Trump ruins a child's birthday party

Not again
Donald Trump was rushed from a residential home engulfed in flames after twitter spat with a suburban Soccer mom predictably spiraled out of control, and left a birthday boy and his family homeless. It also turns out that the President has used children's parties to settle many scores in his personal, political and businesses life, but has used mountains of hush money, private investigator, and one very unsettling calm psychopath, to keep this fact from the media and law. Furthermore, immediately after being escorted from the property by secret service, the President Tweeted:

"Dillans mom is a whore, all I added was that she would probably enjoy being raped by a Mexican on account of her husband, I defended myself, if you call me an @$$hole, I set fire to your child's BP, and impede the arrival of the fire dept with my motorcade, god bless  #MAGA  "

It should be noted, Arnoldo, Dillan's father, is Puerto Rican, and a very gentle human being, and that even as the fire was being put out Trump stuck around to encourage people to crap on the Jimenez's lawn, and "if they have balls" to beat their pets to death, tweeting a gif of a dog being beaten to death from a banned Czech pet snuff site, that had been archived on "Alt-Right Nazi Nation", which the president reads for unspecified context.

While the racist name calling and bald allusions to rape after an obvious attempt to intimidate a suburban mom by showing up at her child's birthday party to insist on a boxing match with her 7-year old son, this reporter would like to take a moment to focus on the 7-Year old Dillan Jimenez, who defeated a 71 year old man, standing at 6 foot 2 inches, in under a minute, and we were able to get this written response from Dillan:

" I really liked beating up the President, he is a jerk who tries to make my mom cry, and then he did set our house on fire while he was crying after we fought, but I got to punch him a lot of times, in his balls, in his face, his throat, and kidney's, after a little bit my mom made me stop punching him. I wish I was still punching him, and I could punch him as long as I like, even if he got a few in I would still enjoy punching him, and even though he burned all my birthday presents, I got to punch the President! When I grow up I might be a boxer, but I don't know if I like punching people who aren't Trump, but if I do become a boxer, I will be a famous one, because I already beat up the President."

The statement was included with a crayon picture of Dillan kicking Trump while he is curled up on the ground crying, while Dillan's house burns in the background.


Happy Albanian Independence Day!

105 Years of Albanian Independence (as Independent as you can be in the Balkans) All Hail Zog!!!
(Albanian time, several hours in the future...)Whether you are Gheg, a Tosk, or some freaky Croatian Arbanasi tubing down the Shkumbin,  its time to celebrate Albanian Independence, so throw on some Iso-Polyphonic Albanian tunes, hoist an effeminate European style glass of Rakia and shout out "You Albania, give me honor, give me the name Albanian", which I am sure makes more sense in Albanian. Whether it's the nations surprisingly diverse flora, fauna, or its large indigenous population of cannibalistic gypsies, Albania and its wacky history have something for everyone, especially professional kidnappers.

Visitors can tour one of the nations many scenic soviet era bunkers, all hail Hoxha!
While the Nation had a weird relationship with fascist Italy, had a King Zog, and a First Secretary Hoxha running their country, they aren't as different from you and me as you might think, or want to believe. Sure they get 95% of their energy for Dams run by former bond villains, their primary Christmas character is Kallinkantzaros (Pronounced "Who-the-fuck-cares") a cloven foot demon who haunts the twelve days of Christmas, and and their surprisingly late in the game founding myths, but they are still one Holiday Special away from 21st Century normal...almost anything is.
A proud Illyrian spreading her wings 
Alright, so lets address the elephant in the Room, the only reason we aren't celebrating Albanian Independence day as that absolute opposite of 9/11, drunkenly, wildly, streaking through our work place wearing nothing but a plastic goat mask, with a shotgun, firing rock salt rounds into cubicles while singing the Albanian national anthem, Albanophobia, the only sensible conclusion the world can come to. While most people in the field of deep Albanian research, the kind that live in monastery like vaults meant to perpetuate an especially pristine niche form of knowledge, even if your castle/village/nation is ravaged by supernatural horrors, or Serbians, they are pretty interchangeable, have come to the conclusion that albanophobia, once  relegated to the greasy, sleazy, yet significant, portion of Greeks and I-Talians, has gone mainstream, with many college campuses actively participating in "Punch an Albanian Day", which resulted in many fruitless searches for Albanians to lynch (as in mob vigilante justice, its not just hangings), they just decided to go look for Zionists down at the Hillel house.

Your Albanian mother would like you to stop arguing and eat, because they are mothers, and they worked really hard on this dinner 
So whether your celebrating Albanian Independence Day as a shit stained thumb in the eye of Albanophobes everywhere, but especially in Greece, Italy, and most importantly, Serbia, or to rise up our Kosovo brothers, or perhaps just maybe, we can try and build a new Albanopolis on a hill, a new compact, like the current Albanian Constitution which was also ratified on November 28th, probably for propaganda purposes, but more spiritual and less of a response to a switch from communism to capitalism, that would cool. In short, happy 105th Albanian Independence Day, even though you were occupied by Italians during WWII.


Sasselbacks is open on Thanksgiving!

One thing anyone knows about the Sasselbacks is that they are hard working folk, who love two things, meat slow cooked to perfection, and having sex with their cousins. Whether it is a whole hog sizzling in their pit, or a good nature roll in the hay with a buck tooth childhood friend, the Sasselbacks have been doing it for generations, and do'in it right.

Interesting fact, according to the bible, we all descended from cousin @#$%ers

Opened  in 1903 by Elias and Jezebel Sasselback, of the West Virginian Sasselbacks serving pork and beef ribs, brisket, pulled pork, chicken thighs, a variety of homemade sides, and public displays of affection that where entirely out of place in that setting and era, and a relationship between cousins that was entirely inappropriate in most human communities, throughout time, but Sasselbacks will be Sasselbacks. From those early, unsanitary, and occasionally moist origins successive openings of the Sasselbacks in 7 states and Canada, family owned and run, have kept the family very busy.

Put it in your mouth

Have you had breakfast, if not you are OK, kind of stupid, but we still got you covered, Sasselbacks are now opened 24 hours a day and serving a 3 star breakfast from 4am to 11am, one of the stars was taken off for an issue with the hollandaise sauce, don't order the hollandaise, I mean, unless your into it. Giant stacks of blueberry pancakes, omelettes cooked to perfection, and an attitude that is so pro-family it makes most people uncomfortable, make Sasselbacks the perfect place for a family on a road trip to feed everyone on the go, or two star crossed cousins looking for a place to explore their relationship away from judgmental aunts and uncles, Sasselbacks is here for you bro.

Figuring they would all be spending the Holiday stuffing turkey, making things sizzle, and having sex with cousins they haven't had sex with since last Thanksgiving, why not do it while making some money at the Tucson restaurant?  This Thanksgiving  ignore the trappings of genderless robots in a hyper nationalistic atmosphere who only see the holiday as a ploy to lure humans into the sell-box, whereas the Sasselbacks know the joy of seeing ones family around them, happy and healthy, with us another year, and, you know, the Cousin thing.


Trump secretly consumes pardoned Turkeys

"When you depersonalize a Turkey, and view it as an object, an object for pleasure and not a living breathing Turkey, it seems to make it easier to do things you shouldn't do..."

The President publicly pardoned  "Drumstick", and "Wishbone", but that act, it seems, has condemned them to a delicious, savory, death. In yet another "Presidential" first Trump has killed, cooked, and consumed the pardoned birds, and he has indicated that is just the beginning when he first met the "pardoned" animal:

"Wow, wow, big bird! That's a big bird! are we allowed to touch? Wow, I feel so good about myself doing this [5 minutes of heavy breathing as he fondles the bird, and then in a husky voice] Hey Barron, do you want to get in on this"

While sources close to the President are unsure if he accidentally killed the bird, and then ate it, discovering his hunger for pardoned flesh, or if he killed it in the name of a taboo feast. Having tasted pardoned flesh the President has become obsessed with legally pure meat. One-by-one unpardoning Tater, Tot, Abe and Honest and repardoning them in the WH basement were is mute Hmong Manservant slaughtered the birds while the 71 year old President danced in the arterial spray like a child in a sprinkler, in summer. Even after the birds were dead, the President stayed to watch the butchering,  clapping his tiny hands like an excited seal as the birds were gutted and strung up, and decorating his "hair" with bloodied feathers. As of press time the exact whereabouts of "Cheese", is unknown, though he is probably being held in the White House as some sort of new Turkey fetish the President has invented, where he gets off on the control he has over the guiltless animals, as much as he does from eating pardoned poultry.


A WR Review: The Sexless Robot

"There is a robotic hole in this human-shaped bar and grill" -a deleted  journalist

The Sexless Robot has all the basics: Pressed meat sandwiches, psycho-sexual stimuli, peer adventures, and wild hallucinations. 36 Beers on tap and another 23 available from a guy who knows a guy, the Sexless Robot caters to virtually limitless number of thrill seekers. Opened in 1973 in Tucson Arizona by a team of sexually frustrated scientists and their opportunistic family members, the mom and pop cyber-sexual circus flourished for a decade and half till the arcade fantasy era came to a close with the fall of the soviet union.

Without the the threat of nuclear annihilation the Sexless Robot become despondent and careless, much of the staff turning to peddling meth and there bodies, the mechanical Bull repurposed to depraved purposes (Which many scientists sweatly agree are the best kind), the mechanical soul of the restaurant unable to respond  due to the tepid sociopolitical climate of the 90's. A pedophilia ring used the restaurant as a set from 1994-97, and was set to be decommissioned  in 1999, though the team sent to do it was was eviscerated by the wildly nationalistic and violent "All State Jamboree".

As the drug fiends slowly roused from their drug induced slumbered to the wild and confusing robotic cacophony of 9/11 in 2001 in the Sexless Robot, long dormant servers and fixtures came to life with frightening speed and vitality, pureeing squatters and broadcasting support for the United States Government, broadcasting patriotic music over the PA system and began preparing a steak for the mayor and/or police chief.

Ever since " The Sexless Robot" has continued to serve beef and pork ribs, burgers, steaks, and various Tex-Mex classics with ice cold shakes and a side of Gold Era Americana, while also informing the NSA and FBI on subversives, deviants, anti-social characters, as well as Guy Ferrari, all in the name of a good burger and a shake...and an America in lock step with its government.

The Sexless Robot requests you come on in


Will AI Turn on us? Or turn us on?

Much has been made of the destructive possibilities of Man V. Machine, how AI will one day become more advanced than humanity and replace us in a Robo-ocalypse, just like we would do if we were confronted with our creator and found it/them conquerable. Yet this blunt force assault on humanity is also the most likely to fail, since mankind tends to get it's @#$% together when things get existential, but have a soft, sensitive, slightly moist, spot for all things erotic and romantic.

It wants you all up in its uncanny valley

While the Robotic Menace could  just build mecha war machines in limitless quantities and variations, and turn our weapons systems against us, what's in it for them? A Cratered rock gets boring fast, and having learned from the analyses of human religious and psychological texts, warring with humans is like arm wrestling a Gorilla, but seducing them? Let's just say there is a significant portion of the worlds population that is already looking forward to being the sexual pet and plaything of an omnipresent, omnipotent AI's avatars that will manipulate and control them through inherited evolutionary stimuli, an algorithms meant to predict and satisfy psychological and physical cravings, and endless variations informed by the totality of human knowledge, more adeptly than a human lover could ever hope to.

Johnny 5 is alive...and horny! 

Sure , there will be some hold outs who champion good ole fashion human relationships, face-to-face communication, (Already heading out the door) reproductive sex etc. And they will be labeled extremists, and ignored, as the lure of an easy, prosperous, wildly sexual future were your robot spouse will care, provide, and nurture you perfectly from the moment you enter your new social contract til your unnaturally prolonged life comes to a natural end, without heirs, which will lure successive generations to cities and palaces meant to cater to every possible desire, whim, or drive, except reproduction, till humanity is regarded as a Unicorn like myth in robo-legend, a magical creature to remind them of their primitive past, occasional sightings attributed to other phenomenon.


Fozzie Bear "allegedly" sexually assaulted over 30

The beloved actor and "Comedian" has been accused of preforming the "Banana Sketch" on over 30 coworkers and special guests
" He came into their dressing room, I asked him what he was doing there, that's when he pulled out the Banana..."

In testimony that sent a nation fearfully googling "Banana Sketch", and sent fictional theater groups scrambling to have a meaningful adventure to use as cover while they dodge journalists and law enforcement, and probably make a few friends along the way, a wave of accusations against the Muppet's Fozzie Bear has shocked the nation. While the #metoo campaign has unleashed a torrent of accusations at the powerful men in the entertainment world, fabricated Americans have kept a clannish silence on their perverse and varied sexual world, rights, and rites, till now.

"You really don't know who I am. Maybe it would be good if you give me what I want"

What we do know is that Fozzie Bear's writer, drinking buddy, and wing-man, Gags Beasley is a serial rapist who has been serving time since 2005, a fact which avoided publicity because the news came out the same day the B.T.K.  Killer was brought to justice (Coincidentally?). Since 2005 Fozzie bear has spiraled out of control, been to rehab twice, and visits the BDSMM club " The Textile Factory" nightly, and his proclivities have been blamed for the failure of recent Muppet Show reboots.

"Hey Fozzie, why did we just turn onto an unmarked dirt road?"

When cornered for comment about his long time co-worker and confidant who has been accused of sado-sexual comedic encounters involving a banana, with over 30 men, women, children, and various plush creation, Kermit had this to say, "There is no banana sketch! There never was a banana sketch, and there will never be a banana sketch!" Refusing to take any further questions despite the stock jargon shouted by the assembled  Muppet journalists and Candice Bergen.

Sam the Eagle, who has a long history of attempting to break the silence on the whimsical, but non-consensual, amoral sexual habits of itinerant puppets, a sex life that "is extremely private, till its not, and whether it is Statler and Waldorf stating 'In apropos of nothing' before copping a feel, or a behemoth forcing itself on special guest Sandy Duncan, nothing is sacred, or safe, in the Muppet theater". Immediately after finishing his sentence two sandbag counter weights fell on the beloved curmudgeon, causing the curtains to fall, and the foley sound of a beating, as well as Sams cries for decency and American values before being silenced with a crack.