Wednesday, December 23, 2015

News You Can't Use: Austrian Radio Jockey Punished for Playing 'Last Christmas' 24 Times

It just isn't the non-denominational, miracle-free totally secular holiday break period and common era date reset without all that great music. Whether it's sounds about telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows (I think you got Christmas, er, the Holiday, confused with camping, bro) stuff about bells or snowmen animated to a cruel mockery of life by unholy magical forces the goodness just keeps coming. It's so nice, repeatedly playing a minor hit from the eighties that mentions our atheistic rest break might even be appropriate, but not apparently in Austria. For those of you U.S. Americans that don't have maps that's the Hitler and Porsche one, not the dingo and Mad Max.

An Austrian radio station has punished one of its moderators after he locked himself in the studio only to play the song 'Last Christmas', a cult hit from the 1980s by British band Wham!, 24 times in a row.

I imagine the scene was similar to the one in "Shawshank Redemption" complete with enraged bully boys pounding on the door while a numb population looks up toward the amazing sounds, suddenly filled with hope and sense of purpose by the transcendent high art that is a limp eighties pop song.

Only once the moderator's daughter called the studio to beg her father to stop because the song made everyone "mad" did he finish his one-song marathon, according to a video on Youtube. 

We're also being controlled by shape-shifting lizard monsters according to the same highly credible source. "Watch this video, broham, it'll like blow your mind!"

Timm Bodner, programming Chief of the station Antenne Kaernten in Austria's province of Carinthia, told Reuters on Wednesday the 27-year-old disc jockey barricaded the studio last Friday with a wooden stick to play the prank on his listeners.

"In general, it was funny but there must be consequences," Bodner told Reuters in a telephone conversation. 

We all enjoyed your little prank, now you must be horribly punished. It was funny though, seriously.

"As a consequence he will have to work tomorrow on Christmas and on New Year's eve."

You were bad at your job so we want you doing it more often. Logic trap. Whether he'll have to wake up the next employee before he go, goes, remains unknown as of this writing.

Full Story. 

Komment Korner    

I just checked out the song on YouTube. i could only stand about 15 seconds of it. It could be used as a substitute for waterboarding terrorist prisoners. 

The people who should be punished are Wham! 

Heck, the warden threw Andy into the hole for a week for playing a song one time...

What an idiotic song. Especially considering that George Michael was the singer.

The solution? Next year, he's going to give his heart to "someone special".

I hope he plays it in a loop over his Christmas and New Years shifts..

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.   

Sunday, December 20, 2015

News You Can't Use: Polluted Nuclear Weapons Site to Become Tourist Destination

All right fellow campers, let's all keep one eye and one ear on those Geiger counters. That rapid ticking noise it's currently making is bad, lil Timmy, very bad. Hey look, an owl! I hope the amazing word picture I just put the final glorious strokes on in the above sentences gives you an adequate idea of the wonders and terrors that await at our newest national park, a site of both nuclear pollution and profound natural beauty. Hunt a two-headed deer, swim in glowing water, watch with silent wonder as your hair falls out in fist-sized clumps and you then die in extreme agony over a forty-eight hour period. What could possibly go wrong?

The nation's most polluted nuclear weapons production site is now its newest national park.

Expect to hear about this in the sequel to Crippled America, working title America Ground into Fine Powder and Scattered Across a Salt Marsh.

Thousands of people are expected next year to tour the Hanford Nuclear Reservation, home of the world's first full-sized nuclear reactor, near Richland, about 200 miles east of Seattle in south-central Washington.

National Lampoon's Rad Sickness Vacation. This year kids we're taking a nice family camping trip to an exclusion zone.

They won't be allowed anywhere near the nation's largest collection of toxic radioactive waste.

It'll be at least a hundred feet away from the main campground, maybe even a little further.

Everything is clean and perfectly safe," said Colleen French, the U.S. Department of Energy's program manager for the Hanford park. "Any radioactive materials are miles away."

You can trust me, I'm from the government.

At Hanford, the main attractions will be B Reactor - the world's first full-sized reactor - along with the ghost towns of Hanford and White Bluffs, which were evacuated by the government to make room for the Manhattan Project.

Visitors might also get the chance to run afoul of a family of horribly mutated cannibals.

The park will tell the story of those workers, plus the scientists who performed groundbreaking research and the residents who were displaced, said Chip Jenkins of the National Park Service, which is jointly developing the park with the Energy Department.

The exciting story of "all dead from deadly invisible particles" will really come to life for you.

"The intention of the park is to tell the full and complex and convoluted story," Jenkins said. That story is still being developed, but will certainly include a Japanese perspective, he said.

You'll wonder which is more toxic: the deadly radiation or the unnecessary and insulting political correctness. 

Tours will occur from April to October, French said. Exhibits at the B Reactor include the exposed face of the reactor and the control room, where many visitors like to sit and be photographed at control panels, she said. 

Get ready for the scourge of "reactor selfies" and "In #control room #YOLO #Irradiated."

Best vacation ever.

The Hanford story is far from over. Jenkins noted that thousands of scientists and other workers remain active on the Hanford site, inventing and implementing new techniques to clean up the massive volume of nuclear waste. 

Hubris and madness, what a story.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.   

Wednesday, December 16, 2015

News You Can't Use: UT-Arlington Police Issue ‘All Clear’ After No Gun Found Following Scare

I'd like to apologize to my loyal readers (Yes, both of you!) for the absence but my computer finally died and insert more irrelevant and boring personal details at the end of this sentence after you finish the article. Don't forget, now! The good news is that I'm back with yet another amazing bit of useless news. In the past kids had "snow days" off from school, but thanks to global climate change caused by my automobile ownership as well as unprecedented societal health levels these have been replaced with one-day vacations for "terror," "open shooters" and "some rats got into the Michelle Obama lunches and their bloated dead bodies are now choking the halls." Today we have the extreme privilege of examining one of these incidents that just scream how everything is fine and your gun store should have your order by next week, stop bothering us.

University of Texas at Arlington says a “suspect has been apprehended,” and the “all clear” has been given.

We can now start treat this just like the weather. All clear like an azure sky on a spring day, student loan holders! The forecast for tomorrow calls for partly cloudy with a chance of major malfunction caused by lack of paternal attention.

Says the latest, and likely last Mav Alert, “Multiple sweeps of the Architecture Building have been completed. No weapon has been found. Resume normal operations.”

I initially read that as "Marv Albert." They've switched back into a zone defense of our soft targets...sweeping through the architecture zone...Roark being put in cuffs and tazed...Yes, and it counts!

Also, beep bloop beep, resume normal operations fellow biological units. Scanning complete, no threats detected. Please return to nominal protocols.

UTA police say the man had a video camera, not a gun, and that he was not a student. It’s not yet clear why they referred to him as a “suspect” in the Mav Alert.

Well, we're all suspects, right? Watch that Face Crime, brother.

He was eventually released from police custody about 90 minutes after the incident began.

This is why our taxes don't contain an itemized list of police expenses.

School is in session today, as students take final exams. 

First I find out the "roommate suicide" loophole isn't real, now this. No guns, but I have a feeling they'll be plenty of bombs on that exam.

Full Story. 

 Wow, look out Harvard.

Komment Korner, Traumatized Student Edition   

Some guy dressed in army gear walking around campus with a gun.

ain't nobody got time for that

There is a man with a gun on campus but UTA is more concerned with us still taking our finals.


Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

Fiction Fragment: Spy Cam

Twenty minutes and no reply. The Over Man scowled at the screen, trying to cause someone to participate in what he thought was a very well thought out thesis by exerting the power of the will. A tap of the refresh button only confirmed the failure of his mind to influence others, even if it had evolved past good and evil and slave morality. The direct mind control of White Racial Comrades over long distances was probably still a month or two away. Face-to-face it might be a different story.
“I’m out of here.” With that statement made to the walls, the one man einsatzgruppen switched off the computer for the first time in nearly a year. Normally when the needs of The Struggle called him away from his propaganda ministry he just set the device to sleep, but not this time. It was completely off, lights out. The weight of recent events combined with the slow traffic at New Wehrmacht Reporting had led to this unthinkable moment. He actually felt pulled toward the door, which was highly unusual to say the least. Outside lurked Israeli trained killers, ZOGbots and maybe even someone of non-European hertitage. It was a bad place, in other words. Still, he had to go. If it meant becoming the modern world’s Horst Wessel, shot down by Reaction or something, that was the price he was prepared to pay.
New Bremen was still in the middle of summer, specifically that part of the season where there’s no more doubt. June has its cold days and a Wisconsin September isn’t exactly clement most of the time, but here in the exact chronological center you can’t possibly come to any conclusion other than “yeah, it’s fucking hot.”
“It’s fucking hot.” Walter cursed to himself as a combination of back spasms and the merciless assault of solar radiation sent beads of sweat racing down a face that might be mid-thirties or mid-twenties, depending on the day and the angle and how good the light is. Right now, it might have passed for forty. It was like whatever youth remained was melting off.
The first stop was the post office box. Even in this day and age of miracles of wireless transmission and the full dreams of Tesla made flesh the post is still the primary source of supply and intelligence for the aspiring Savior of the West. Sure enough, the metal cubby hole was practically bursting with letters of every size, shape and condition. With practiced movements Walter easily separated the wheat from the chaff, forming a “keep” and “discard” pile on a nearby table. It was easy, mindless work which also carried the additional bonus of air conditioning and being separated by two sets of doors from the poisoned environment where the government make-workers slaved. His mood improved rapidly, as if each letter assigned to a pile also represented an infusion of energy.
A request from the Imperial Knights of the White Fight to come to a rally somewhere in the south: discard. A letter from a NWR supporter with a badly wrinkled ten dollar bill enclosed: keep. An offer to sign up for a credit card that gave bonus points for purchasing gasoline and airline tickers: discard. A catalogue for an adult novelty company that offered erotic films, lotions and potions, and artificial vaginas: keep.
By the time the process was over the White Warrior was up nearly fifty bucks and had some nice late night reading material. Not too bad. Happily whistling the Westerwald Lied he made his exit. The next stop was the local burger joint. Even the Man of Destiny is not entirely immune from ordinary appetites, after all.
The meal of an Emperor Burger, large fries (those fucking health cranks had finally caved in and allowed it back on the menu, no more ordering three medium servings instead) and high fructose corn syrup ambrosia was simply delicious, perhaps even more so when it’s purchased with profits made from The Struggle. It would be hard to imagine most religious conceptions of heaven offering anything better than the pure bliss delivered by these All-American staples. Rivers of wine? Virgins? Keep that, brother. Give me greasy joy on a bun with some fresh cancer-causers as a side.
Perhaps somehow sensing his joy The Enemy made their move. It was at this point of greatest temporal pleasure that he encountered the spies of the NWO. It all started when two men entered, at first glance too ordinary looking suits taking a power lunch or whatever those corporate fucks call it these days. Anyone else might have ignored their presence as nothing outside ordinary experience, but the trained eyes of the Wehrmacht Reporter were not so easily fooled, quickly noting features that suggested a Jewish background or possibly even some negroid admixture.

Then there was the bag, which to someone unskilled in urban recon might have been dismissed as the ordinary paper sort used to transport take-out orders. Our hero wasn’t fooled. It first drew his attention when one of the men seemed to be very carefully placing it on the table, as if making sure it was pointed in the proper direction. A receit was stapled to the bag, which to the best of his knowledge was not a standard practice of Emperor Burger. Typical government work, half-assed and with glaring errors. The final damning evidence was what appeared to be a small slit. The spy camera must be deployed behind it. This was not a kosher burger order, no sir. These men were Mossad, CIA, FBI or maybe some combination of all three.

“Stay calm, stay calm.” The Storm Soldier whispered the words like a mantra. The sweat returned in full force, even in the cool interior of the temple of poor dietary decisions. Greasy ersatz potatoes fell from trembling fingers as he realized this might be his moment of martyrdom. Would the deadly poison darts even hurt? It was impossible not to wonder.

The two tools of the oppression were talking to each other and sipping milk shakes, apparently oblivious to the deadly game they had initiated. These guys were good, that was for sure. Most of their victims probably entered the next world with no idea how they even got there. Not this time, not this time. Erik’s hand closed around his phone.

It was time for a last stand. A final swallow of ammonia treated semi-angus beef for courage, a last bit of carbonated water for essential sugars to fuel the coming fight or flight and the White man who can see the truth was up and approaching the modern day Oprichniks, his camera phone held at arms length in front of him like a cross presented against a vampire.
“You want to take pictures?” The plan was for the statement to be delivered like an action hero, full of righteous and manly indignation, but sad reality reduced to a barely comprehensible croaking. The two men turned and for a moment there was eye contact. “I can do it to!” The second line was closer to the platonic ideal of tough guy recitation as the first outburst had cleared most of the soda’s sticky syrup off the vocal cords.
With the steely resolve of a machine gunner desperately firing his last ammunition at the advancing horde he repeatedly snapped off pictures with the phone. Like undead horrors fleeing the cleansing sunlight both of The Enemy brought up there hands, making an effort to cover their faces, as if deflecting invisible blows. Seeing his opportunity, Erik pocketed the camera and dashed for the door, fully prepared to take a silenced burst from an Israeli Uzi right between the shoulder blades. Instead, nothing. Moments later he was in his well-used car, hauling ass.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Fiction Fragment: Skateboard Punk

Digital camera in one hand and a half eaten protein bar in the other Joe Smith entered the apartment’s parking lot. He’d worked for years to build up that long, hard green bar beneath his online pen name and the last thing he wanted was to lose “reps” because of a post that was made in anger, without considering the needs of the Shredded and Jacked Up Off Topic community first. To wit, he had failed to adequately document his claims, which was almost the biggest sin a poster could commit. Being respectful to women and implying that lifting heavy objects was time poorly spent were arguably bigger violations of the societal norms, but only just. We live in an increasingly visual age and this means pictures tell the story, not words. Whether the subject was fornication, deadlift statistics or in this case a damaged vehicle the need for visual confirmation was always of paramount importance. To make such a rookie mistake was shameful and it certainly did nothing to improve an already bad mood.

A severe hangover and the possibility of being carpet-bombed with little red dots of disapproval were only the two most immediate problems. Then there was the damaged truck, the possible job loss and now they were talking about banning him from the his gym after he unpacked the contents of his stomach on the front desk, sexually harassed the lady of virtue controlling said desk, took a piss in the kiddie pool downstairs and probably a dozen other horrible acts that the black out had mercifully obscured. Worse, as far as Smith was concerned, no actual lifts had been performed and, thus, no gains were made. Why couldn’t he have done some insane, brown liquor auto-piloted deads in between kicking over a stability ball rack and trying unsuccessfully to masturbate to a breast cancer awareness poster? There was nothing for it.

The sun was high in the sky and the light and heat it was generating quickly became oppressive. The melting protein bar fell to the tar with a wet plop. Smith forced profanities through a dry throat as he threw the remaining portion of the diet supplement against the brick wall of the apartment house in an impotent act of defiance.

Essaying the full extent of the wounds suffered by his automotive penis stand-in did little to improve an already foul mood. In the harsh glare of the midday the full extent of the injuries were now visible through squinting eyes. One headlight was completely broken, its shape distorted like a boxer’s eye swelling shut in the late rounds. The dent directly adjacent resembled a rabbit punch from a titan and it was only good fortune that had allowed the wheel-well to maintain its integrity. If the unknown object had been struck at a slightly different trajectory no amount of having symbolic resemblance to scary animals or stones would have prevented the vehicle from being crippled, perhaps even totaled. As it was, the bulk of the damage to the working man’s sports car was superficial.

Unfortunately Smith was more a glass half-empty thinker. Add to that the strange fastidiousness of your typical truck owner that seems in deep contradiction to the message conveyed in the marketing and it was the spark for another blow-up.

“Aw fuck.” Snap. Picture taken. “I can’t believe this shit.” Snap. “Look at the paint job. Fucking ruined!” Snap. Snap.

“Whatcha doing, dude?” A skateboard carrying twelve-year-old interrupted the accident documentation. “Takin’ pictures for the in-surance?”

“Get out of here, poser. Do you even ride?” Joe puffed himself out like something out of the nature channel, his massive upper body threatening to tear his stained undershirt. If this little fuck wanted a symbolic dominance ritual he would get more than he could possibly handle.

“Yeah, I ride. Just watch, bitch.” The towheaded Future of America zipped past on the board, slowed down only slightly by the keys he was digging into the side of the truck.

“You’re fucking dead! You hear me?” The precious resource of youth was already zipping down a hill and well out of the range where that sort of threat could be made good. This inherent problem did little to prevent the explosion of the balls-to-the-walls lifting loose cannon. “Fuck! I’ll throw you like a kettle bell you little fuck!”

A few minutes and a near total emotional meltdown later the pictures had been merged onto the information superhighway and all was well, at least in that particular arena.

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.    

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

News You Can't Use: Too Much TV as a Young Adult May Harm Brain in Mid-life

It's time for yet another entry into the "Things everybody understood fifty years ago without bothering to fund elaborate research to incorrectly prove" file as yet another "water is wet" study suggests that staring into the moron box during the formative years may, in fact, turn you into a moron. I guess the valuable looking skills don't really mean a lot compared to the extensive brain damage being caused, but if we can't defend our bad addictions what do we have left? I mean, just because some lying scientists said it doesn't mean you should change you're life, you're already perfect, didn't you see that image I posted on your "wall" on that information gathering site?

Too much television-watching in young adulthood could lead to cognitive problems in mid-life, suggested a study Wednesday that tracked more than 3,000 people for 25 years.

A quarter century of telling white coats about your glowing screen drool dish habits and making lots of that long green in the process. And hey, we might have even learned something, although the unbelievably flawed design of this study might undermine that a little bit. Still, two and a half decades well spent everyone, give yourselves a round of applause.

People who reported watching more than three hours of television per day as young adults were twice as likely to suffer from poor cognition down the road, compared to those who were more active and reported less screen time.

Maybe think twice before that "Ow! My Balls!" marathon. Poor cognition, a nice new euphemism for good ole down home idiocy we've all come to appreciate and cherish.

The research tracked 3,247 adults, aged 18-30 when they enrolled in the study published in the Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) Psychiatry.

And yet there are a few cranks who claim that academic rigor is vanishing from the mush sciences.

Scientists assessed cognitive function in the 25th year using three tests of mental processing speed, executive function and verbal memory.

No electric shocks, unlawful imprisonments or giant mazes? Man, you used to be cool, Psychiatry.

Low levels of physical activity and lots of television-watching were linked to slower processing speed and worse executive function, the study found.

Oh, by the way there were also these other confounding variables, but you're getting your news from Yahoo so you probably didn't understand most of these words anyway.

Verbal memory, however, did not appear to be affected by the amount of television time.

It's time to build your vocabulary by passively absorbing hours of "Gattaca: The Series."

The study was led by Tina Hoang of the Northern California Institute for Research and Education at the Veterans Affairs Medical Center, San Francisco; and Kristine Yaffe of the University of California, San Francisco.

That laid-back California attitude. I'll have the study done in twenty-five years, mom. Quit bugging me and harshing my buzz.

We win again! Take that, Wallonia! USA! USA!

According to Andrew Przybylski, an experimental psychologist at the University of Oxford, who was not involved in the findings, the study contained shortcomings. 

Yeah, no kidding.

"First, these data rely entirely on a potentially problematic self-reported measure for television time," he said in a statement.

You should have hooked them up to wires like a real scientist.

Researchers also did not study participants' cognitive function at the beginning of the study, in order to have a baseline for a comparison.

"I didn't feel like doing it, mom! I'm sure it won't matter." 

He also pointed out that "nearly one in three participants did not complete the study," further weakening the strength of the findings.

I could not complete this brutal marathon of writing down my idiot box habits and getting paid.

"Taken together, the work should provoke continued conversation about the nature of different forms of interactive media and underline the value of open science methodology including open datasets, pre-registered analysis plans, and robust and open peer review process," he said in a statement.

I mean, were you suckas even thinkin' bout yer pre-registered analysis plans? Your dataset is wack. 

"Until these innovations are introduced into this research literature, we will be left scratching our heads at studies like this."

Now if you'll excuse me, I have an award-winning "selfie addiction" study to conduct.

Komment Korner  

The media bosses are criminals because they put out such garbage for consumers to view and suffer.

If you are subscribed to cable tv these days... you already are brain dead
Think this is bad...wait til the "techy generation" generation hits their mid 40's,this is candyland!

Thanks liberals

Seriously :(

Aaron Zehner is the author of "The Foolchild Invention" available in paperback and e-book format. Read free excerpts here and here.