Fun People in Mot City, December 14th!

                Today’s Fun People in Mot City is brought to you by Brule’ Vignion Bottled Water!  Brule’ Vignion: Water for the Rich Asshole in All of Us.

                Today’s Fun Person is Gallus, a Croc illegal wrestling manager!  Gallus has been managing illegal wrestlers now for over twenty years!  Gallus was at one time one of the most prominent and respected illegal wrestlers in the city, winning nearly 95% of his matches.  Unfortunately he was targeted by a Crime Lord one day after losing a match, losing both his lower limbs in a terrible injury.  Since illegal wrestling bans all prostheses, Gallus retired and took up managing.  He was nice enough to speak to our intrepid journalist!  Here is what he had to say.

                “So you want to know my story, eh?  I’ll tell you what I tell everyone else: this job bites Gator ass.  You have constant gang and mob pressure, as betting on illegal wrestling is what makes the mob its most money, right?  I get asked on a daily basis if I would be willing to have one of my wrestlers throw the match, which is just fucking ridiculous!  Yet if I don’t do it occasionally I get threatened.  It’s just sad, right?

                “It never used to be like this.  This profession used to be proud, filled with the best fucking athletes this city could scrounge up.  It was about the thrill!...Now it’s just about survival.  It’s about the show.  It’s about…Fuck I dunno, it just ain’t what it was.

                “Ah shit, I’m sorry.  You probably came here for a light story, some small tale about something I’ve done, right?  Well Hell, I guess I'm just not good with stuff like that, right?  Sorry about that, but I gotta go tape up some Croc claws to get them ready.  Listen, I’ll have security walk you out.  Survive Well, okay?”

Fun Fact about Mot City, December 10!

Today’s Fun Fact about Mot City is brought to you by Pfist Pork Farm and Pfarmaceutical Laboratory!  Get your mind-altering drug-addled pork loin for half-off when you say the secret code to the cashier!  The secret code is “GNARWHAL BACON.” 

Today’s Fun Fact comes to you from Bryce Vanburen, Owner and barkeep at the Bloated Carcass bar, an establishment off of 27^th Street and Fie Place in Upper Mot’s 93^rd district!  Bryce has owned this establishment since he won it during his years as an avid gambler over illegal wrestling.  Bryce was kind enough to let us know how he has been able to stay in business for fifteen cycles despite numerous attempts by outside parties to shut him down:

“Okay, so you want to know some fun fact?  Why do you call them fun facts?  You are just asking me questions.  Shouldn’t you call this electronic coffee book you’re working on, ‘The People of Mot City?’  Just a thought.  Anyway…Listen, I’ve survived because I’ve paid the right people to keep their mouths shut.  I also stopped gambling after taking over, so I wouldn’t risk putting this place on as a bet.  I also get good synthesized alcohol, brewing some myself below the bar here, and buying others on the black market.  The real stuff I have is mostly watered down, which most patrons don’t mind.  Shit, most of them are just happy to have a drink to forget they live here, so I’m happy to provide them with the opportunity to get sloshed and forget their troubles for a few minutes.  Now I have to get back to work.  We done here?”  

Fun Facts about Mot City, December 8

                Today’s Fun Facts About Mot City is brought to you by Jaeg Soda: It’s Not Poison, We Promise!  Today’s Fun Fact comes to us from a meeting with one of the Adult Club owners in Upper Mot!  His name is Preat, and he’s a Croc!  He is a forty-year old Croc who runs the (club name removed for everyone's safety: ed) with all the scars to prove it!  We asked him what fun fact he would like to bring up for this coffee table book, and here was his response. 

                “You want what now?  A fun fact about Mot City?  Fun?  What’s wrong with you?  There’s nothing fun about living in this shit-stain of a city.  Eat or be eaten.  Gun down or be gunned down.  Fun ain’t what we do here, you understand me?  It’s hard living, right?  We ain’t got nothing here except what we earn, and that aint’ much.  Fun isn’t in our vocabulary, see?  So here’s what you are gonna do.  You’re gonna let everyone know who buys your shitty coffee table book that it’s a squalid Hell we live in with no fun, you see?  And if I buy a copy of your book and you don’t have this quote in there, I am going to hunt you down and eat your intestines.   So you take your little electronic recorder, and your fancy ass camera, and get the Hell out of my face before I get really angry!”  

Clusterf**king

So I have decided there needs to be a new term for those who seek political office.

Clusterf**king.  Think about the possible uses when talking about politics!

"My name is Mitt Romney, and I am clusterf**king for the President of the United States!"

Hitler Meme agrees with me. 

"My opponent claims he didn't mean to call me a racist bag of rotten cheese, but I know he's just clusterf**king.  It's how this game is played."

"When I clusterf**ked four years ago this country was on the brink of economic collapse.  Look how far we have come!"

It can be interchanged for "running," "ran," "playing politics," among some examples.  I think we should call Fox News and get their pundits to use the same language. 

"Mitt Romney doesn't really believe that babies come from God's Tears," Hannity spewed.  "He's clusterf**king so he can relate to the moderates of this country."

When you include the idea that our political system is just one gigantic clusterf**k, it makes sense for politicians to use this term more when talking about politics.

Mitt Romney's evil twin brother confuses public, causes problems for the Romney Campaign

SALT LAKE CITY, UT - Van Romney, Mitt Romney's evil twin brother, is to blame for the recent move to the center-right of the political spectrum, according to the Mitt Romney campaign.  According to the campaign incorrect instructions were emailed and printed out for the maps to the last two debates.  The plot was so complex that even the campaign's smartphones provided incorrect directions to the debate locations, though this could easily be blamed on Apple's poor Maps application.

"Mitt Romney is still against everything his evil stand-in brother said during the last two debates," a Romney spokesperson said on CNN.  "Van has an extreme amount of wealth and power thanks to his work at Bain Capital working with Mitt." 

Doctor's reports show that Van has what is called the "evil gene" which exists in about 1 percent of all twins born in the United States.  For a number of years he was hidden from the public, his family ashamed of his abundance of evil.  He was let out long enough to graduate from high school and go to Harvard to pursue his goals to become an evil corporate genius.  After graduating he spent years reading up on how to become an evil genius before his brother called and asked him to help start a new company. 

"I taught everything Mitt knows about being an evil corporate genius," Van said during a Facetime video conference call.  "How else can you explain his actions?  I taught him to bankrupt companies and rake in millions.  Did I get a thank you?  A fruit gift basket?  A spiral ham in the mail?  No.  I didn't get anything from him.  So now, it's my plan to ruin his persona so everyone can accuse him of lying about everything he has said for the last two years.  I will not fail!"  Van then laughed maniacally for thirty seconds before petting his evil cat and ending the call.

It is not known if Van will succeed in convincing the American public of this ruse.  What is known is recent polls suggest President Obama has maintained his leads in important swing states, suggesting that Van may get his wish in stunting the political goals of his brother, fulfilling his need to be evil. 

Why I'm voting for President Obama

This really shouldn't come as a surprise to most of you.  It's no secret that I'm a pretty liberal person on social and economic issues.  I don't think there is a Republican I have ever supported, and even the one Republican I didn't mind too badly (Jon Huntsman), I think that was only because he was a moderate Republican in Utah, which is rare. 

Even with that, there are things about our current President that I am less than thrilled about:

1.  No single-payer option in the health care overhaul.  Big mistake.
2.  Not fighting enough against a Congress hell-bent on stalling any bill coming out of the President's office.
3.  Waffling on immigration reform.
4.  Not fighting for the expiration of the Bush-era tax cuts, instead extending them.
5.  Assuming the Republicans would work with him to fix this country.
6.  Not coming out earlier to support the rights for Lesbians and Gays to marry. 

There are more, but those are the main issues I have with him.  Despite that, my vote has already been placed for him, and here's why:

I don't know who the Hell Mitt Romney is. 

Is he for supporting contraceptive rights?  Or is he not?  Is he pro-choice?  Or is he not?  Is he for tax cuts for the rich?  Or is he not? 

Mr. Romney has no scruples.  He has no spine.  He may be a moderate Republican, but the fact that he bowed down-and continues to bow down-to the extreme right makes me worry.  Literally every word he says can be contradicted by an earlier version of the same man. 

Now, I know politicians are allowed to change their opinions on things.  Time allows for opinions to grow and change.  The problem I have with Romney is that he will do and say ANYTHING to get elected. 

I fear a Romney presidency for the following reasons:

1.  I fear he would strip our natural resources at the expense of our wilderness areas.  There is little left in this country that doesn't have a road blazing through it, or an oil rig spouting out of it.  I think he would open every damn area he could just because he can, and guess what?  Because oil is a global commodity that is traded, the oil companies will be the benefactors of greater supply, not us.
2.  An economic plan that basically says, "Trust in me and more tax breaks!"  I fail to see how this is an economic plan.  I have more faith in Obama's more pragmatic approach which involves more of the middle class and small businesses and less tax breaks for corporations and the super-rich.
3.  His stance on women's issues.  No offense, but I will not trust someone whose religious beliefs essentially state the woman is to stay at home and raise the children.  Not to mention the binder gaffe, his desire to shut down federal funding for Planned Parenthood and his sudden Pro-life stance.  He may claim he cares about women, but I have to question, "how do you care?"
4.  Iran. I fear Romney would have us on the path toward war with Iran, which would be a terrible mistake.
5.  His stance on gay rights.  This is pretty obvious.  A Romney presidency would probably do everything to shut down any progressive actions taken on gay rights.

There are many more reasons, but ultimately I simply do not trust him.  I don't know what he would do because he has said anything and everything in the political spectrum to get where he is.

President Obama is far from perfect, but I would much rather trust the country with a person whose intelligence is matched by his wife, who cares deeply about his daughters, and who had to overcome so much to get where he is.  He is the perfect example of the American dream at work, and I hope this country will be smart enough to vote him back in office.

Thanks for reading.  Or not. 

Fun Facts about Mot City, August 25th!

Good afternoon everyone!  Today's Fun Fact about our beloved city is brought to you by Local Crocs Union 313!  Join their union and get a free Croc T-shirt and all the tripe you can eat!  Crocs only, please.  Yes, we are racist.  Deal with it.  Local Crocs Union 313! 

Today's fact comes from us from a special guest.  Stanley Jones is a Representative of Middle Mot's district 17.  Mr. Jones also happens to be a Gator, one of the few non-human members on the Mot City Authority Council.  Mr. Jones has been on the council for ten rotations. We met with Mr. Jones outside of Bunch o' Beans, a local synthesized coffee shop in his district.  We asked him about the political system and what it is like to be one of the few non-human members of the Council.  Here are the fun facts he provided to us:

You know, this coffee is quite horrible.  Does anyone know what type of synthesizer they have?  It needs a serious tweaking.  I need to find a new place that stirs in more blood into the water.  It's so weak.  Sometimes I wonder what the coffee tastes like in Lower Mot, where they actually have the money and space to grow coffee crops...

Oh, sorry to go off on a small tangent.  So you want to know what again?.... ah.  Okay then.  I'll tell you what it's like inside the system.  

I'd like to pretend that I am doing some good for my district, but the human-run council rarely asks for my input.  Wait... let me back up real fast and explain something real fast.  There are fifty districts across all of Mot City.  There are approximately thirty million humans, two million Crocs and a million Gators, give or take.  Non-human species are obviously in the minority both in the general population and within the Council.  Aside from myself, there are two Crocs who represent Upper Mot districts.  That's it.  Three out of fifty. 

So, yeah.  We rarely get to say anything.  I think they like to show us off to the people as a sign of progress, but we never actually get to do anything.  Mostly I just sit there and wait for my hand to be called upon for a vote on something.  Occasionally I meet with Governor Bolgerd, but that is very rare these days. 

What was that?...Yeah, I used to think my job was about doing something good.  After being ignored for so many years, it starts to wear at you, you know?  Now I just try and milk the system for my own personal gain, pretending to fight for my district while taking bribes from corporate and mob interests.  It makes life more bearable.  

Wait.. are you recording this?  You little shit!  Turn your holorecorder off or I will eat you I swear-

Fun Facts about Mot City, August 23rd

Today's Mot City Fun Fact is brought to you by Virtual Convenience Stores: No one virtually microtoasts burritos like Virtual Convenience!

Today's fun fact came from a young human by the name of Flass.  Flass is a detective for the Middle Mot Major Crimes Unit.  We caught up to him outside the detective headquarters buying a tube of meat-like product for lunch from a robotic vendor. Here is what he had to say:

So you want to know about the inter-species gang war between the Crocs and the Gators, eh?  Let me tell you what I know.  

No one knows how it all started.  Some suspect it goes all the way back to the beginning.  I'm talking millions of years.  Some sort of split along genetic lines, I don't know.  One rumor is no better than the other.  Some say it was a war over star-crossed lovers, while others think it's all about proving dominance.  I don't know for sure. All I know is that the blood runs deep between races, and when needed, that blood also drips down the streets of Mot and splatters its pattern all over the walls.  

The Gators...Upper class gangs, if that makes any sense.  They reside mostly in Lower Mot and run a good portion of the Middle.  They run money laundering, cyber-hacking and upper class drugs.  You heard of that new drug, V-87?  It's supposed to enhance holo-devices, make them seem more real.  It's all the rage.  Created by the Gators, and addictive as shit.  As for the Crocs... Well, cheap drugs, illegal wrestling and prostitution are all signs of a middle to lower-class mafia.  They are all over Upper Mot and war constantly with the Gators in Middle Mot.  

I suspect the mutual hatred combined with the desire to control Middle Mot is what has caused so much violence and death.  There is little sense in it, but humans can be just as racist and bigoted as these two races.  The difference is the level of violence we feel, I guess.  That and we don't eat those who get in our way.  Something to consider.  

Anyway, I'm gonna eat my tube of meat now.  We good?  Have a nice day, and enjoy the synthesized sunlight. 

Fun Facts about Mot City, August 21st!

Today's fun fact about our wonderful city is brought to you by Pharglaxote: synthesizing your organs for eventual replacement for fifty years.  Trust your organs to Pharglaxote!

Today's fun fact is written by a wonderful human named Sturgid, who we met outside of Slippery Vance's Puke and Punch, a local dive bar in Upper Mot:

Yeah, I got a fact for ya.  I found out something today.  Did you know that there are holes between levels?  Yeah, that's right.  Upper Mot, which is where I live you know, has holes all over the god-damned floor that lead into Middle Mot.  I got a friend who knows the holes, and gets paid credits to show the Crocs these holes, man.  He says the Crocs use the holes to escape and find ways to get past the police.  Dealing drugs, man.  They also run all the credits through the illegal wrestling matches through these gaps, man.  It's cool as shit.  They lead down tubes that take the Crocs to safety. 

My friend's got a map of it all, on his holo-implants.  He says he's gonna have enough money soon to buy his way to Middle Mot.  Lucky bastard, finding a way out of this shithole.  I'm tired of the leaky roof and the water that tastes like filtered urine.

Say, you got any change?  I traded my rationed water for some credits to buy synth booze.  Please?  Come on man.  I gave you a fact, you jerkweed!

The thrill of the trails.

Trails have minds of their own.  They are truly the ones in control.  All the constructive devices that are set to control you while careening through the scree and brush mean nothing when the trail decides you've had a good run, and it is your turn to feel its true nature.

When the first accident happens, and you fly off your bike and into the scree, scraping your knees, legs, and hands (thank goodness for gloves), slamming your shoulder into the tough ground, you quickly realize that all the caution in the world means nothing when you are at the mercy of the trail.  The trail is the god here.  The trail is what determines your will.  The trail is what makes your bike nothing more than the vehicle upon which you will crash.

Against significant odds, the question becomes, "Why do it?"  Because the god taunts you when you lie bleeding.  The trail is a challenge.  It provides the thrill, the danger.  Because eventually, the trail can be ridden.  The trail can respect your ability.  The trail sees your desire and thirst to ride its treacherous body of work.

And that is why we do it.  We do it because the trail demands your attention.  The trail sees your thrill, and says, "bring it on!"

Another day, I will see Rattlesnake Gulch on equal footing, and I will gain the trails respect.  The thrill of it will drive me down its steep slope again, and I will make it, even if I have to add more scars.

It is the thrill that drives us down the trails.

VERY rough intro to a new story idea.

Stanley Jenkins was in trouble.  He just didn’t know it yet. 

Wait.  That’s a lie.  He knew he was in trouble.  He just didn’t know who would kill him first. Both the Crocs and the Gators wanted him dead.  The Crocs wanted to kill him and eat him, and the Gators wanted to feast on his intestines first before killing him. Since Stanley had an adverse reaction to the whole death thing, he did the only thing his cowardly and meek soul knew how to do.

He ran. 

He’s sitting at an airport right now, in fact.  He’s left behind every aspect of his life in order to escape the situation he found himself in.  His girlfriend, his dad, his three-headed talking dog, all left behind, thrown away at the need to survive.  About five minutes ago he bought a shuttle to Saturn IV, an outpost near Saturn’s moon, Titan.  The outpost is a great hiding place for those smuggling meat into the Solar System.  It’s also a great place for people to hide when being chased by angry reptiles with weapons and an insatiable hunger for killing those who they believe wronged them.  It also has a wonderful space resort, with the best space racquetball court in any nearby galaxy.

Sitting in his chair, watching the holographic news anchor drone on about stock prices, the rising cost of fresh fruit, and the failed attempt by religious cult to blow up Mercury (it offends their god for some unknown reason), he attempts to look nonchalant.  His blue eyes have been replaced with dark brown eyes, done through a black-market surgeon.  His mustache was shaved off, and a scar was manufactured across his upper lip.  He is wearing a beanie to hide his balding head.  He attempts to eat his chocolate chip cookie-flavored snack ration, but it appears his nerves are not allowing any food to go down without a serious case of heartburn. 

A Great Dane sitting next to him sniffs the snack ration.  “Hey Human male,” its vocal modification system says with a hint of a British accent, “Are you intending to eat that snack ration, or may I partake of its delicious flavor?”  Stanley tears open the snack ration a little more then hands the ration to the dog.  “Most obliged, good sir,” the dog says before shoveling the entirety of the foil-wrapped mush into its impressive maw, swallowing the ration and the food in a few chews. 

“Attention, passengers of Shuttle flight 16540 to Saturn IV,” the robotic voice of some long-dead celebrity dispassionately comes on over the loudspeakers,  “Your shuttle has been delayed for the following reasons.”  Another voice, male perhaps, comes on then to offer the explanation for the delay.  “SEVERE EXPLOSION IN FUEL TANK 6.  HELP! HELP! AGGH! (which is then followed by ten seconds of static).”  The nice robot comes back on air.  “We apologize for the delay.  If your flight is to connect to the RFT (short for Really Fast Travel) hub in Saturn, we will attempt to route you to the hub on Pluto.  If you are running from someone or something other than law enforcement, please see the ticket office for further assistance.  If you are a normal passenger, please see the ticket counter for a voucher for another shuttle.  Thank you for using Escape Airlines!” 

Stanley looks up, as if the speakers are actually talking to him directly.  He stands up and shuffles over to the robotic attendant, his already tightened jaw compressing in growing frustration. 

I have to get myself out of this, he thinks to himself.  I can’t let the alligators or the crocs win.  Too much is at stake. 

The robotic attendant, an X-34 model created by Escape Airlines before the great Robot Revolution 20 years ago, sees Stanley walk into its view.  In order to not make humans feel awkward next to the robots, the X-34 models were created to look like gigantic yeti-like creatures, with shaggy black fur and everything.  Eight feet tall, sharpened teeth and a menacing mug had the opposite reaction to what the designers had intended. 

Turns out, robot designers need to get out once in a while and see the world.  Oh, and companies need to stop hiring insane designers who believe yetis are some sort of status symbol to adhere to.  That would help as well. 

“How can I help you, human?” the robot growls, its animatronic mouth moving in non-realistic fashion as spittle flies from its furry lips.

“Yes, my flight has been grounded, and I need another ticket,” Stanley says, removing a touch of yeti spit from his chin. 

“What is your name, human?”

“Stanley Jenkins.” 

The yeti robot’s comically large eyebrows furrow in concentration.  “Processing…PROCESSING!...Jenkins, Stanley, ID # 444-555-7898, from Salt Lake City, Utah.  If this is accurate, please say so.”

“That is correct”

“ERROR,” the yeti yells.  “What is correct?”

“Your previous statement,” Stanley says the frustration of the whole situation growing readily apparent in his eyes. 

“ERROR.  The last statement this robot said was ‘ERROR.’  Please elaborate.” 

“Okay, let’s forget it.  Let’s just start over.” 

“ERROR.  Starting over is not possible with this model.  Starting over tends to cause a rapid deceleration of this robot’s nuclear core, annihilating everything in a three-block radius.” 

“Go back to verifying who I am then,” Stanley says wiping off another round of yeti spit. 

“ERROR. This robot does not know how you are.” 

Stanley threw up his hands in anger.  “Piece of shit yetis!” he yells as he kicks the yeti in what would be a yeti groin if yetis existed (which they do, just not in this reality).  Quick as sound, a yeti arm thrusts out and snatches Stanley’s arm and pulls Stanley into a vicious yeti hug. 

“WARNING,” the yeti robot says, spit flying fast and furious now,  “Yeti abuse is not allowed, and is considered a crime.  This yeti is holding you because you committed a violent act towards itself.  You are now being publicly berated as security is called.  Shame on you!  Your mother must have raised you to be a criminal.  Is your father in jail?  You have no morals,” the yeti goes on giving Stanley a tongue-lashing as Stanley looks around in surprise.  Everyone is starting at him, judging him with their eyes and snouts as he stands, struggling to breathe, caught in between the vice-like furry appendages of the X-34 model. 

            To his horror, in addition to the two rotund security guards turning the corner down the causeway, a crocodile who was sitting a good distance away stands up on its hind legs, its trench coat opening just enough to reveal some sort of weapon attached to his long and scaly body.  To his right, an alligator wearing sweatpants and glasses puts down a virtual newspaper and eyes him.  The alligator bares his teeth in surprise and happiness as he starts walking towards Stanley as well, crawling on all fours in the alligator way.

            Surrounded by enemies on all sides.  Two fat security guards.  A croc.  An alligator.   And to boot, locked in the arms of a stupid yeti robot that can’t understand basic commands. 

            It is doubtful that Stanley’s horoscope for today read that his plans would be thwarted in such a way (his in fact reads, “You will deliver a gigantic pizza oven to great gig on 7^th east, you know the one with the happening jive piano…If you are reading this, help me.  HELP ME!”).  As he groans in pain, waiting for his eventual death or arrest, he asks himself a question he has asked himself again and again over the last year. 

            “How the Hell did this happen?” he groans between spasms of pain. “I just wanted to help,” he manages before the pain of a rib breaking nearly causes him to faint.

            Indeed.  How did it get to this point? 

Gus' Poetry Hour Starring High School Gus, Poem 2

I call this one, "Well, Someone's Gotta Die." 

Shadows reign across the land.
All I own you hold in your hands.
Sand falls like hail from your delicate fingers.
All that I realized it still malingers.

Fragile bones, so brittle and twisted,
Devouring all I hope to be resisted.
The hourglass of hope, full of light,
Now fill itself with the darkness of night.

And still I sit, watching you burn,
Seeing your mind and soul twist and turn.
Scream out loud, the Gods cannot hear you!
Deny them the sacrifice fit to be true!

The clouds become black, so fitting now,
That you've rebelled against the why and the how.

Stare me down,
I'll make you drown
In the footsteps of pain,
Where you will grow insane,
And cry for the blood red sky. 

Gus' Poetry Hour, Starring High School Gus

For your viewing pleasure (or for laugh-out-loud hilarity), here is a poem from a journal I kept during High School.

None of these are titled so I'm gonna make up titles as I post these. 

Something about Ham.  

Teach me what you've learned.
I'm just a bit concerned
You have a short time to teach.

Your life is simple and plain,
But mine is hard to contain. 
I've got a short time to learn.

I can't understand what you say.
You've mumbled every word today.
We've got a short time to see.

Anger begins to scorch my eyes.
Now you're teaching little white lies.
We've got a short time to live.

Panic hits me hard in my chest,
You are full of shameful unrest.
Life gave up on me. 
You on the other hand, laugh.

You can still see. 

Flat Earth Society endorses all of the GOP Candidates

The Flat Earth Society, a ragtag group of conspiracy theorists who believe the earth is flat, endorsed every single GOP candidate still running for President of the United States.

An example of what the Flat Earth Society considers the earth to look like. Really.

A statement on their website reads, "When it comes to our beliefs that the world is flat, our society depends on a complete lack of evidence, gigantic gaps in logic and a steadfast refusal to accept scientific reasoning.  Like our society, the remaining candidates running for the Republican nomination deserve our respect and admiration for their steadfast ability to stick their heads in the sand and hide from the truth. As such, we are endorsing all candidates left in the race.  Like our society, they have shown a great respect for ignoring scientific and economic evidence when it comes to issues such as climate change, bringing back the gold standard, and reviving a stagnant middle class.  By endorsing all of the candidates, we hope they will highlight the importance of showing the rest of the world that the earth is, in fact, flat.  We hope the eventual nominee will remember our endorsement when they take office in 2013."

When asked about the endorsement, the remaining candidates had differing responses.  Romney contradicted himself when answering the question.  Romney: "Though I believe the earth is a sphere, I can see the importance of showing other sides of an argument.  So, you know, if we can prove the earth is flat that would be great too.  There's one thing I believe, and that is that the earth may be flat when it's politically convenient....I mean, I'll release a statement later about this."  Romney was then pulled away by one of his handlers.

Gingrich was far more emotional with his response.  "How dare they question my marital habits!" Gingrich said in a burst of anger.  When the confused reporter mentioned his question had nothing to do with his three marriages, Gingrich called the reporter a "liberal jerkwad," and stormed off to go meet his mistress for lunch. 

Rick Santorum was happy to have the endorsement.  "Frankly, science has gotten its greedy hands into all of our beliefs," he said.  "I believe in Intelligent Design, and I also believe that the earth is flat.  Science needs to get its mitts out of religion and allow us to believe in the nonsensical ramblings of people who were around during the time when Jesus rode dinosaurs."

Ron Paul was the only one who rejected the endorsement outright, saying it was a states issue to decide whether the earth is flat our spherical.

Romney confuses working-class people for zombies

BRAAINS FOR PRESIDENT.

In a serious gaffe, GOP presidential contender Mitt Romney confused zombies, the brain-eating undead, for common working-class people at a campaign stop in Concord, New Hampshire.

"When I was growing up, you know who cleaned my bed?  Zombies.  Who cleans my multiple homes and gigantic estate?  Zombies.  It is great how zombies can work menial jobs, like cashiering and dry-cleaning.  Zombies have an innate ability to ignore the scum and the smell of sewers.  They shine my shoes.  They chauffeur me around and serve me food on plates.  They are a vital part of the American way."

When reporters asked if he really thought cashiers at grocery stores were zombies instead of middle and lower-class individuals, Romney scoffed.  "Of course they are zombies.  No regular American would do such jobs.  I'm one of the people after all, with the amber waves of grain, and all that.  Now, if you'll excuse me, my butler is feeding me white truffles with roasted shark fin soup for lunch." 


"Romney is so out of touch with the American people," said Cindy Shelton, a 40-year old cashier who works at a local grocery store in Concord.  "I mean, seriously?  I'm not a zombie.  It's insulting to those of us who have to work long hours to pay the bills, and to zombies."

Grover Cleveland's zombie, who is running for President under the Zombie Libertarian Brain Party, sent in a statement to our office.  The letter, poorly written, had the word "brains" spelled out in in various fonts and text sizes.  It appeared the letters were written from blood.  A call was made to Grover Cleveland's office, but either a bad connection or a zombie eating the phone made getting a proper statement impossible. 

It will be interesting to see if the latest gaffe will hurt Romney's attempts to win the nomination. 

Rick Santorum on Climate Change.

Rick Santorum, with the Sister Wives to the right.

Rick Santorum, surging in the polls in Iowa, made a bold prediction concerning climate change.

"Listen, all this nonsense about climate change is just a bunch of baloney.  Every year on Groundhog Day Punxsutawney Phil will either see his shadow, or he won't.  His great insight provides us the tools needed to either prepare for three more months of winter, or prepare for flip-flops and suntan lotion in April.  Punxsutawney Phil is, of course an instrument given to us from God, so he can never be wrong.  I firmly believe Mr. Phil provides greater insight to what's happening to our climate than so-called 'scientists' do." 

When the reporters snickered, Santorum continued his tirade against climate change.  "Laugh all you want, but God wants us to build industries that inspire Americans to great things.  Protecting the environment is going against God's plan.  Listen," Santorum quietly said, motioning for reporters to come in closer, "God spoke to me last night, in a vision.  God said, 'Let every American drive a big truck, and let every truck have Truck Nuts as a sign that they are good and great Americans.  And let the great Groundhog continue to be the cornerstone of predicting the climate.'  Amen." 

A press secretary then ushered Santorum off the stage. 

Punxsutawney Phil.  He doesn't drive angry.

Punxsutawney Phil could not be reached for comment, however his team did provide a press release.  "Though we appreciate Santorum's belief that I am godlike, no moron should take my 'predictions' seriously in some sort of strange attempt to quantify their lack of respect for the scientific community concerning climate change.  Let me handle bizarre local festivals held in Pennsylvania, and let the scientists who actually study this shit do their damn job.  See you on February 2nd!"


We will update you on any other happenings concerning this story as we get closer to February 2nd.