. Marsellus comes back early, and finds Ahmed giving Mia a foot massage.”

“Yeah. So what?”

“Get this, Marsellus just blows up.”

"What do mean, literally?"

"No man, fuck. No not literally. He gets mad. He gets so mad that he and Ahmed throw Mia off the balcony."

“Whoa whoa whoa! They throw Mia off the balcony? That’s fucked up man. Shouldn’t Marsellus throw Ahmed off the balcony?”

“Nah, their system is all fucked up and ass backwards. Its called 'honor killing'. Since Mia brought ‘dishonor’ to the family, it’s the right of the other family members to kill her.”

“Ah man, all of that over a foot massage!”

“Yep! Like I said, it is FUCKED up!”

CJunk Oldies: Sword and Shield Movie Roundup

The best and the worst are all here. I present to you a collection of micro-reviews of the latest sword slashing flicks and a few oldies as well.Lets begin with the new ones.

Kingdom of Heaven

This film had the misfortune of being released after a whole string of bad and really bad sword epics. People were simply sick with the tripe they’d been fed, so this movie didn’t get as much attention, which is unfortunate as it is a decent movie. Orlando Bloom, who has starred in every movie involving horses and swords ever made since his birth, and some even before that time, bulks up his normally elvin body and heads off to the crusades, where he distinguishes himself as a true and rare ‘noble’ knight. He is surrounded by plenty of conniving dastards who ensure there is plenty of head hacking and scheming and what not afoot. It all builds up at the end to a great siege battle, which is nearly as good as the Lord of the Rings finale. This one is a keeper.

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Alexander

The very worst of the recent lot of sword flicks. Historically inaccurate in that the film maker focuses on petty events in Alexander’s life instead of the important ones. Dreadfully long with painful dialogue, and not nearly enough fighting; which was how Alexander gained his fame in the first place. Also, while the film is only the length of a single extended version of Lord of the Rings, watching it achieves the same effect as trying to move near a black hole. Time slows down, and stretches nearly to infinity. I count my blessings every day that I watched this one at the cheap theater, which costs less than a rental. Still, someone owes me a serious chunk of my life back.

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Troy

This one left me with mixed feelings. A large number of viewers hold a great deal of hate for this film, and with good reason; Brad Pitt, for one. Historical accuracy, sure, that was shot all to hell, but I think a little forgiveness is owed there. The story of Troy, and the ‘heros’ who took part, is indeed mostly fiction. While the political wrangling dragged a little, the battles were decent. The massive phalanx shoving match was a wonderful treat to watch, and the one on one scrums were entertaining as well. Also, this movie didn’t feature Angelina Jolie or Val Kilmer, as Alexander did, which gives it big points. All in all an ‘OK’ film.

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King Arthur

From that rock star producer Jerry Bruckheimer comes the action packed “King Arthur”. Again, I have mixed feelings here, not about the movie, which was awful, but about the producer. Jerry had his hand in “Black Hawk Down” and “Pirates of the Caribbean”, which is to be commended. At the same time, he delivered some of the worst garbage to ever be filmed; “Armageddon” and “Pearl Harbour”. Yes, I did just say the “A” word. Also, he bombards us with a never ending payload of ‘CSI’ on the telly. King Arthur consists of mostly uninspired action and low adventure, with its highlights being the feature of one of the actors from “13th Warrior”, and Keira Knightley wiggling around in the nip. Save your money on this one.

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Pirates of the Caribbean

I won’t spend much time here, as I’m quite sure that no individual on this continent could escape the infinite screenings of this blockbuster. It is in fact a decent movie, thanks largely to the hilarious and original character Johnny Depp plays. Yeah, I know he’s a raging moonbat lefty, but what Hollywood film can you watch that doesn’t involve at least a gaggle of lefties?

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Timeline

I highly recommend this movie on its one greatest merit, which is that it features a character with MY name. Its other merits are few and far between. In fact, I can think of no other merits, nope, no merits whatsoever, aside from the obvious and afore mentioned merit of featuring a character with my name.(does anyone know a synonym for merit?). Occasionally, Michael Crichton novels make wonderful movies(see below). In this case, it made a not so good movie. Somehow the wonderfully exciting concept of the novel was lost in the movie, as is so often the case. Read the paperback, skip the flick.

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13th Warrior

This wonderful gem, which was gleefully passed up by a dull and uninspired audience when it came out, is in fact, the best stand alone sword and shield action adventure ever made. I know what you’re thinking, Antonio Banderas is in it; well, he is, and he is great. Maybe it’s the fact that he plays an Arab instead of a Spaniard. This Arab, our unlikely hero, hooks up with the toughest, rowdiest, and most jovial bunch of Vikings ever put on screen. The casting was done brilliantly, never before has such a superb group of Vikings been assembled. Together, they travel north to kick some Neanderthal ass. Absolutely one of my favourites, and dare I say it, as a standalone, better than any of the individual Lord of the Rings megaflicks.

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Army of Darkness or Bruce Campbell vs The Army of Darkness

Now I’m reaching back a bit, all the way to 1992. This B grade action/comedy/horror/adventure stars the great B movie actor Bruce Campbell. Either you know about this film, and love it, or you’ve never heard of it. Rest assured, if you find it and watch it, you will like it. I can’t quite describe the actual movie as such, its originality prohibits any reasonable comparisons. Just take my word for it, this one is a classic.

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UPDATE: 300

What can I say about 300 that hasn't already been said? First, get past the fact that our Spartan lead, is in fact, a Scotsman who has little intention of hiding his accent. Next, accept that digital blood looks a lot like thick, blackstrap molasses. Finally, you should, just as I did, prepare your fragile psyche for an hour and a half of beefy men in tiny leather panties. This done, you are set to enjoy what is certainly one of the most violent, visual, pointless, and utterly entertaining action movies of our time. Its straight up good verses evil, and I think we need that once in a while.

Shoulder Pads and Synthesizers

A sober appraisal of the late 80s/early 90s pop music phenomenon and our collective journey towards recovery:

Being born in the mid-80s, I must make it exceptionally clear that my generation had absolutely nothing to do with unleashing the following upon the world. I know nothing of shoulder pads, their insertion into leatherwear, or the wearing thereof. At no point have I worn a single white glove, a shirtless ‘Rico Suave’-esque jacket, or parachute pants. I believe ‘you CAN touch this’, if you so choose. I don’t deem it necessary to ‘pump up the jam’. And quite frankly, I can find no reason to ‘wear my sunglasses at night’.

It should be fairly obvious to all involved that ‘gen-X’ owes someone an apology. Oh sure, they may be known as a brooding bunch, with a dark sense of humour and overstated sarcasm, but the following is truly what they will be remembered for. It’s a supply and demand market, and in 1990, someone was demanding that which is depicted below.

So please, a simple apology is all that is required, and then we can let the healing begin.

Milli:



HAMMER:



Rick .. click




UPDATE:

In the interest of being the bigger man here, and getting the ball rolling, I'd like to be the first to say that my generation and I sincerly apologize for the following:

Cjunk Oldies: Mein Clothes

An Analysis of Humanity’s Struggle against Fashionism in the 20th Century
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It is certainly fair to say that contemporary fashion is a “cruel mistress” and a “double-edged sword”. One might go further and say that fashion is “man’s best friend” and you “cannot teach fashion new tricks”. And would it be a stretch to say that fashion is “always greener on the other side” and it “never falls far from the tree”? Yes, yes it would be a stretch. More than that, it would be just plain asinine and more than a little bit juvenile. Still, I don’t think anyone could argue that classic maxims are underused in modern writing. I mean, if “I had a nickel for every time” I used a classic maxim…..well suffice to say they are “a dime a dozen”, though they certainly “won’t buy you happiness”.

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Anyway, where was I? Fashion. More than any other human endeavor, it has perplexed and angered the masses. In fact, contemporary fashion has served to perpetrate more evil in this century than Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, and Hilary Clinton combined. Ok, ok, that may be overstating it a little; it’s a bit like saying “I could eat a horse”, or “that took forever”. In reality modern fashion isn’t nearly as malevolent as Mrs. Clinton. Still, I make no apology for the embellishment, and I really don’t think that anyone could argue that classic hyperboles are underused in modern writing. I’m sure like a “gazillion” people would agree with me on that point.

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But I digress, we must return to fashion. The problem can be traced, like so many of humanities woes, to the 1960’s. Preceding that time, fashion was modeled largely on the Germanic peoples of central Europe. It was ridged, bland, humorless, conforming, and occasionally annexed the Low Countries. Men had a single type of efficient, low drag business suit for all occasions (i.e. working at the office, cutting the grass, high diving, Panzer pincer movements), and women wore simple dresses. Those women looking for something a little more “risqué” would have their dress cut to reveal their ankles, though this was frowned upon. And then the 60’s rolled along. Suddenly men everywhere were adorned in seizure inducing tie-dye t-shirts and all revealing Jim Morrison-esque skin tight pants. Dresses became shorter and shorter until they commonly ended just above the navel. I can hear now a multitude of male critics shouting back at me that this doesn’t sound like a bad thing at all. To them I respond that the lack of shaving and general high gene within the hippy movement made it much worse than “bad”.

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Soon the 1970’s were upon us, and fashion didn’t improve in the least bit. The advent of petroleum based synthetic leg wear allowed for even tighter fitting pants. No longer was it left to your imagination which side your buddies “dressed” on. And just like Jim Morrison before him, John Travolta took it upon himself to reveal his “package” to the world in Saturday Night Fever. Those who turned and tried to flea in horror usually ended up tripping on the excess fabric of their bell-bottoms. The resulting falls, amplified by the extra height of platform shoes often left them with broken limbs or crippling cranial concussions. The damage would have been much worse were it not for the thick, luxurious shag carpet of the period. How such a hazardous state of fashion was reached is unclear, although I am certain that the excess amount of cocaine at the time had something to do with it. Also much of the blamed surely falls squarely on the Rick Di’s Disco Duck.

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Nonetheless human beings are resilient creatures, and they managed to weather the horror that was 1970’s fashion. Little did they realize that a new wave of terror was about to be unleashed. Bizarre and uncanny apparel like scrunch socks, leg warmers, parachute pants, and crooked baseball caps soon swamped the masses as time marched into the 1980s. It was a time of chaos and unbridled stupidity. With practically no time to adjust, we awoke and found that all rules of implied communal contract and social norm were thrown out the window. With frightening swiftness, it suddenly OK to “wear your sunglasses at night”. People everywhere were “cutting footloose”, and it was “hip to be square”. You could “dance if you wanted to, you could leave your friends behind” and “We” could all be “heroes”, but “just for one day”. And speaking of David Bowie, the king of confusing femininity took it upon himself to carry on that Jim Morrison tradition and divulge his bulge in The Labyrinth with nipple high, skin tight, body-hugging pants. This single appearance embodied everything that was inexplicable and protruding about 80’s fashion.

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Later in that decade, fashion conceived a deadly new delivery device, the Super-Model. Contrary to their lofty title, Super-Models do not in fact possess super-powers. At least, I don’t think their abilities can be classified as super-powers. I for one cannot imagine Dr. Doom or The Green Goblin being defeated with tobacco addictions, pouting faces, and anorexia. The rise of the Super-Model lead to a plethora of confusing fashion TV shows in the preceding decade. Mystifying more than anything else, these shows feature emaciated young European women walking in an elongated oval draped scantily in what I can best discern to be fishing nets and small bits of exotic fruit. All the while, a voiceover is done by a mildly excited Englishman with a lisp, who makes perplexing statements like, “Giovanti’s spring collection did more than turn a few heads, it took Paris by storm last week, where his playful ensembles featured a theme of contradiction and rebirth. Subdued mauves and spunky periwinkles clashed playfully for an uber-retro downtown chic look that seems to say ‘I’m too hot to wear’”. Personally, I understand statements like this about as much as I understand a fax tone. The writers and producers of these shows are clearly batshit crazy.

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Currently the modern fashion crisis has waned somewhat. While full grown, thinking and breathing adults can still be found voluntarily adorned in cowboy boots and 8 gallon hats, they are mostly confined to the Midwestern states, Alberta, and bad network action/dramas featuring Chuck Norris. Likewise, while models still plague us, we have found secondary uses for them like acting in bad zombie movies. Also, while retail outlets like The Gap and Abercrombi and Fitch still present a large problem, one finds reassurance and comfort in the comeback of durable and dependable plaid. All in all, I think its safe to say that fashion in headed in the right direction. I am personally doing my part to mend the situation by writing silly articles on the subject that use as many cliché sayings as possible. To those of you who object that this isn’t helping in the least bit, I say you are absolutely right, but who are you to act as my “judge, jury, and executioner”? ‘Well now you’re just being juvenile’ I can almost hear you responding. Touché, reader, touché, you win this round. Yes, you may have “won the battle, but you haven’t won the war!”

Cjunk Oldies: 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.

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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”.

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Pimp My Jihad

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Tagline: More Bling for your Bang!

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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.

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Big Brother: Iran Edition

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Tagline: Mullahs Watching You.

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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!”

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Zealous Eye for the Blasphemous Guy

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

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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!”

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The Simple Life: Mujahedeen

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Tagline: From Filthy Rich to Tiny Bits.

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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.

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Fatwa Factor

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

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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.

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Extreme Conversion

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

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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.

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Who Wants to be a Martyr

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Tagline: Martyrdom made Easy.

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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."

The J-Files: UFOs or Zion

For the right ambience, play mp3 while reading:

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.

Fatwa Bureau of Investigation Headquarters, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

“Mu’huldir, the assistant director Skhin’eir will see you in his office now.”

“Thank you Barika, I’ll see myself in.”

“I’ll be brief Mu’huldir; we’ve got another J-Files case for you and special agent Scuhli. It would seem that to the north, our Iraqi brothers, particularly the Kurds, are suffering from an acute case of mass hysteria. The Bureau needs to know why, and the eggheads down at Hufuf can’t see any other cause except the paranormal involvement of the Zionists. So the case is yours. You depart immediately.”

“Yes sir.”

“Oh, and Mu’huldir, that stink you caused over the so called evaporating Jihadis, I’m still weathering the fallout. I’m taking the liberty of assuming it won’t happen again.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we have every reason to believe the Zionists weren’t involved at...”

“That’s enough special agent! You have your assignment; I suggest you carry it out.”

“Yes.....sir.”

Erbil International Airport, Kurdistan, Iraq

“Here’s what we know Mu’huldir. The military hasn’t detected any abnormal high band frequency transmissions emanating from Israel, although that doesn’t necessarily rule out radio frequency cranial hypnosis. Likewise, our agents monitoring regular media broadcasts report no change in the normal situation. Although, we can’t rule out Zionist subliminal hypno-brainwashing ... the Jews wrote the book on it!”

“I think you’re avoiding the simplest answer Scuhli. Have you stopped to consider that maybe we aren’t dealing with collective hysteria or brainwashing?”

“You can’t possibly believe that Mu’huldir, can you? That would mean that the majority of Kurd’s are Mossad agents, and I just can’t imagine how they’d.....”

“That’s not what I’m getting at Scuhli. What if there is no mass hysteria here....and no Zionist plot. What if Iraqis actually believe the Americans can help free their country, and are here as honourable liberators?”

“Are you crazy Mu’huldir! Next you’ll be asking me to believe that honour killing is wrong!”

“One thing at a time Scuhli. Look, there’s our contact. Let’s get this investigation moving, the only certainty here is that the truth is out there.”

Residence of Abdul-Alim, Western Erbil, Kurdistan, Iraq

“...it was quite miraculous. Our neighbours lived in fear, and we watched their fears realized. We too lived in fear. But the efforts of the Americans had a nearly immediate effect. We no longer live in fear of foreigners, of killers. All is peaceful now.”

“And you’re sure of what you saw, Mr. Abdul?”

“My eyes do not lie to me.”

“Excuse us for a moment Mr. Abdul ... What do you think Scuhli? You said yourself there was no evidence of Zionist interference here. I think what we might be dealing with here are numerous distinct cases of UFOs.”

“Is that what you’re honestly asking me to believe now Mu’huldir? Unexplainably Friendly Occurrences ... on this massive a scale ... committed by the Great Satan no less? Listen Mu’huldir, I’ve backed you in the past, to a point, but what you’re saying here ... I mean, do you realize the forces aligned against you on this one?”

“Please Scuhli, I need you to support me now more than ever. I know I’ve asked a lot of you in the past. And these J-Files, they’ve shaken my beliefs to the core as well. But I know the truth is out there, and the evidence is sitting right in front of us.”

“I’m sorry Mu’huldir, I just can’t go along with this charade. The human mind is a powerful tool, it has been known in the past to produce mass hallucinations ... just look at all the insane daily reports of so called “Islamic Terrorism”. And we still haven’t ruled out malevolent Zionist influence ... I can’t go along with this scheme, I’d have to throw all my logic out the window! Proving that UFOs exist is like trying to prove that the holocaust actually happened ... it's a dead end Mu'huldir ... a dead end!”

“Do as you see fit Scuhli, but I’ve got to get to the bottom of this, once and for all. The world needs to know.”

“Please Mu’huldir, you can’t possibly be thinking of spreading this rumor ... besides there isn’t a major news agency within 100 miles of Kurdistan. And, Mu’huldir, I know pain, believe me ... but what you’re likely to receive for this will be much more than a beating with a willows-of-the-Nile cane ... Mu'huldir please ... they pluck eyes and remove tongues for less!”

“Damn my safety Scuhli ... it's irrelevant ... this whole thing is way past that."

Parking Garage, Exact Location Unknown, Erbil, Kurdistan, Iraq

“I wasn’t sure that you’d show up, ' J', but 'Deep Desert' told me I could trust you.”

“Deny everything, and trust no one Mu’huldir, that’s the only way you’ll survive this game.”

“I need your help. I need to know who’s behind this. Who’s hiding the truth?”

“You think it’s just that simple, Mu’huldir, go after those hiding the truth ... Deep Desert always insisted that you weren’t just some vain kid with a chip on his shoulder ...”

“It doesn’t matter who’s behind it, all that matters is the truth. So who’s in control, Baghdad? Tel Aviv? Riyadh? Who!?!”

“Oh sure, they all play their part. But who do you think would benefit most from a failure here, now? Who has the most to gain, and the most to hide? All I can say is look towards the setting sun ... and already I’ve said too much. Goodbye Mu’huldir, you will not find me in the future, but I may find you.”

"J ... I just wanted to ask one more thing ..."

Riyadh King Kahaled International Airport, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

“You’ve been very quiet Mu’huldir ... what are you thinking? What did you learn last night?”

“I wish I could tell you Scuhli, I truly do. But this isn’t your fight.”

“What are you going to put in your report Mu’huldir?”

“The case remains unsolved Scuhli, it is as simple as that. This J-File will stay open.”

“What of the UFOs, you aren’t going to mention them then ... at all?”

“I ... Scuhli I’ve never told you this before, but ... I ...”

“What is it Mu’huldir?”

“When I was child, my family lived for several years in Bosnia. It was a hard time, but we made due. But one day, it just ... well it all spiralled out of control. The Americans, they stepped in ... and suddenly it was ... ”

“You mean to tell me you’ve personally witnessed a UFO?!?”

“I can’t explain it Scuhli, and yet, I was there ... it happened.”

“I don’t know what to say Mu’huldir ... are you certain it wasn't Jordanian troops ... their uniforms are similar.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore ... there will be no mention of UFOs to Skhin’eir at any rate. I’ve called the Bureau to send a car to get you Scuhli, I need to stop by forensics before I return to HQ. I’ll be in touch.”

“Mu’huldir wait, the forensics lab isn’t even open ... and I’m a woman, I can’t be left alone in public ... Mu’huldir!”

Epilogue: Fatwa Bureau of Investigation Headquarters, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

“Come in Scuhli, but don’t sit, this will be brief. Can I expect your full report by Thursday?”

“Of course, sir.......Sir, I need to know, have you had any contact with agent Mu’huldir?”

“I have had no contact with Mu’huldir since you departed. As of today, Special Agent Mu’huldir has been declared missing, presumed Zionist Spy and possible apostate ... I'd distance myself if I were you.”

“But ... ”

“Partly as a result of this, the J-Files have been suspended. You are to return to your previous posting with the Graphical Mohammad Representations Crimes Unit.”

“Sir ... I ...”

“That is all, Special Agent.”

The J-Files: Jinn of Zion

Sorry for the lack of posts this weekend. We're sure to be back at it come Monday. In the meantime, here’s an old one. Also, be advised that Special Agent Fox Mu’huldir Special Agent Dana Scuhli may be returning soon.....the truth is out there.

For the right ambience, play mp3 while reading:

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…..”

“Well, that’s what the report says. I believe this case is well worth looking into as a potential J-File. It certainly fits the bill as unexplained.”

“Alright Mu’huldir, if that’s what you think I’ll play along, but I’m willing to bet this is nothing more than another mundane case of arcane Jewish interventionism. The Zionist Crimes Unit should be handling this one, not us. I bet we’ll read about the solution to the case in Reuters even before we get there.”

“Believe me Scuhli, there is more to this case than meets the eye. Now, our ride to Gaza leaves in an hour, we’ll need to keep a low profile and work under cover, so we’ll be traveling in a Red Crescent van… as usual.”

Faruq Household, Gaza, Palestine

“Thank you for letting us into your home Mrs. Faruq. I know the local authorities have already questioned you thoroughly on the matter of your son’s passing, but there are still a few unanswered questions.”

“Of course, I’m glad that I can help you, but I can’t understand why this case is still open. Isn’t it obvious to you people who the culprits are?”

“Of course Mrs. Faruq, its just that there are a few questions remaining. Would it be alright if we took a look at Aziz’ room?”

“Of course, please follow me. It was here that I last saw my beloved son. He was working on an explosive vest…….jihadism was his favorite hobby. On the day it happened, I heard a loud bang come from his room. At first I thought nothing of it… kids… you know… always playing with explosives, guns… grenades, and the like. Later when I went to fetch my dear Aziz for the evening meal, I found that he had vanished. All that was left were these charred markings on the walls. The dreadful truth hit me immediately……the Jews had taken him. I don’t know what else you expect to find here… but I will leave you to your work!”

“You know she’s right Mu’huldir, this case is cut and dry… it’s classic Zionist abduction… we’ve all seen it before. By now Aziz’ organs will have been sold on the black market and dispersed throughout the EU and America. Should I call Reuters? ”

“I’m not so convinced Scuhli…..I mean look at these burn marks, what could have possibly caused them? And what about the loud noise that Mrs. Faruq purportedly heard. I know that Aziz was young… but he was 14… a little old to be playing with grenades and such. And, look at this red coloration here…..and here. Could this be the blood of the young Aziz Faruq. No Scuhli, I don’t believe the Jews are responsible for this one.”

“What exactly are you suggesting Mu’huldir … and, are you sure you want to go there Mu’huldir … not the Jews… be careful… please?”

“I’ve read in western literature and news reports … accounts of bizarre accidental detonation involving inept would-be terrorists… I mean martyrs. Of course our government denies any such occurrences, but my sources inAmerica suggest that these incidents do occur, and more often than one would think.”

“But why Mu’huldir? Why would Allah allow such things to happen? It just doesn’t make sense!”

“I know it denies all that is reasonable and counters every bit of logic we have Scuhli… but you have to keep an open mind… even where the great Satan is involved. It’s why we’re here, and it’s why this is a J-File. Now, take a sample from the wall to the forensic lab. I am going to visit a few more of the families who’ve lost a son in this fashion. I’ll meet you back at the lab.”

Palestinian Police Forces, Gaza Headquarters-Forensics Unit, Gaza, Palestine

“Hello… Dana Scuhli!”

“Scuhli its Mu’huldir.”

“Mu’huldir, where are you? I’ve been trying to contact you.”

“I’ve been to the homes of several more of the victims. You’re not going to believe this Scuhli, but in every single case I found the exact conditions as we found in Aziz Faruq’s room. An interest in Jihadism, a pastime with explosives, and that strange charring … along with red coloration. Speaking of which, did you get back the results on that sample?”

“I did Mu’huldir, but something bizarre happened. When the sample was returned to me after I cleared it in through Riyadh, it appeared as though someone had tampered with the evidence. In fact, I don’t think I even got back the original sample. The tests came back saying that it was nothing more than paint.”

“But you believe that the samples have been altered….that someone is interfering with the investigation. Could the original samples have been blood Scuhli? That would support my self-detonation theory.”

“Blood! … do you know what you are saying Mu’huldir … this is not a secure line. Anyway, there is no way to say for certain exactly what that sample was.”

“Obviously someone is trying to hide the truth. But who?”

“Who indeed Mu’huldir…..maybe we’re just being paranoid here. What could possibly be the motive behind a cover-up like this? Unless… the Zionists are up to something besides organ theft… I didn’t consider that!”

“I can’t say for sure but…..wait one second Scuhli…….I’m special Agent Fox Mu…..Fatwa Bureau of……..stop STOP!…”

“Mu’huldir? Mu’huldir!”

Gaza Central Hospital, Gaza, Palestine

“It’s a lucky thing that patrol unit found you when they did Mu’huldir, your attacker left you in pretty bad shape.”

“Attackers Scuhli. One of them got my attention while the other blindsided me. They were professionals Scuhli, I didn’t see it coming.”

“Zionists?”

“Possibly. Who ever it was, they obviously aren’t interested in having this case solved. This file just took a very interesting turn….”

“Actually, the case is a dead end, as far as we’re concerned. Riyadh pulled us off the case Mu’huldir.”

“What? … Did they give a reason why?”

“They said we were needed back in Saudi Arabia, though they weren’t specific.”

“Obviously this conspiracy goes up much higher than I first thought. Someone desperately wants these self-exploding jihadists to disappear, and I don’t think the Jews have anything to do with it.”

“Come now Mu’huldir, you can’t prove any of this… and you forget just how powerful the Zionists are… for all we know they have infiltrated Riyadh!”

“ We just can’t say Scuhli… not yet at any rate … but the truth is out there!”

Celestial Junk Q&A

Over the years, our once humble blog has grown considerably in popularity and notoriety. Once declared “the mad traditionalist ramblings” of two redneck Bohemian Neo-Con “nut jobs” by Dick Cheney, Celestial Junk is now renowned around the world for its “inexplicably juvenile” reporting and “frankly, odd” writing style.

For instance, said pundit Mark Steyn in private conversation with the Cjunk duo Paul and Junker, “Like my assistant already explained to you gentlemen, I’m only signing my books, and I certainly wouldn’t sign your copy of Mein Kampft under any circumstances, now please move along, there are many others waiting behind you.” A master of prose, truly Steyn’s words capture the very essence of Celestial Junk.

With an ever-growing fan base there is a naturally increasing demand for information about the blogging phenomenon that is Celestial Junk. While our feature Celestial Junk: Between the Posts did much to quell the insatiable demand for Cjunk gossip by Junkies (Cjunk fans), we are still continually bombarded with questions. As surely as our mailbox is filled with Cease and Desist letters, Plagiarism Lawsuit declarations, and Restraining Orders from popular right wing pundits, so to it is filled with fan mail and a plethora of questions about CJunk.

So, with much pleasure, we have taken it upon ourselves to post a few of those letters, and answer them to the best of our abilities. Enjoy, and for all you Junkies out there, remember, “Live Long and Procrastinate”.

Q: As a Psychiatrist and fellow writer, I’m curious about where you guys get your ideas? I mean, seriously, what sort of mental instability or childhood trauma produces such twisted, malicious, and scatological editorials? Even as a trained Psycho Annalist and doctor, I cannot even begin to hazard a guess. Please seek professional help.

P.S. I do owe you a minor thanks of sorts; your works provided the cornerstone of the thesis in my Masters term paper Irrational Neurosis and Acute Immorality in Modern Man. Thanks, I guess.

Dr. Diana Thompson
(Address withheld)

A: Hahaha. We’re glad to see the CJunk tradition of wit and humor in writing is alive within our readers. In answer to your question about our inspiration, it would take an entire article to answer completely as we draw our ideas from a plethora of sources. To name just a few: the poetry of Genghis Khan, Hustler magazine, the woefully undervalued Carrot Top, The New Yorker, Rush Limbaugh, the personal memoirs of Henry IIX, The Davinci Code, and country music virtuoso Kenny Rogers.

Q: In your article Malevolence and Satanic Ritual in Modern Liberals I feel that you did nothing to support a great many outrageous claims about the opposite side of the political spectrum. Among many wild accusations, you claim that Hilary Clinton is a Succubus in personal contact with Beelzebub, the New Democratic Party of Canada was founded by witches, and Bill Maher is a werewolf. Having presented these claims, you continued the article with a string of malicious, nonsensical curses and then recommended that your readers go out and purchase large amounts of garlic and a supply of silver bullets. I pray that this sort of insanity is not what has become of the Conservative movement.

Brian Smith
(Address withheld)

A: Well certainly we at Celestial Junk don’t expect to win 100% approval of our controversial articles, that’s why they’re called controversial. You win some and you lose some, it's all part of the business. Besides, we quite frankly don’t want the approval of blood sucking night stalkers like you Brian Smith. So take your Vampirism back to the Blue States where the rest of your wicked ilk lurks. I’m sure with a little monetary contribution the Democratic Party will have a coffin waiting for you. Now be gone dark one!

Q: Hello CJunk. Long time reader, first time writer-inner, and lifelong Junkie. I’d just like to say that your writing is truly an inspiration to me. Reading and re-reading your articles really helps make my time in the bunker fly by. Just like bayonet drills and Spam, you’ve become a part of my daily routine. More than that, you’re my motivation to continue the struggle against “the man”. Never stop writing.

P.S. I’m well armed with silver bullets in a variety of calibers, but I can’t help but feel this might not be enough. Any other suggestions?

Grand Deacon Carl Hobart
Little Falls, Minnesota

A: It’s good to hear from a true fan. And it never ceases to amaze us how many of our readers own their own bunker. As for your question, we have found that the continued verbal recital of a passage of Mark Steyn or Victor Davis Hanson is usually enough to dissuade the most determined Lib-Vampire. Thanks again for the encouraging letter Carl!

Q: The offices of Johnson and Weinstein, representing Mark Steyn, herby present to the above mentioned proprietors and owners of Celestial Junk an Order of Restraint. The details of the order, including full terms of restraint, are attached as Annex 1. Please refer to Criminal Code 11.216 section C for further details. This Order expires 30 Nov 2022. Be advised that this order is a completely separate legal matter from the pending aggravated assault trial involving the above mentioned party.

Johnson and Weinstein Law Firm
New York, New York

A: It’s nice to see that our old pal Mark Steyn hasn’t grown too “big” to write in once and a while, even if he does have his “people” doing the writing. Fantastic to hear from ya Mark! Hope everything is going well. We look forward to meeting you again in court, and hope you have time to throw the ol’ “John Hancock” on a few of our books.

Mein Clothes

An Analysis of Humanity’s Struggle against Fashion-ism in the 20th Century

It is certainly fair to say that contemporary fashion is a “cruel mistress” and a “double-edged sword”. One might go further and say that fashion is “man’s best friend” and you “cannot teach fashion new tricks”. And would it be a stretch to say that fashion is “always greener on the other side” and it “never falls far from the tree”?

Yes, yes it would be a stretch. More than that, it would be just plain assinine and more than a little bit juvenile. Still, I don’t think anyone could argue that classic maxims are underused in modern writing. I mean, if “I had a nickel for every time” I used a classic maxim …..well suffice to say they are “a dime a dozen”, though they certainly “won’t buy you happiness”.

Anyway, I digress! Fashion; more than any other human endeavor, has perplexed the masses. In fact, contemporary fashion has served to perpetrate more evil in this century than Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, and Hilary Clinton combined. Ok, ok, that may be overstating it a little; it’s a bit like saying “I could eat a horse”, or “that took forever”. In reality though, modern fashion isn’t nearly as malevolent as Mrs. Clinton ... I think. Still, I make no apology for the embellishment, and I really don’t think that anyone could argue that hyperboles is underused in modern writing. I’m sure that a “gazillion” people would agree with me on that point.

But I digress again, we must return to fashion. The problem can be traced, like so many of humanity's woes, to the 1960’s. Preceding that time, fashion was modeled largely on the Germanic peoples of central Europe. It was ridged, bland, humorless, conforming, and occasionally annexed the Low Countries. Men had a single type of efficient low drag business suit for all occasions (i.e. working at the office, cutting the grass, high diving, blitzkrieg, etc.), and women wore simple dresses. Those women looking for something a little more “risqué” would have their dress cut to reveal their ankles, though this was frowned upon.

And then the 60’s came along. Suddenly men everywhere were adorned in seizure inducing tie-dye t-shirts and all revealing Jim Morrison-esque skin tight pants. Dresses became shorter and shorter until they commonly ended just above the navel. I can hear now a multitude of male critics shouting back at me that this doesn’t sound like a bad thing at all. To them I respond that the lack of shaving and general higene within the hippy movement made it much worse than it was good ... I think.

Soon the 1970’s were upon us, and fashion didn’t improve in the least. The advent of petroleum based synthetic leg wear allowed for even tighter fitting pants. No longer was it left to your imagination which side your buddies “dressed” on. And just like Jim Morrison before him, John Travolta took it upon himself to reveal his “package” to the world in Saturday Night Fever. Those who turned and tried to flea in horror usually ended up tripping on the excess fabric of their bell-bottoms. The resulting falls, amplified by the extra height of platform shoes often left them with broken limbs or crippling cranial concussions. The damage would have been much worse were it not for the thick luxurious shag carpet of the period. How such a hazardous state of fashion was reached is unclear, although I am certain that the excess amount of cocaine at the time had something to do with it. Also, much of the blame surely falls squarely on the Rick Dees' Disco Duck.

Nonetheless, human beings are resilient creatures, and they managed to weather the fashion horror that was 1970’s. Little did they realize that a new wave of terror was about to be unleashed. Bizarre and uncanny apparel like scrunch socks, leg warmers, parachute pants, and crooked baseball caps soon swamped the masses as time marched into the 1980s. It was a time of chaos and unbridled stupidity. With practically no time to adjust, we awoke and found that all rules of implied communal contract and social norm were thrown out the window.

With frightening swiftness, it was suddenly OK to “wear your sunglasses at night”. People everywhere were “cutting footloose”, and it was “hip to be square”. You could “dance if you wanted to, you could leave your friends behind” and “We” could all be “heroes”, but “just for one day”. And speaking of David Bowie, the king of confusing femininity took it upon himself to carry on that Jim Morrison tradition and divulge his bulge in The Labyrinth with nipple high, skin tight, body-hugging overalls. This single appearance embodied everything that was inexplicable and protruding about 80’s fashion.

Later in that decade, fashion conceived a deadly new delivery device ... the Super-Model. Contrary to their lofty title, Super-Models do not in fact possess super-powers. At least, I don’t think their abilities can be classified as super-powers. I for one cannot imagine Dr. Doom or The Green Goblin being defeated with tobacco addictions, pouting faces, and anorexia. The rise of the Super-Model lead to a plethora of confusing fashion TV shows in the preceding decade. Mystifying more than anything else, these shows featured emaciated young European women walking upon elongated oval runways, draped scantily in what I can best discerned to be fishing nets and small bits of exotic fruit.

While each model was doing her best to walk like a man, a voiceover was done by a mildly excited Englishman with a lisp, who made perplexing statements like, “Giovanti’s spring collection did more than turn a few heads, it took Paris by storm last week, where his playful ensembles featured a theme of contradiction and rebirth. Subdued mauves and spunky periwinkles clashed playfully for an uber-retro downtown chic look that seems to say ‘I’m too hot to wear’ ”.

Personally, I understand statements like this about as much as I understand a fax tone. The writers of these monologues are clearly batshit crazy.

Currently, the modern fashion crisis has waned somewhat. While full grown, thinking, and breathing adults, can still be found voluntarily adorned in cowboy boots and 8 gallon hats, they are mostly confined to the Midwestern states, Alberta, and bad network action/dramas featuring Chuck Norris. Likewise, while models still plague us, we have found secondary uses for them, such as acting in bad zombie movies. As well, while retail outlets like The Gap and Abercrombi and Fitch still present a large problem, one finds reassurance and comfort in the comeback of durable and dependable plaid at Mark's Work Wearhouse.

All in all, I think its safe to say that fashion is headed in the right direction. I am personally doing my part to mend the situation by writing silly articles on the subject that use as many clichés as possible.

Everybody Fops

Modern Day Fops

The peculiar post-contemporary idiosyncrasy known as “metrosexuality” certainly holds a place among the most memorable of modern man’s inventions. The idea was simply suggested, and decades of the feminization of modern man primed the perfect soil into which the seeds of metrosexuality were planted. With the seeds being lovingly nurtured by the likes of Ricky Martin, Keith Urban, and Tom Cruise, there was no stopping the craze.

The concept of a metrosexual is easy enough to grasp, yet the deeper you delve into the notion, the harder it is to understand. A man in a flowery silk shirt and Cabin Creek Charcoal Flat Front Stretch Cord Chinos is a simple concept on the surface. However, when you dig deeper you are forced to ask why said male spends $150 for his “totally ‘feugo’” haircut and highlights.

Furthermore, what madness drives him to spend an hour in front of the mirror each morning gelling it just so. Considering that silk shirt is a “GAP Original” it is safe to assume that our test subject entered The Gap, an altogether inexplicable act in itself. Finally, what mental anguish coerces him into Starbucks to order Tall Decaff Mocha Frapachino Americanas instead of the sacred simplicity of a ‘Timmies double double’?

To be sure, this example of a metrosexual is a baffling case study, but to be fair, it is not unique. Each individual case of metrosexuality is equally puzzling. The budding scientific field of metrosexology has taught us this, among many other things. Building on the research done by the world’s premier metrosexuologists, I recently funded a new branch of scientific methodology. This new field of study, Anthropogenic Metrosexuology, is the study of the origins of metrosexuality. The results of my studies, while still preliminary, are shocking to say the least.

What my research has unveiled is this; the origins of metrosexuality lay not in 1994 with columnist Mark Simpson’s coining of the term, nor do they lay in the parachute pants and scrunch socks of the 80’s, the openly Village People adoring 70’s, or even the brazenly flowery, though at times malodorous, 1960’s.

Allow me to quote a paragraph from an earlier paper I penned entitled “…not gay, metrosexual”:

... we should realize that, despite the “modern”, “enlightened” metrosexual claims, it is not a new fad. Terms like "prissy" and "dandy" were invented long ago to describe those practically gay among us. Indeed, I expect that with the rise of metrosexuality, we will see an increase in the use of classic maxims like “look at that prissy” and “yeah, he’s a real dandy boy”. Looking at times past, we should realize that 400 years ago the average fellow could be spotted wearing skin tight leggings, bulbous shirts, and copious amounts of make-up, just like the modern day peculiarity, Ricky Martin.

My research has also exposed the fact that mankind goes through certain natural fluctuating periods of metrosexual ambiance swing, similar to global temperature shifts. The last major peak of activity occurred during the Victorian era, when “fops” and “prissy boys” roamed freely through the modern world. Found adorned in foot high top hats and puffy front silk dress shirts, the common 19th century fop was rarely found outdoors and could often be heard “guffawing” or “pssshoffffing” at the droll quips of his equally foppish mates.

Fops were also responsible for conceiving brutally complex names for the simple new inventions of the era. Examples of this include the Horseless Aluminium Aero-Steed (airplane), the Tubular Heluminium Aero-Yacht (zeppelin), the Petroleum Fueled Hydro-Zeppelin (submarine), the Metallurgical Garment Clasp (zipper), the Distance Amplifying Corded Voice Purveyor(telephone), and the Foot-Propelled Metallurgical Traveling Mount (bicycle).

Naturally, this leads us to the question of when the current metrosexual trend will diminish. As the world’s leading expert on the matter, I frankly confess that there is no certain way of telling. While the resurgence of uber-manly endeavors like Rambo and Walker: Texas Ranger by the anti-metros Sylvester Stalone and Chuck Norris respectively suggest a decline, the continued existence of Boy Bands and American Idol suggest just the opposite. The only sure path for humanity to follow at this point is to draw strength from the stoutness of our ancestors, who weathered their own global metro crisis, and to continue relentlessly ridiculing the metros among us.