Dood! You wouldn’t believe it if I told you. Ok, you would, because like most attention-seeking, publicist-controlled, pre-pubescent young starlets, Miley Cyrus has “sexy” new photos dressed in a bikini. And underpants! Awesome! Jail bait!
With presidential nominations up for bid, candidates are willing to take whatever competitive advantage they can get. While getting injected in the rear with horse steroids would not be give quite the advantage needed, apparently celebrity endorsements are just what the kind of doctor operating out of an unmarked white van would order. The main endorsements have come from Hollywood action stars so far past their sell-by dates that it’s like watching sentient mold recommend the next President of the United States. It is a bit unnerving and simultaneously silly. It is exactly like watching the movie Swamp Thing, if it was about the Reagan election campaign.
The year 2007, was, regrettably, a bit of a disappointment for the staff here at Slantmouth. While we did, indeed, manage to survive, and really, when you’re face to face with a year like 2007, that’s really all that can be expected.
Take it from the staff here at Slantmouth. Keeping up with the news is hard. I mean, it seems like every day something happens. Something new! Sometimes multiple things happen. It’s crazy. What with the war, the terror (oh, the terror), politics, babies having babies, babies aborting babies, babies eating babies, and um, the weather, it’s tough staying current. It’s bleeding exhausting. I often wonder how other fine news outlets like CNN, Fox, or MSNBC do it.
Freedom: a word that elicits feelings of passion. Feelings of patriotism. Feelings of pyromania. The great celebration of the founding of this glorious country stands before us and just like every year, the staff here at Slantmouth is going to spend it doing one thing: blowing stuff up.
There is something in the air. A scent of some kind. Oh, yes. That is the sweet, scandalous smell of a sex tape.
Honestly, it is not sweet. In fact, it makes a man’s very flesh crawl. You see, this is not your garden variety sex tape circling the media rounds. There are no marginally talented Hollywood socialites or urine soaked teenagers to amuse jaded internet pornographers. No. This tape is serious.
Hello, Gossip-bots. I’d like to have returned under better circumstances, but sometimes tragedy is the only thing that can break the spell white sand beaches and a Mai Tai have over me.
Anna Nicole Smith, the tabloid mainstay, passed away yesterday of undetermined causes. She was to gossip columns what groupies are to rock stars. She was always prepared to give us more of herself than we were really comfortable with, and afterwards we’d tell her to get the hell away because we had to take a phone call from our wife and kids.
Let’s face it: things have been pretty heavy lately. The President, muttering through an evening address to send more to Iraq, Israel threatening to nuke Iran’s nukes, and the big Dick Cheney dismissing the notion of a “war committee.” Yeah. It’s been heavy. Scary. Tyrannical, even. I have shouted, I have cursed, I have cried, I even wet myself a little. But this week, here at Slantmouth, we’re doing a good, old-fashioned news round up about everything except the war, government and politics. Hell, the rest of the news media seems to be trying to distract you from it, why shouldn’t we?
Wow. Today, Slantmouth is officially one year old. Our baby learned to walk, talk, and probably poop this year. We want to thank all of our dear, loyal readers, and in celebration of this momentous occasion, we bring you the First Annual Slanty Awards for Excellence in News Making! The committee was determined based on height, weight, social status, and smell. Taking a grueling twenty-three minutes to decide, our committee finally emerged victorious, having chosen the most important people of the year. These awards go to 2006’s top news figures, in no particular order of importance.
I’ll be honest. The last few days have worn me out. What with the death of James Brown, the Godfather of Soul, and the death of Gerald Ford, the under-elected wonder, my killing finger is, well, killing me. I know what you’re thinking, “What’s a Death Monkey doing killing humans?” Well, whenever Death comes down with a cold, or a mean case of Skeletal Gonorrhea, guess who has to step in? That’s right, the Death species that’s 99.9% identical. If I’m sick, they call in Death Dog, and trust me, you don’t want that, he just sniffs your crotch to death.
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