HOLLYWOOD — Tommy Wiseau, director of acclaimed movie The Room, was found dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound after his former girlfriend came forward with her account of the real life events which inspired The Room. Jolene McKinsey, Wiseau’s former fiance, told Internet Chronicle reporters, “I would say that The Room was based on our relationship, but Tommy’s reversed the roles. He slept with my best friend and was a cheap drunk. The only part he got right was how he couldn’t get aroused without humping my chest and abdomen.”
Many details of Tommy Wiseau’s personal life have formerly been a mystery to fans of The Room, but McKinsey told all. “Tommy is actually blonde and he made his money running opium and hashish from Afghanistan to his hometown in Austria and selling it to his friends in France. After 9/11, Tommy pulled a fast one on some of his Afghan business partners and wound up with a secret fatwah issued for his assassination by Al-Qaeda. So Tommy hid all his money in a Swiss bank and fled to America and he’s been laundering the Al-Qaeda drug money since, with all sorts of idiotic schemes. He thinks dying his hair black will fool the terrorists. They’ll kill him and make it look like a suicide, like in his movie.”
Greg Setero, who starred in The Room, recently released a book detailing his involvement in the $6 million production of the movie. When asked whether or not Tommy Wiseau could possibly have led a former life of crime, Setero said, “Suddenly all the strange questions I’ve had about Tommy make sense. May Tommy rest in peace.”
The hooded figure’s glance darted fearfully from behind mirrored shades, as if the white picket fences contained some menacing invisible hell hounds. The heat and humidity of Arkansas’ summer was oppressive, and under his heavy hoodie Justin Bieber sweated and stank. He felt like Trayvon Martin, just minutes before a paranoid neighborhood watchman shot him to death, smiling wryly as he popped Skittles in his mouth and sucked on them obsessively. A door slammed open, and Bieber winced automatically at the shriek of a teenage girl.
She knew the name of every piece of clothing Justin Bieber had ever worn, and she recognized his gait from a long, scientific study. She instagrammed a photo of Bieber to her neighborhood friends who helped her track him on his suspicious walk. Texting furiously at her smartphone and pausing only to swipe her hand dramatically across her moistening nether region, she drew up airtight plans to accost Bieber.
The girls assembled in the hollow of a shrubbery, tittering and moist with excitement. Their supernatural attention focused on small beams of light piercing the bush, and with one bright flash of sunlight from Bieber’s mirrored shades, the quivering girls whispered shrieks and shook each other in disbelief. “It’s him,” she whispered, regaining some sanity, “Remember the plan. Wait until he’s right next to us, then Jenna, you grab one leg. Norah, grab the other. Petra, Elisa, get his arms and I’ll jump on his back.” Olivia swiped her hand between her thighs reflexively and went a bit cross-eyed, her attention still focused on the approaching figure outside the bush.
With all the seriousness and practiced efficiency of a SWAT team clearing a compound full of armed militants, the girls latched onto Bieber, who swung around in a futile attempt to escape their clutches. The girls shrieked at first and then moaned deep heaving gasps interspersed with cries of elation. As Norah and Jenna wrapped their legs tightly around his they ground their hips desperately into his shins. Elisa and Petra separated their small, firm breasts between his shoulders as they groped his chest, and Olivia leaped onto his back letting loose an agonized yelp from the totally unexpected first sexual climax of her life.
Justin Bieber’s wiry frame bulged into something resembling a professional bodybuilder fresh off a starvation and dehydration cycle, his skin nothing but a thin sheet barely concealing the heavily striated muscles beneath. Bieber roared like Goku ascending to Super Saiyan. A gust of wind, which may or may not have been generated by his transformation, blew back his hood and set perfect golden hair waving free in the wind. Norah and Jenna came at the same time, sobbing tears of joy which streamed down the skin exposed by the torn jeans on his powerful upper legs. He cupped his hands between Elisa and Petra’s crotches, lifting them with another triumphant roar, and they too went limp with satisfaction.
Olivia and the other girls felt a bit disgusted now that they were relieved of their primal instinct and tried to let go or at least loosen their grip a bit. Bieber’s laugh, deep and punctuated like M. Bison or Ganondorf, echoed through the suburbs, causing at least ten dogs to go into fits of terrified barking. The girls began to cry and scream in terror, and Bieber’s bellowing laughter grew deeper and louder, and his muscles expanded around the girls, who quickly became silent as their faces went dark. The bodies of the girls contorted into unnatural postures and responded to Bieber’s body as if a part of his musculature. The new hulking body twitched and then flexed. Bieber stretched his new gigantic body before striding out of the balmy Arkansas suburbs and into hills dotted with gleaming white plantation homesteads.
Justin Bieber, having absorbed the powers and bodies of the teenage girls, stood well over fifteen feet tall and left a path of destruction just as wide. One man was killed after Bieber picked him up and smashed him into the pavement, three cats were trampled to death, and a child was killed when Bieber punted him over his roof. Justin Bieber’s voice rang with perfect pitch across the hills of Arkansas, “We will never-ever-ever be apart. I was like Baby, Baby, Baby. Ohhhhh. Like, Baby, Baby, Baby. Noooo. Like, Baby, Baby, Baby. Ohhhhhh. Thought you’d always be mine, mine.”
Bieber’s loping casual stride was no different than the one that had allowed Olivia to identify him, as she would later recall under hypnosis. Unconscious, she had acted only to augment his back muscles, an especially fortunate position which allowed her to escape the disfiguring trauma inherent in acting as the arms and legs of a rampaging monster. In court, it was later determined that this killing spree was simply a lead up to the attempted murder of President Bill Clinton, giving the jury leeway to convict Bieber of first degree murder. Olivia told the court that she had remembered, under hypnosis, that Bieber stopped in front of Clinton’s house for several moments and made “repeated motions, like he was jacking off or something,” before smashing a hole in the front of the house. She told the court, “I could see everything from over his shoulder and I helped him, like my arms were his arms kind of. I remember smashing Elisa and Petra through the top floor above the porch and feeling him kicking Norah and Jenna through the front door, where he found Bill Clinton in a panic. Justin grabbed Bill Clinton and held him up to his dick, rubbing him there for a second I guess. Then he threw Bill Clinton on the ground and peed on him. I didn’t remember any of this without the hypnosis, but I did remember kinda waking up when Justin’s muscles started to let go of me. It was like the piss stream onto Bill Clinton was emptying out his muscles or something. Justin was doing that creepy laugh, only it was getting quieter and smaller.” The terribly disfigured girls who had been Justin Bieber’s arms and legs cried at this moment, convincing the jury that capital punishment was entirely appropriate for this case.
Bieber had also taken the stand to claim the girls did not act as victims but rather as conspirators, both before and after the transformation and the murders. He pleaded to the judge, “I remember as little of the events as the girls do, but when I came to I wasn’t just peeing my multi-platinum piss on Bill Clinton. In fact, no matter how hard I tried I could barely get a drop of piss on him because the girls were jockeying for my urine with their mouths wide open, like baby birds in a nest. Most of their faces were smashed and bloody, but I just remember being so mad I couldn’t get a drop of piss on Bill Clinton. Fuck Bill Clinton.”
TOKYO — Japanese whalers have long targeted blue whale calves simply because the adult of the species is too large, but now a new technology allows a disguised submersible to harvest the milk that the culled infant whales cannot. When the blue whale calf is brought onto the deck of the whalers’ ship, a manned submersible which “swims” much like a baby whale is immediately dispatched to join the mother. Most of the time, the mothers cannot tell the difference and allow the submariners to pump many hundreds of gallons of milk from its breasts, a rare and prized commodity worth millions of dollars on the Japanese market.
“Japanese people have always enjoyed milk from aquatic mammals when it’s been harvested from a captured female, but free range milk, especially from the blue whale, is of a quality and flavor never found before,” said Dr. Yoichi Daiichi, an expert in aquatic mammals. “This milk can be transformed into a variety of top shelf products like cheeses, yogurts, and ice creams. We are witnessing the birth of a new industry with the potential to outproduce other milks! With careful management, we may be able to increase the numbers of blue whales in the oceans and provide millions with inexpensive free range blue whale milk.”
ROME — Pope Francis, the popular new pope known for humility and outreach to the poor, was shot down by an assassin Tuesday morning as he drove his small, unarmored car to work without the protection of the celebrated Swiss Guard. People of faith around the globe mourn the senseless death of Pope Francis and search for answers. No one has taken credit for the killing, but The Vatican is working with Italian police to investigate the shooting.
Pope Francis opened new dialogue with the long estranged Eastern Orthodox Church and the Islamic faith before criticizing the financial sector for idolatry of money. However, Pope Francis remained firm on the position that members of The Freemasons were still not acceptable to the Catholic Church, in continuance with the policy of Pope Emeritus.
Just one day before the shooting, Pope Francis told reporters, “The banksters running the world’s economy do so without answering to a higher authority and are in a state of grave peril. Their constant manipulation of the news media to maintain a profitable state of never ending false crisis is diabolical. Such deception is the work of Satan.”
Norm Macdonald appeared recently on Conan O’Brien to tell the Moth joke. Not surprisingly, it made the reddit frontpage.
Norm is probably the funniest guy not on television. He was kicked off Saturday Night Live for not being funny enough (explained in a video below). Then, the show started to suck so they asked him to host it less than two years later.
He’s had a few shows get cancelled because he just doesn’t belong on TV, where everyone wants to make him do their thing. Truth is, Norm is as much a comedian as he is a storyteller. Here are some of his stories, starting with the moth joke which aired on Conan the other night.
The moth story
Norm’s Bob Uecker story
Norm makes light of Steve Irwin’s death
Norm tells a story about his dad catching him smoking weed
INTERNET — Humans are entirely irrational and guided by unconscious compulsions rather than evidence, according to a new document leaked after hackers infiltrated the US Secret Psyop Command nestled within the NSA’s secrecy zone. Journalst Glenn Greenwild reported, “Now that we have evidence of how the US is exploiting our irrational unconscious minds, we’ll finally be able to stop it once and for all.”
Famed blogger Randall Tartan called for Glenn Greenwild to release more evidence, “[Greenwild] has only shown us small fragments of the evidence, abusing the same irrationality that the Psyop Command does. What we need now is more evidence than ever so that the masses can rationally understand what it is that’s being done to them without their knowledge or consent.”
Internet Activists across the world were certain that this latest leak would be the “silver bullet” creating positive social change, if and only if it could garner enough attention among reality television viewers. Professor of Ascendant Philosophy Peter Judlow told reporters, “I think we can have the change we want if this story keeps popping up in the news every day until the end of time. The slow leak method of Greenwild is phenomenal because as long as people are conscious of their unconscious minds, then they can act more rationally than ever. Sadly, Randall Tartan is wrong to believe that mere evidence can produce this effect. What’s needed is constant manipulations and careful control of the evidence so it is framed in a way that is maximally frightening, triggering unconscious fears and irrational compulsions which will cause Reality TV viewers to continue reading Greenwild’s reports. I do believe this particular leak to be the final silver bullet for freedom.”
The red pill offers perfect transcendence to a reality – the only reality – where the human penis is both the conclusion and ultimatum of the natural universe, simultaneously. “She’s the cunt who thought she was God, but that’s okay. I don’t give a shit as long as she sucks me off when I tell her, ’cause she’s my zombie. I captured that motherfucker and she’s my cassette.” What Lebal Drocer Spokesman Raleigh T. Sakers means is there is no facet of existence the red pill can not touch, because if there was, then it wouldn’t be rape.
The Indian Example
India is a culture of rape.
In India, everyone is brought up fantasizing about rape. Instead of casually taking a few girls out on dates one month, boys are conditioned to view women as meat holes under a cloth drape. The rape is an honor of which women can only partake as unwillingly as is possible while still being able to call it an act of rape by definition. To be chosen for rape is every Indian woman’s calling in life. Like the Beatles said, “Rape is all ya need.”
India’s such a real place, the red pill philosophy is built into their way of life. Indians are literally born into enlightenment. And if you aren’t, then you’re what’s known as an untouchable (but not un-rape-able). Indian men who never transcended still mimic their sister aging western ideologues by “respecting” a woman’s “choice” who she has “sex” with, but for those who take the red pill, a choice has already been made. And if you’re a woman, you’re getting raped. Just try to act like you don’t enjoy it, for his pleasure.