The Third World War on the Third World

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Got filthy Communism? Try Napalm

Now that the “War on Terror” has been declared officially over, President Hussein Obama has declared war on the Third World, which in fact has been going on since Vietnam. His policy of honesty has been met with complete apathy. America and its satellite nations are engaged in a campaign to eradicate any progress in developing countries which may threaten future corporate profit. Vietnamese, Iraqis, and Afghanis have learned how powerless they are as they drink Coca Cola in lieu of a clean water supply.

In America, things are very quiet.  Airplanes are loaded with Prozac and leave aerosol trails of obedience and submissive behavior in a perfect grid over the nation. The only people who seem to be capable of any type of outrage are only expressing it towards the most trivial changes in their lives. So-called “Tea Parties,” have shifted most of their vitriolic hate-protest towards the new Facebook layout.

Energy, Budget Cut, Tax, Lift American Spirits. A proper Tea Party.
Energy, Budget Cut, Tax, Lift American Spirits. A proper Tea Party.

Sarah Palin has gripped the reins of this hateful group and begun steering it towards her own agenda. Palin’s pseudo-revolutionary rhetoric has been ramped up tenfold by her newly discovered technique of writing and reading from her hand. Palin’s bestselling memoir Going Rogue: An American Life is now on sale at Wal Mart for a suspiciously low price. Originally “My Struggle: An American Life,” the title was changed by the publisher at the last-minute for an undisclosed reason.

In Italy, America has bastardized traditional Italian ingredients to form a “partially edible” new sandwich cleverly named the McItaly. This sandwich is obviously a collusion between McDonald’s and the highest levels of Italian government. Elf Wax sources have revealed McDonald’s plans for the McHaiti-a sandwich made entirely with misappropriated food relief. McHaitis will be distributed to crowds of hungry people with compressed air guns by employees dressed as Ronald McDonald, the Hamburglar, and other beloved McDonald’s friends.

God damn internet

Internet. You give me a lot of problems. But mostly you just give me solutions. Actually more problems.

Number one, I do not know what to masturbate to – you are just so full of surprises!

Number two, I can’t trust Wikipedia. Anybody can edit that shit! Come on now! That’s got to make it the worst source of reliable information since Pepsi’s homepage.

Lol_Internets

Number three, Google. WHAT THE FUCK YOU CONTROL INFORMATION, WAY TO GO. You are the Wal-Mart of the Internet.

Number four, Net Neutrality. You are the single most stressful term about the internet. I’d die protecting you, if I didn’t know you’d still be sold right out from underneath us, destroying freedom of speech and free enterprise as we know it.

Number five, you’ve changed the news. Like porn, you used to have to pay for the news in some way – even if it was just an advertisement on TV. Now, you don’t have to pay for shit. Way to go, internet. I won’t have a job after I graduate. But what the fuck do you care? With each keystroke, I’ve done a little more work for you – for free.

fuck-off-smokers

Number six – I just heard Barack Obama can take control over the entire internet in the event of a “data emergency” – Obama can privately Google himself in the dark now. He will start a blog about something that matters a lot to him. Or just look at porn. Note: this came from FOX News, so it is probably true. I did zero fact-checking for your convenience.

Number seven – you’ve dissolved friendships using fakebook and myplace. I have to commend you for this. I thought I’d never be able to keep an endless supply-chain of excuses going not to hang out with “friends.” Now that we’re always friends no matter what I do, I can ignore them forever and die alone! Just the way you told me I always wanted it.

Number eight – How in the Lord Fuck am I supposed to turn my back on you knowing you hold the entire wealth of collective human knowledge? I once stayed on the internet for four days, tripping on morning glory seeds and reading desperately about String Theory, believing I was looking God in the eye. Now, I can only live out my day-to-day “sunshine” life knowing that I’ve turned my back on the source of all things known so I can make pizzas, rent movies, and park old rich fuckers’ cars. I’m sorry Internet. I didn’t intend on having a real life. I promise to quit a job for you one day.

Number nine – youtube – what’s with the copyright bullshit? How long are we going to pretend like China doesn’t get away with piracy 1,000 times per second?

Which leads me to number ten: BIT TORRENTS!!! SWEET JESUS I BET THE SUPREME COURT WISHES THEY NEVER FUCKED WITH NAPSTER! TV shows, entire albums, fuck – whole discographies – of any band, whether they suck or not, are there for the taking. If Bit Torrent was a store at the mall, a mall that also had a GameStop, Best Buy, SunCoast Videos (or whatever that video store is called), and an adult book store, the Bit Torrent would act as a black hole and just fucking consume those wussy “capitalist ventures” in the name of EVERYBODY TAKE THIS SHIT BECAUSE IT’S FREE AND ONLY CHUMPS AND DUDES IN BANDS PAY FOR IT. “Support live music” is totally my thing. But I’ll download your album, if you just promise to come back to my city next year so I can pay to meet you. I don’t buy CDs. That’s for people who still watch MTV. Although I did buy that sweet stereoscopic Tool album. Great driving music! The whole album is listenable.

486px-Fuck_copyright.svg

And finally The Elf Wax Times – it’s got to be the best thing since marijuana, our top keyword. This place means more to me than season 22 of the Simpsons. Funnier than Nickelodeon’s “Doug.” Twice as entertaining as a new Law and Order. More culturally relevant than Monica Lewinski. More up to date than Weenus, Incorporated. Better than you. And huffing paint since 2008. FUCK YEAH GOLD BLING BLING – TASTE HEAVEN!

Staff Writer - Elf Wax Times
Staff Writer - Elf Wax Times

So fuck you, Internet. I have to be awake in three hours. Plus I’m drunk. Fuck you internet. You don’t understand me. Your whole operation is fuck you internet! I will kill you. After Hussein Backara shuts you down, I will choke you to death in a field. Stupid internet.

Google Elf Wax. Click “fuck you.” It’s gotta be an option there somewhere.

Facebook drinking at an all-time high

Drunkbook

The most legendary website ever to be used for pulling pussy has seen an increase in the number of people drinking alone at their computers and then announcing it through the News Feeding Trough.

The source of the problem, the U.S. Government said, is the sheer lack of anything enjoyable on the website, whatsoever.

“What’s with all the poking?” asked Norm Macdonald.

Miller Lite said that, paralleling reality, people in a virtual reality will turn to virtual alcoholism as a means of coping with its ordinary lameness. They seek a relationship that “Goes down smooth, and is not too filling.” Fulfilling, that is.

Other sources say that when compared to MySpace (a Rupert Murdoch subsidiary), there is a disproportionate amount of “smart chicks” to slutty easy chicks. “People just aren’t posting tits,” said a hunch-backed old masturbator named Larry.

More as this develops into a preventable disease.

Drunkerbook

Social networking sites lead to 'pregnancy and marriage by age 23'

Mediocrity
Jan Lewis, 29, and Felix Mulholland, 32, finally look happy together in their 9th attempt at a positive Facebook profile picture they now share.

Everett, Wa. – A new study shows social networking websites such as MyPlace and Fakebook are responsible for up to sixty five percent of unwanted, accidental long-term relationships.

John Andrews, 24, is one of many Everett area residents who found themselves attached at the hip to the previously unimaginable dregs of society.

Andrews said, “It’s true love. Sure, it’s codependency, but we love it. Truly.”

Demographers are alarmed by the growth in pregnancies reported in the first quarter of 2009. Over “seventy five percent” were “secretly intentional,” because most of the girls found on these sites see themselves as being “too socially awkward” or too lacking of a “positive self-image” to continue dating casually as normal people have done in the eons leading up to the internet. “So they just lay on their backs and let their revolving-door-style reproductive systems trade commitment for responsibility.”

The breeding of lazy, insecure women has reached unprecedented levels which ALR scientists believe led to a spike in obesity. The FDA, or World’s Largest Conflict of Interest, has reported a sharp increase in consumer spending on trendy medical treatments such as liposuction and gastric bypass surgeries.

Dane Ginjuns, the 48-year-old FDA researcher famed as “the world’s most bribable man,” said there was a direct connection between the poisons we eat in our food and the medicines needed to treat long-term illnesses such as Britney Spears’ Disease (diabetes) and cancer, the leading cause of death for /b/.

Additionally, many of these women are unwanted to begin with and will probably have to settle on child support as a means of survival since their inherent laziness is what got them into this mess to begin with.” Ginjuns continued, “The rest of these womens’ lives will probably be spent in a dark room behind a computer screen while their smelly, unlovable bastard children raise themselves on Jerry Springer and Hot Pockets.” Ginjuns eyes then lit up as he became visibly excited, and exclaimed, “Good Lord! Cash cows, that breed cash cows. We’ve struck a fine balance, haven’t we? Just goes to show that in America, any dream really can come true, just so long as it’s rooted in corruption–I mean capitalism–I mean–aww hell!”

Dick, Dedication, and the American Dream


Roanoke, Va.–This girl I liked when we were in ninth grade was really cute and had pretty green eyes. I told her one day as we were walking to the buses and she said ‘thank you.’ I never thought another thing of it because chasing tail, I decided, wasn’t my thing at that age. I still liked cartoons and videogames way too much to give all my energy to a time-vacuum like a girl and her problems.

Six years later, she came over to my close, personal friend’s house seeking heroin. Evidently, she’d found a boyfriend who uses heroin, and she herself got addicted so they could enjoy the drug together. What dedication! I can only imagine how poisonous their relationship together is. If you’ve ever seen Requiem For A Dream, you know what I’m talking about. Obviously, not every chemical romance is like that, but the movie is a very accurate depiction of how many of these kinds of relationships work out.

Now, I have a long-term girlfriend but she is not a painful soul-vacuum, nor does she any heroin – or any hard drug, for that matter. There’s a better way to keep a woman around without addicting her to a fatal drug, or so I like to think. I’d say that I’ve struck an almost psychologically unheard-of balance in which I get to be myself and happy with a woman at the same time. I get to play my videogames and have great sex, too. What’s more, I get to spend any or all of my time at the aforementioned best friend’s house on Bent Mountain because my girlfriend is not a succubus time-hog whose permission is required to fart.

Sometimes I go to my friend’s house and we just play videogames and talk about the latest Elf Wax and how epic it will be when the mainstream media bows to its superiority as the earth shatters under the weight of the resulting irony. Other times are spent watching as drunk, worthless chicks file in and out during the occasional party. It doesn’t happen often, because there’s always an active XBOX 360 in the room – a natural female repellent. But it still happens.

The other night, a girl came in and proclaimed, “I’ll get wasted tonight. I wanna get drunk and make a mistake. A mistake that makes babies.” I hadn’t noticed her until she said this. To me, women at parties are usually inconsequential, serving their benign purpose of making the men talk louder in their presence and nothing more. Also, they are good for starting fights, and beyond that, you’re lucky to bang one and forget about it. You never date these girls. This particular girl was your typical party slut. Kind of chubby because she is too dim to recognize a correlation between McDonald’s, beer, and her faltering appearance. Kind of slutty because the fatter a girl gets, the easier she has to be in order to compensate for her decline in received sexual attention.

So to what I thought was actually the fabled tongue-in-cheek wit coming out of a girl’s mouth, I yelled out, “Yeah, pregnancy, alright!” Nobody laughed. I guess (with good reason) they took her very seriously and the chase was on. Or perhaps they didn’t hear me, because it was funny and the way I said it was funny too, and nothing that leaves my mouth is short of genius. Regardless, I never took my eyes away from Nazi Zombies, at which I was brutally kicking the asses of the undead Wehrmacht.

Around me, cheap beers turned into cheap shots, and this girl got wasted, just like she said she’d do. Much unlike a woman, she stuck to her word, however I was still unimpressed because she hadn’t yet made any mistakes, aside from tipping the bong in the wrong direction and spilling filthy, stinking bong water into the couch cushions. I saw it. It was yellow coming out. Very old, putrid water. Not one oxygen molecule to be found in it. It stunk and made her stink because she’d also spilled it on her clothes. How gross.

The party continued. She flirted with the Brosephs and loved their ability to put unbroken sentences together (when college guys feel intellectually dominant, they like to talk in a loud, reverse-Seinfeld tonality). She revealed her true stupidity when she asked, “Where are you from?”

“They’re from a college, honey. Not a different state. Just not the Food Lion you work at.” My thoughts were growing cynical. It was time to play some killer jams. Oops, no good. The Brosephs took over tha party, bro. They’ve been in there tuning up for two and a half god damn hours and the drummer’s still sitting there twiddling his balls around. You gotta wait, bro. Bro. Dude. Gotta wait. “Get out of my god damn way and let a real musician play you fucking Modest Mouse-imitating honkies with your lame fail-minor chords and shit-eating cock-bang-the-drum-rhythms.” Rather than say this, I thought it, and chose to wait outside patiently by the campfire. The girl was there.

After begging everyone present at the party to take shots with her, one at a time, she still couldn’t bait an erection out of even the drunkest men, with the lowest standards. She had begun to embarrass herself by moving person to person, sitting in their laps and seeing if it took. Even after some very obvious lines of questioning, that went from, “I’m tired, I want to go to bed,” to, “I’m going to bed now,” to, “Do you like holding me?” to, “You want to come to bed with me?” she was having trouble getting results.

This worked on one guy. I knew his name because he played Nazi Zombies with me earlier and we shared victory. We got to level eleven together which had yet to be seen on this particular night, and so it felt good. He had originally showed up with a twenty-four pack of Bud Light, so he was drunk and getting drunker.

Sitting by the campfire and watching this pitiful scene between them in which she sat on his lap and he expressed his enjoyment of it, I thought, “This is it. She’s going to finally get fucked like the whore she is on one of those filthy beds in the back room. Won’t that be a pleasant Roanoke memory?”

Then, something interesting happened. He started playing hard to get. Not too hard, because I could tell he still planned to do something with her, if it was really going to be this easy, but he wanted to do it his own way, not hers. What he started doing was saying really funny shit to her, like “Sure, I’ll take you home, but you won’t like where home is,” and then he said something along the lines of, “That should correct your mistake.”

At this, the girl began crying. She’d already done this off and on throughout the night when no one would pay any attention to her. Still sitting on this guy’s lap, she looked around the campfire at a circle of unfamiliar faces, lastly at mine, then turned to the only other girl present, her friend who she showed up with, and begged her to call some one and have her come pick them up.

Almost simultaneously, a bearded man appeared in the doorway of the house – a violent drunk who’d passed out early but knew this girl personally. He approached her with two gallant strides across the yard, asking her, “Do you want me to make you feel really good?” Her eyes melted from personal ownership to childish submission as he took her around the side of the house, where the two were not seen again for at least an hour. The girl disappeared. Chris, my Call of Duty partner, said nothing. Simply opened another beer and enjoyed the company of friends, as he’d been doing before the girl materialized in his lap.

The party was over. I went to sleep and woke up sick. Sick, because I smoked from the same bong as that filthy petri-dish of a girl from the middle of the state. Some unknown, unnamed hick town smaller than this one. The only kind of place capable of producing a dispirited character so familiarly squalid and lacking of common sense or decency. A desperate fat sow whose social success hangs on her ability to fuck someone new at every alcoholic gathering. The product of boredom due to excess. Of a lesson learned in which doing nothing equals doing something as long as a dick still penetrates her at the end of the night.

Hers was a life that led her to pouting her ass around, like a cat in heat, for the first burred penis whose instincts could safely guide it into the dark hole at the end of the tunnel-vision. First shaking it in front of this lap, and then that one, and another one only to be swept up by a surprise male she didn’t expect. But it makes no difference anyway, because she’s chosen the life of a vapid, disease-ridden drunk whore with no inspired future and ugly, meaningless friends, yet retains the ability to carry around a false sense of daytime dignity because she attends a community college somewhere.

A girl who has everything and gets nothing out of it. Has nothing good to say but is feverishly pounding texts out of her cell phone. Knows nothing even though she has the Internet, because she only uses it for Facebook and MySpace.

A girl who will never find this highly-detailed account of her actions, even though I wrote elfwax.com down on a slip of paper and threw it into her purse when she wasn’t looking.

God Bless America. And God Bless The Elf Wax Times.