Fri. Mar 1st, 2024

Ye Olde Scribe’s Sphinx Links
“Finding humor in mysterious places and web-based spaces.”

(“Now, new and improved, with extra ‘Sphinx.'”)

Used: approximately 200 years old; occupied by squatters previously, most have since been relocated;

Condition: Possible fixer-upper; In poor shape; Extreme deterioration last 8 or so years; Used to be owned and run by a concerned population;

Current owners: Slumlords, aka Large Corporations;

Current Landlord: Half-wit slumlord that has run the nation into the ground the last 7 years…

And now on to…

The Happy War

YOS was in a Kwik-E-Mart, hoping to uninstall the toxic waste squishee machine sold to them by JuniorCo. (Slogan on the contraption read, “Now with more depleted unranium!”) He would have been arrested by a suspicious junior deputy for Homeland Insecurity… (Badges can be obtained from lead lined Cracker Jack boxes imported from China.) … arrested for trying to foil another Junior driven plot to cause more death, when the guy in the dress and with the credentials relaxed and went back to his page job in Congress: servicing Larry Craig.

That’s because Scribe was distracted from his mission by today’s edition of U.S. YUCK-Today. There: lead story, was a sad tale of soldiers being screwed again by having their benefits ripped from them. Of course if this had been any other war the picture next to it might have been of coffins, or amputees, or the wastelands formerly known as Iraq and Afghanistan…

Nope. Uh uh. Just a smiling: beautific, pic of a happy Jenna Bush… marriage being her latest happy high. This reminded Scribe of how this has become the “happy war” with the help of the Maimstream Media. (“Maim, how I hate ya, how I hate ya, my dear old maimie….” certainly a song any soldier in those conflicts might appreciate if they weren’t fighting for their lives and so goddamn young.)

Well, for a happy war we need happy songs, don’t we? Since the mental capabilities of the Neo Cons who would support this travesty even if Jesus told them it was wrong… (…and then kill him again for ruining Hallibuton’s chances to make another quadtrillion; because that would mean he was a… ready??? …false profit…) …we certainly need simple songs for such simple minded simpletons. You know the kind even preschoolers would feel were too stupid to sing? Please feel free to provide your own in the handy, dandy, schmandy comment box…

If You’re Happy

(Apologies in advance to our poor soldiers who should be worrying about IUDs, not IEDs.)

If you’re happy and you know it go to Iraq
You’ll find it far worse than the clap
If you’re happy and you know it
Soon your head will really show it
But the rest of you will be somewhere else.”


Where is thumbkin
Where is thumbkin
No REALLY , where…

Scribe’s Suggestions for the Fastest Way to Get Your Tires Sliced While Parking

1. Before you zap out late at night in your car; in a truck stop, while on your way to distant places, take a walk through the semis with an air horn. Blow it repeatedly, and in between blows scream… “Wake up you lazy bastards! Miles to go, loads to take…” (Tires sliced? Check. Or maybe you might just be blessed when they throw that “perfume”-like “holy water” at you. You know: the yellow stuff they collect in jars as they head down the highway? This works well if you want to get Hillary/West Virginia quality voters to do a porcupine to your tires.)

2. Park your car: bumper pointed at the picture window of a Hillary for Presdent headquarters. Make sure the bumper sticker is highly visible: “Hi, hi Ho, out of the race she goes…”

3. Park your car: bumper pointed at the picture window of a Barack for President Headquarters. make sure the bumper sticker is highly visible: “OK, which one do you want me to pull the lever for, Amos, or Andy?”

4. But why go through all that racist/sexist shtick? Just get John McCain mad. That oughta to da trick.


Please don’t take Scribe too serious. He doesn’t take himself too seriously at all, otherwise you’d have to call him Mr. Scribe, or Well Hung Scribe, or Who’s Your Daddy Scribe. Scribe is not meant to be eaten, devoured or read as a serious discussion of politics… but if you really think your computer screen might be tasty: go for it! Scribe is not responsible for glass you get between the teeth if you do eat it, but you would look kinda better without it: don’tchathink? He’s also not reponsible for the hard plastic if you decide to chew on the keys. But if you blow real hard, will it sound like a harmonica? If someone blows real hard, does she sound like a Monica? If a tree falls in the forest, and no one is there to hear it, will that sound like Monica blowing on a harmonica? Aren’t you tired of Monica jokes? So you don’t want Scribe to continue, right? OK, he’ll stop, but at least you can be satisfied that this edition of Scribe didn’t end like The Sopranos, right in the middle of a wor…

By Ye Olde Scribe

Elderly curmudgeon who likes to make others laugh while giving the Reich Wing a rhetorical enema.

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