News4U Online

At mirror gaze, reflection exposes disturbing echo. Contusions canvas abused flesh of humanity. Blunt transgressions manifest raveled pain, coagulating clots in every vein of sanity. World turns mush, collapsing, collecting to a cesspool of crazy, narrated by the maniacal tongue of Jack Van Impe.

            Translation: we’re screwed. We don’t need dooming Impe prophecy to tell us that. Simple observation will affirm daily desecration and degradation inflicting the inhabitants of our society. Idiocy is all around us, in mounds and piles, like monumental turds in the cat’s litter box.

Cats. Friend to all, when convenient. Cats are daring, inquisitive, methodical. They’ve perfected extended napping and have a knack for showing up at the wrong time, like when you’re trying to squeeze out a leak with the bathroom door open (ladies and men that sit to pee need not worry). Stubborn and confident, cats are willing to engage any challenge within reason. It’s the “within reason” part some people don’t quite understand. Like a Superior Court in Suffolk, that has summoned a cat, Sal Esposito, for jury duty. Really? A cat? Responsible for judging the fate of a human being? Reeeeally? Okay this can be straightened out right – I mean, obviously there was some mistake. Surely with appeal and filing of disqualification of service the jury commissioner will realize this ridiculous blunder and relinquish this cat of his supposed civic duty, right? WRONG. Request denied. Sal’s date in court stands. Let’s get this straight: Sal Esposito is cat. Sal Esposito might challenge a stream of early morning piss, snag Cheez-Its from the counter, paw at the doorknob in a lame attempt to escape outside and squirrel items (like your expensive Trion:Z bracelet) under the furniture for future activity, but Sal Esposito, A CAT, cannot show up to a courthouse (even if Toonces drove him there) and participate in rendering a verdict with a panel of human beings for the trial he’s appointed. Sal Esposito is a cat, and Sal Esposito is without a doubt unable to do that. Sal Esposito might be able to eat things he shouldn’t and vomit on the carpet, but Sal Esposito cannot talk in any sort of manner that a human being can understand (hold your objections, pet whisperers and psychics). How do you find the defendant, Sal? Meow. Meow! Meeeow! Hissss! Chalk one up for guilty, Juror Number 1! Come on people, a f**king cat! Jury duty! A CAT! JURY DUTY! Absolute, unimaginable insanity.

Buffoons. People just can’t seem to keep it together. Take Gilbert THE GUN Arenas. Multi-million dollar ($111 to be exact) star guard for the Washington Wizards suspended indefinitely for pulling an unlicensed firearm and gunslinging in the locker room with teammate, Javaris Crittenton. Disputes over money, mutual threats to shoot each other, blah, blah, blah. Pretty sure your Wizarding days are over, pal. Better turn in your wand, because your “joke” just turned into a felony. Four guns found in your locker, including a gold-plated Desert Eagle. Did you want to just shoot him or spray the walls with the top half of his torso for the team manager to clean up? Umm, you’re playing in the Verizon Center, not the streets, Dirty Harry. Guys that earn $111 million dollars to play offense and defense for less than 48 minutes a game don’t really need to have a gold-plated brain decimator in their locker to settle card game arguments with other guys that have multi-million dollar contracts, right? Seriously, Caine, why the need to be a Menace II Society? What’s next, jacking his Daytons? Isn’t ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN MILLION DOLLARS ENOUGH? Clearly you’re trying to clear the hocus pocus and send a message: Nobody eats Gilbert’s grapes! Idiot.

And talk about taking it up the arse. How about NBC? National Broadcasting Company I think not, more like Not Backing Conan. Conan’s been stabbed harder than the entire cast of a homoerotic lovemaking film with this total snake job. Excellent job, NBC, for prematurely screwing a comedic genius out of The Tonight Show in favor of giant chin has-been stuffed in a suit that’s about as funny as the outcome of a weeklong laxative binge. Come on now, Jay’s lame headlines or Conan’s self-abusing bear? Really, let’s separate comedy from crap. And Kevin Eubanks... puhleeese, clown. Mr. I get miked up to sit there with my stupid guitar and laugh whenever I see Jay’s giant chin stop flopping. You’ll never compare to Mr. Andy Richter, no matter how many stupid riffs you play. But you’ve made your choice, NBC. You’re going to ram the Jay Leno pony into the ground, burying your peacock balls deep in crap to get the job done. You’ve sealed your fate. Look to the future... in the year three thouuuusand!... the ginger will prevail!

*Note: I’m getting tired of of people asking me if I still write for News 4U. You people just aren’t flipping through the magazine far enough. I’m IN THE BACK, padres. Or you could flip the magazine over, turn to the first page and find my crap totally OWNING, right before the sexy singles ads. Read my stuff and find a mate... what else could you want?