Friday, March 11, 2016

Transgendered Clumps

I don't own a crystal ball.  However, I do enjoy predicting the future.  For example, I often envision a  DOMINIPEDE (multiple, simultaneous human stampedes likely impacting the NFL 1 o'clock slate of games).  Unless the government or private industry magically starts telling people the truth about outdated emergency stadium evacuation protocol, I see the next 9/11 comin' atcha like a bullet train to Osaka.  Home of Mr. Saito - the non-communicative, non-salt throwing half of the former WWF tag team champions.  End rant.  See... you got off lucky this time.

In this day and age, "political correctness" is the hot new buzzword.   Everything must be PC.  And at the same time, transgendered people are all the rage.  Olympic phenom/tv reality star Caitlyn Jenner is leading the charge.  Whether it be with an automobile accident on the Pacific Coast highway or some new Kardashian inspired perfume.  I call it Karcass... with an emphasis on the Wheaties ass syllable.  It's the latest scent in the trans-fume milieu.

Not to be confused with metal band Carcass or the capital of Venezuela, mispronounced Caracas.

Seriously though, these days everyone seems to be reveling in their physical abnormalities --- pierced dicks, third nipples, multi-tiered gunts.  I recently had an encounter with a man on the Southside who had a surgically implanted, secondary butthole.  His theory was that when he farted it could be like "dueling exhausts."  Naturally, on one ass cheek there's a Ford tattoo and the other side said its Chevy.  How inventive!  Nascar's back full throttle.  Boogity.

There's the government acceptance angle as well.  Bisexual restrooms, gay cruises, midget orgies, Euro-Homo porn, the list goes on.  As a tolerant and trusting society, we must embrace the eccentric freaks.  We must welcome them with open arms and provide federal funding for their genitalia removal and post-operative psychological counseling.  Hey, if I wanna get a third testicle, who are you to judge?  Who are you to play God?  George Costanza, Junior Mint/Triangle Art episode.

Jerry: Well, I gotta call the Hospital. I gotta tell 'em what happened.
George: No, Jerry. I wouldn't do that.
Jerry: Why?
George: You could get in trouble.
Jerry: Look, I gotta try and help the guy.
George: Who are you to play God!? Every man's time comes! If his number is up, who are you to interfere!?

My point.  It's the year of the transgendered.  Their time has come and we shall submit accordingly.  Now maybe you didn't notice but it's an election year as well.  So after the primary dust settles (it's correctly referred to as a "primordial dusting"), I suspect that Donald and Hillary will be the respective candidates.  Therefore, in the spirit of all that is PC, I proudly present you with the trans-morphed celebrity nickname --- "Dillary."

Uh, no.  Fuck that!  Instead, I give you CLUMP!

Now as the general election rolls around on November 8, 2016, it will naturally be preceded by Halloween.  And just like clockwork, the entire United States will be searching for that perfect costume.     

HELLO!  Uncle Leo, bitches.

I said fucking HELLO!  Clump is where it's at.  Clump masks. Clump posters. Clump figurines.  Everything Clump.

This will be the "go-to" 2016 Halloween costume.  No doubt about it.  Call it anything you want... a virtual certainty, a consequential assurance, an evident inevitability, whatever.

Now you know how the sheeple are so predictable.  Americans like to go out and spend, spend, spend.  Once again, I say fuck that.  Here's the superior Halloween costume.  And I'm gonna give it away now like Anthony Kiedis, on a diaper-clad, shirtless heroin binge.

Here's what you do.  Go to your local community college or university.  Yell at everyone in the computer lab, "Listen up you nerds.  Get the scholastic fuck outta here!  I need to use the printer!"  Google the word CLUMP and print out a hundred copies for each image.  Make that Hewlett Packard moan in agony... like a little Catholic schoolboy at confession.

Next, head over to the nearest Chinese restaurant, preferably named Won Ton Time or House of Wang.  Tell the owner you're going to stand outside and welcome every patron with the following line "Me so horny.  Me love you long time" unless they capitulate and give you their entire supply of chopsticks. 

With a pair of scissors, a roll of scotch tape and some cardboard, you now have all the necessary elements for a virtual army of Clumps.  There you go.  You just make a ton of those faux-ghetto hold up facial masks.  Put a few favorites in your back jeans pocket.  It's the Halloweenie costume of a lifetime.  No obstructive clothing.  No problem consuming hors d'oeuvres or imbibing shitty craft pumpkin beer.  Easy, peasy, japaneesie.

Finally, download that memorable Kriss-Kross song "Jump" on your i-phone.  Have it cued and ready to go.  Whenever someone asks, "Why didn't you dress up," you just whip out your Clump on a stick, hit the play button, and start yelling and jumping "Saffy Mac (insert your name) is gonna make ya, Clump, Clump, Clump!  Kriss Kross is gonna Clump, Clump, Clump!"  You'll get the whole party going like a Wisconsin Badgers football game.

Incidentally, my deepest sympathy to the one who's dead.  If I remember correctly, it was a heroin od.  But hey, let's be honest, what better way to celebrate his rapscallion existence? 

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