Political Humor

How it all started

In what has to be the oddest gift exchange I’ve ever been involved with, Chris C decided that I would get zip while demanding that I find a pet hippie for Fiar. For those of you who don’t know, the master of this  satire domain has a penchant for punching hippies, thus the “gift”.

Since I just learned that Fiar already has a pet hippie, I suspect my gift is supposed to be a companion for it. I guess hippies do better in captivity if they have a playmate.

As I’ve mentioned before, I live in a climate where hippies can’t survive during the winter. They migrated south, leaving hippie sign as they go. It’s easy enough to track them but being a bright guy, I decided to use my head instead.

The thought process went something like this:

What could I do to entice a hippie back this way?

My first idea was to claim that man made Global Warming had converted the area to a tropical paradise. The problem with this was that hippies are pack animals; they tend to stuff too many of them into vehicles that simply wouldn’t make it through the snow.

They’d all just get stuck somewhere and freeze to death since they’d only be wearing tie-dyed T-shirts, sarongs and flip-flops. At least it wouldn’t become another Donner Party, or Uruguayan soccer team, being vegetarians and all.

Not that having them turned into solid blocks of ice is bad thing mind you, but Fiar would hurt his fist punching on a frozen hippie. Or worst, it would thaw in the mail, leaving a nasty, pulpy mess. Again, not an acceptable gift.

So getting an intact hippie up from warmer climes wasn’t going to happen.

Next I tried the Internet. I’m pretty good at searching the web. Wow! Some of the stuff I came across was rather scary. Try as I may, in the end my quest proved futile. Apparently, you simply can’t buy a hippie on-line and have ‘em delivered. The SPCA claims it’s cruelty or something. Strike two.

My mind wanders

I was bound and determined not to strikeout. What a funny saying. Bound and… sounds like the writings of the Marquis de Sade. I wonder if JumpOut celebrates his birthday? It’s June 2nd and not much else happening that time of year… Stop it!

Think. Think. Think. I can’t buy one and I wasn’t going to get Mohammad to come to the mountain, so maybe I could put the mountain on top of him instead. Sorry, that’s for a different post.

Desperation sets in (or if at first you don’t succeed, lower your standards)

OK, I could drive to San Francisco and… no way. I’m not going anywhere near the people that continue to keep Nancy Pelosi in office. Maybe head down to the Black Rock Desert of northern Nevada and see if there are any leftovers from last summer’s Burning Man? Problem is that all the recent rain and snow must have turned the playa into a quagmire deeper than that national debt and the schemes to spend our way out of recession.

Then it hit me. Fiar is not too far from New York City! The French visit the Big Apple from time to time! He could get a Frenchman instead! Yeah I know, gender bias. While I’ve  never met his lovely bride, the way he says “yes dear” to her when he and I have talked on the phone… A Frenchman it is.

But wait you say. A French dude is not a hippie. Au contraire mon frere. The similarities are so striking as to make them kissing cousins. Yuck!

Let me show you

• Hippies and the French distrust work, so they do as little as possible. They’re damned lazy.

• The women of neither group shave their legs or pits.

• The French drink wine, hippies drink wine.

• After all the wine drinking the French piss in the streets, hippies ditto.

• Both smoke a lot cigarettes despite the massive amount of harmful toxins released into the atmosphere, which will kill off all life on the planet.

• They all wear perfume; French men call theirs cologne, hippies call theirs petiole.

• The French and hippies hate America and love socialism.

• Berets are de rigueur for each group. Hippies are too stupid to make nice ones, so they knit theirs from lint they find between their toes when they wear socks with sandals.

• Both think art is a dog vomiting on the sidewalk.

Let’s speed this up. If you’re still not convinced that they are the same creature then look at some of the other things they have in common.

The French and hippies both:

• Drive ugly little, piece of s#1t cars or underpowered vans.

• Believe in man made global warming.

• Won’t fight for almost any reason or if they do, they surrender at the first opportunity.

• Think everyone else is wrong. Period.

• Adamantly believe the universe pivots on their opinions.

• Are totally into philosophy and are determined to convert you to theirs.

• Smell bad from not bathing, puking up wine, smoking cigarettes and wearing too much perfume.

Nuke a hippie! Punch-out France!

So Chris, if you still think Fiar needs another pet to slug, you don’t live all that far from New York  City either. Go get the gift your damn self. I’m through with Christmas.

Since Les didn’t get anything for Christmas he’s slunk back to his satire and humor blog, Sideshow Mirrors but he’ll be back next Monday, if someone ask nicely.

Although there is a definite politically conservative slant to this site, we mostly take a viewpoint that politics and politicians suck in general. This weekly feature is designed to make a little fun of the political discourse throughout the rest of the week, by taking an absurd position over an equally absurd topic.

In keeping with the tradition of this flame war parody, pick a side, and be just a little (or a lot) too partisan about your position.

This week’s topic:

What inflicts more pain on dirty hippies: punching them in the face, or driving through their zen rock garden with an SUV?

Discuss.