A team of medical scientists have unfrozen Walt Disney and successfully reanimated his skin cells and vital organs, according to the Orlando Tribune.  This marks the first successful case of reanimation from a completely deceased cadaver.

Contrary to urban legends and statements denying the cryonic freezing of Disney, he was in fact the first test case of the cryonic freezing process.

Reports state that Walt is now undergoing critical lung replacement surgery and necessary physical therapy.

Walt Disney, resurrected, is now 106 years old.

[more from source]

<xterm> The problem with America is stupidity. I’m not saying there should be a capital punishment for stupidity, but why don’t we just take the safety labels off of everything and let the problem solve itself?

I endorse this quote.

So as I sit here this morning enjoying my over sized RedBull, the wings it gave me, my incomplete but tasty breakfast and some early morning Hi/Low Omaha poker, I come to realize that I am really annoyed at a scoff and hideous scowl I received from a person the other night. The more I think about it and the more I ponder on the situation, it increases my desire to shoryuken punch an amputee.

What I’m speaking of is a mouth-breathing troll who suffers from mommy issues and a serious lack of attention towards her spoiled needs. Paige, as we like to call her. The scoff I earlier mentioned was the outcome of her releasing anger towards a good friend of mine, Brandon. I, by association, am now an obvious dickheaded accomplice and deserve pudgy eye-daggers every time something doesn’t go her way.

In a way I probably deserve it a little, I did laugh like a prepubescent monkey when she discovered that Brandon was dating a girl even though she spent half a day stalking him, looking high and low to find any of our vehicles as we ignored her calls because we didn’t really want to deal with a whining tool. That’s the last thing we wanted on a sunny day while we visited the beach, listening to the sirens of the whambulance cycle the sandy coastline because nobody’s responding to “look at me” time.

Oh fucking well. Boo fucking hoo. He’s dating a woman who’s more attractive, less annoying and doesn’t smell like a truck stop. Have your mom pull the car around, playtime is over.

Just because every else babies you and complies with your every need does mean we want to join the cesspool and wade in the entrails of the stupid. Nobody gives two shits that you’re in a mood and want to be catered to. None of us want to sleep with you bad enough to even bend over for 10 seconds to please your needs. The want is there, but only to see if your titties hang as low as expected. After that, I’d need to go shopping for flour and a hose.

So we don’t want to sleep with you, nor listen to you, what’s left after that? Besides fucking yourself, I can’t think of much. The attention whoring is old, boring and useless. Until your shit starts smelling like strawberries and cream, shut your trap and bite your tongue. Hopefully you’ll find a man someday that won’t look at you like the rest with a cold, comatose stare whilst trying to avoid any enduring conversation at all with you. Although that’s not believable, we can still hope for your sake that someone will turn you from a cunt to a semi-tolerable bitch.

And for the record, breath when you laugh. Your cackle is a shriek of obnoxious melody, the way you would think of bagpipes as sexy. Eat shit and die, cuntrag.

P.S. Paige, if you ever kick me again, I’ll cut Sarah loose on you and make damned sure she breaks both your arms and 3 of your ribs. Have a great evening tons of fun.

Let’s say you’re in an airplane, an airbus, jet, whatever and you’re flying to X location. (Yes, you silly bastard, this is a math question.) Now, let’s say that the aircraft malfunctions and begins to fall out of the sky at a 45 degree angle. At this point, air begins to suction itself out of the plane and WHAM your little oxygen mask falls from the overhead compartment.

Would you be able to reach that if you’ve got your seatbelt on? I’m no mathematician, but I’m damned positive that unless you have ape arms, this dangling cord-o-life would be out of your reach. Even if you managed to get your seatbelt off, you’d probably have gravity issues, falling down through aisle after aisle of airbus roominess, with the smudged in-flight movie screen breaking your fall towards the nose of the aircraft. At this point you’re going to be gasping for oxygen from the now depressurized cabin and probably drifting somewhere between unconsciousness and imminent death.

But now, what if, as you were at the moment of absolute death, the plane levels off. Would you survive? I’m thinking yes, but only if you’re beginning to make an inward breath as your last. Exhaling would only make the other passengers laugh at you for not timing this phenomenon properly.

Now what if this plane is heading towards a mountain side, eh? I’m sure glad I’m a cheap asshole, having my seats in the very rear of the aircraft. To this day I have yet to see any airplane back into a mountain. This tactic is also a great way to get to the bathroom’s first, in case of other mid-flight emergencies. Lord knows the human body cannot properly digest the cordon bleu, which translated from French means, “bile-stuffed turkey ass”.

Then there’s the patrons of the airline who “respectfully request” you to close your window. Hi, I’m Servo, I chose this window seat so I could avoid watching Maid in Manhattan in which I paid $5 to rent headphones for prior to my knowledge of the cinematic suppository. Is there really any other reason you want me to shut it? Is it too bright during the daytime for you to be seeing outside? Are you allergic to altitudes? Maybe you’re just grumpy and didn’t spend the extra $20 to strategically choose your seat and now feel the need to force upon me your attitude? Here’s me giving two shits: While you sleep on this flight, I’ll be enjoing the view of city street grids and mountainside snowcaps while I slowly pickpocket all your loose change and pens from your carry on bag.

Why don’t long, cross-country bus rides show the same courtesy as the airlines? You’re forced to sit on a bus for 2 days to get halfway across the country and you don’t even get a complimentary, mini-sized can of cola. No tinfoil wrapped orange juice. Not even a packet of 7-9 honey roasted peanuts. All a bus has to offer you is that creepy minority who keeps staring at you as if you were old foes from prison and the overwhelming smell of the bathroom entrails everytime the bus hits a bump. Hell, they don’t even give you seatbelts on a bus. To me, seatbelts on a bus make more sense than on an airplane. Airplanes should be regulated with 3 point harnesses and a feed bag. Busses should be equipped with seatbelts and an economy size bottle of Purell.

Then there’s the airports themselves, screening individuals like they’re hostile, 3rd world terrorists and “additional screening” minorities and anyone who sneezes out of turn. This whole war against terror thing has taken security to new, more ridiculous levels. Not to mention making it harder for citizens to travel, vacation or even defecate on their own soil. This has only given conspires around the world yet another chance to voice their schizophrenic opinions and thoughts to the masses of potential recruits to the ever-growing “underground” population. Nobody cares that you can make up elaborate stories and fictional coverups from thin air. Hey, I can do it too:

As a man once said to me, “12 men total have physically walked on the moon. 2 members from 6 Apollo missions, 11, 12, 14, 15, 16, 17. This is not the work of government conspiracy, but the tactical evasion of Chinese snipers. You’d be silly to believe otherwise, the moon is filled with those damned sneaky bastards and we have yet to send a full platoon up to deal with them. If were up to me, a large nuclear warhead would be the most sufficient method of dealing with them, but I think people enjoy their precious orbiting rock more than they should.”

Now, having heard that, I had replied with the following, “If you add the Apollo missions together, you get 85. 1985 was when WrestleMania first debuted at Madison Square Garden. WrestleMania is an anagram for Warmest Alien. The conspiracy is obvious, aliens on the moon have been trying to capture astronauts for their skins!”

That was a 10 minute conspiracy, no real thought involved. Now picture the hundreds of thousands of conspirators who take this shit seriously and will spend a decade trying to figure out who drank the last of the milk in the refrigerator, only to be disappointed that John Edgar Hoover didn’t come back from the dead to make a malt, but his mother decided she didn’t want dry cereal anymore. Some of these people are just plain deranged. Did you know the Titanic was sunk by the Jews piloting German U-Boats? True story, I have all the documents at hand, right here. Iceberg? How about Glacierstein? Need I say more?

But that all being put aside, I must say, there’s nothing more exciting than a well written conspiracy. No joke. Let’s take the Unfastened Coins theory for example, involving all the events of the 9-11 “tragedy” and whatnot. These guys tore apart every imaginable and unimaginable detail and turned it all into a huge, nearly believable, conspiracy. Everything from counting phone numbers of passengers to individual counts of airline inventory, seemingly adding endless equations to any number to bring the sum/product to a 911 related digit. It’s amazing what the unemployed can do with their time.