Crazy Pictures of Incredibly Ugly People

                               
                                             

Brazenly flaunting her deformity in public.

       I would like to start this post off by saying that it does not in any way represent a compromise of my integrity. I am not trying to generate a large number page views by writing a bunch of disposable bullshit in a distracted and semiliterate style of prose that would indicate I wrote it in a noisy food court with an iPad and a heaping spoonful of unwarranted self-importance, using tantalizing keywords such as unlimited oatmeal to make search engines love me the way my father never did. That goes against everything I believe in as a blogger, and I would never do that to my dozens of loyal readers. In all seriousness, I would estimate that there are almost two dozen of you at this point, which really makes the endless hours of tireless labor all worth it. I'm so glad that I have nearly institutionalized myself striving gallantly to provide the internet with stellar content for the last two years, so that I can now enjoy a readership roughly equivalent to the number of people who have been to the moon.

       I must say I am nothing short of orgasmically elated that the current Alexa ranking for Appellate Sky is 7,377,936, while a flaccid orgy of mind-numbing platitudes like Zen Habits is in the top 10,000, even though it's responsible for at least 10,000 comas, and probably a few suicides. And I love the thought of my blog remaining shrouded in obscurity for the remainder of my natural life, while the Hyperbole and a Half woman shits out a few third grade-level Paintbrush abortions that are more telling of her struggles with mental illness than any kind of coherent narrative, and she is heralded as a comedic genius and gets a Wikipedia article. I'm really happy for them both, and wish them continued success.

        So since I am so beatifically satisfied with the tendency of the internet to exalt mediocrity, while meticulously crafted gems such as my humble weblog are quietly under rug swept, or simply evaporate like so much rain on your wedding day, despite having no shortage of Alanis Morissette references, I would have no reason to shamelessly seek the approval of the dimwitted masses and their emotionless robot overlords by posting content that feels wrong in the pit of my stomach. And therefore it is screamingly obvious that my heart is simply telling me to abandon my foolish intellectual pride and explore new and exciting modes of expression, while still being true to that innermost voice which I believe to be both my conscience and that thing we call "God." And that's why today I have decided to show you some Crazy Pictures of Incredibly Ugly People.

       I don't think we can have an intelligent discussion about ugliness without mentioning people with incredibly long limbs. Everybody knows at least one or two of these people and we all hate them for the simple fact that they make us want to puke. But at the same time we don't want to anger these people because we are afraid they will pounce on us like a predatory Stretch Armstrong and proceed to squeeze the life out of us with their boa constrictor arms.

       Excuse me for a minute while I puke my guts out. This is the ugliest person I have ever seen in my life. The Terminator called and he would like his mangled face back.

       Holy exploding torpedoes of vomit, the ugliness is almost incomprehensible. At first I thought I might have been looking at a sprawling mural depicting the Rape of Nanking in excruciating detail, but after a few minutes of gazing at it in rapt terror, I realized it was just a small child who was dealt and incredibly bad hand.

       At this point I am fairly certain there isn't a God. I find myself facing an existential crisis in which participation in life becomes a pointless charade, and consciousness itself a superfluous nightmare, because I had the extreme misfortune of laying eyes on this rubber-footed freak show.

       I'm not sure how much more of this my psyche can withstand. I feel like I am approaching the event horizon of ugliness, and that if I continue even one image further, I will cross the point of no return and be sucked into a very unsightly black hole where no favorable lighting can ever get through. I can only imagine how ruff that would be.

       Well now I have really gone and done it. I have crossed the point of no return, and am caught in a hellish vortex of ugliness. I feel myself slipping into a catatonic state, where I am immersed in the white liquid of my plainest nightmares, a churning maelstrom of homogenized terror. It is saturating every fiber of my being, and I feel myself softening and slowly coming apart. And now I am being chomped to bits in the maw of a voracious giant, ugly as sin and without a shred of compassion. My only wish is for the semisweet darkness, where I can never again be the victim of these treacherous mutants.



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Fucking Myself With A Legitimate Rake: The Misadventures Of A Wayward Congressman

                               
                                     

       I think I speak for most legitimate Americans when I say I am outraged at all of the liberal media bias surrounding a certain nondescript televised incident that is purported to have happened at some point or another, but was entirely un-newsworthy if it did in fact occur. The spin doctors at radicalized hippie cooperatives such as CNN and MSNBC have done so much to try and demonize the guy involved in this particular thing that it is almost as if they were sent here by Satan for the express purpose of tearing him down, and they don't even seem to give a care that he is the holder of a great heart.

       So since they are insisting on turning this trivial little blooper of sorts that was clearly not intended to have far-reaching sinister implications into something that they are saying possibly does or whatever; and since they are displaying all the puerile sadism of snot-nosed schoolchildren who wriggle with pleasure as they murder ants under magnifying glasses; and since they are appealing to the innermost bloodlust of their sniveling, sycophantic viewers by playing it over and over again to the point of utter absurdity, and on top of that having the unmitigated gall to give their decidedly negative opinions about it, I have decided to launch a vicious campaign of my own. I will not resort to the insidiously underhanded and bitterly barbaric tactics of those aforementioned jihadists of journalism, but please understand that some of the truths I uncover will be grievously offensive by their very nature, and thus it will be almost impossible to phrase them nicely, so please just know that I have only the purest of intentions when I tell you matter-of-factly that Bill Clinton is a rapist. He is a voraciously villainous raper of the very worst kind, even though there is no actual evidence to support that, and no legal action was ever taken against him. But it can still be said with absolute certainty that in a bygone decade someone accused him of rape. And that right there is the real #waronwomen, ladies and germs.

       It really never ceases to amaze me to no end when I present a liberal with some very compelling evidence such as the fact of all these accusations floating around about Clinton, and instead of treating it as the serious matter that it is, they choose instead to focus on my supposed grammatical shortcomings and act like I overexaggerate things and that I'm being redundant, and that's when I'm like, "please, how much more longer are we going to focus on me and not the issues?" And I find it totally hilarious when they just stare at me blankly, and then make up some ridiculous excuse for why they can no longer spar with me, like that they have to go pursue a more intriguing political discourse with a very small child or an amphibian of some sort, because by doing so they are merely conceding that my points are unassailable.

       And by the way, come talk to me about the #waronwomen when you are ready to ascertain that there are hundreds of thousands of women who have been forcibly removed from the job pool by possible wife-beater Barack Obama just in the last three years, and that he has driven out hundreds of thousands more retroactively. Incredibly, he was not even content to ravish them out of their interest in employment during the time of his own presidency, so he made the brazen unilateral decision to reach back into the Bush administration stick it to them hardcore, especially women aged 25-54, since a higher percentage of women in that age bracket left the work force in Bush's first 30 months in office than did in Obama's.  And yet he refuses to go back to the year 1961 and provide digital footage of him being born in America. How very convenient that is of you Barry.

       I mean, let's just forget for a second that women's labor force participation increased during every administration from Eisenhower to Clinton, but began to level off in the late 1980's, and from the Bush administration to present has been in gradual decline, which all points to social trends beyond the president's scope of power; and let's just forget for a second that Obama is implementing the "Women Owned Business" contracting program that was passed by Clinton but never begun by Bush, which gives those businesses a better shot at landing government contracts; and let's just forget for a second that Obama appointed the first-ever White House adviser on violence against women, and forget for a second about the Violence Against Women Act that was co-authored by Biden and has for almost two decades enjoyed broad bipartisan support, but is currently being obstructed by Republicans in the House because they object to the new measures for protecting Native American women, members of the LGBT community, and undocumented immigrants; and let's just forget for a second that Obama supported the Paycheck Fairness Act that would give women more protection should they choose to sue an employer for gender-based wage discrimination and would allow them to discuss pay with other employees without fear of reprisal, but the Republicans activated their Yu-Gi-Oh trap card and filibustered that shit, twice; and in fact, let's just forget about all of that stuff completely. Let's just go with our hearts on this one, because we know deep down that Obama is the problem. He will not be happy until all of our women are either barefoot in the study reading Flaubert or some shit or are employees of some freaky Soilent Green version of Planned Parenthood that forces American citizens to subsist on a slurry of fetuses and partially hydrogenated soybean oil. And let us applaud the few women who are brave enough to stand up to this brutal onslaught of change we don't need, this cowardly new world we hate, by performing verbal fellatio on the people who as part of their not-even-trying-to-hide-it-this-time voter suppression campaign are openly attacking the League of Women Voters, a rogue organization that has its despicable roots in helping to enfranchise women after it became legal for them to vote. I'm looking at you, Dana Loesch. Give yourself a pat on the back.

"WHISKEY TANGO FOXTROT" is a cool way of saying you support the
military-industrial complex, but are opposed to the use of potty mouth.

       And so please do forgive me if I happen to erupt into violent paroxysms of uproarious laughter when you tell me that one minor dinky diminutive accident of a tiny little minuscule misspoken brain fart that was less than a dwarfish lilliputian pocket-size non-event is in some way reflective of a widespread affinity for pseudoscience and magical thinking within the ranks of the political party to which this phantom allegedly belongs. But since you people don't seem to realize that you are on a need-to-know basis and that the things you need to know will be fully disclosed to you and that if something is newsworthy you will be given an imperial nod which is your cue to go ahead and discuss it if you wish, and if not then you would be well-advised to shut your fetid plebeian treason flaps; and since you insist on being the infuriating pricks who love nothing more than to drag a person's name through the mud and who will not be satisfied until the person's character lies battered and bloodied upon the sordid, slanted earth, I guess I will be forced to weigh in on the matter. Todd Akin is an idiotic piece of dried-up disgrace and I hate him. He has always been a huge dork who gets no love from the ladies. People always mess with him in the hallways at Congress, and one time Roscoe Bartlett pantsed him in front of a bunch of legislators, including girls, and we all saw his shriveled little Tea Party member. Another time he asked Michelle Bachmann to the "All-White 50's Night" dance and she laughed in his retarded Dungeons and Dragons-playing face. My beliefs have never so much as resided on the same continent as his, and frankly, I wouldn't piss on him if he was on fire.

       So now that we have gotten that out of the way, I hope we can finally get beyond all of this partisan diatribe and really start to focus on the issues at hand, issues such as whether we should do away with all labor laws or just most of them, and whether we should begin a protracted land war in both Iran and Syria or just Iran, or just Syria. I'm just trying to think of ways to get America back on track, since we are clearly doing far worse than we were four years ago. I mean sure, in 2008 we lost 2.6 million jobs when we would have needed to create 1.5 million just to keep up with the expanding labor force, and we have now seen 30 consecutive months of private sector job growth; and sure the Dow Jones is 60% higher than it was when Obama took office, which could be seen as objectively better for anyone who happens to have a 401(k), and sure corporate profits have more than doubled since the final quarter of 2008; and sure if you are a member of al Qaeda you are probably not rooting for Obama in this election, and sure the big war that was started with a fairy tale but in the real world killed over 100,000 people has finally been brought to an end despite fervent opposition from people like Mitt Romney, and sure it would appear that we now have a president who actually has heard of jus ad bellum; and sure if you are a woman in America you can no longer be charged more for insurance simply because you are a woman, and you cannot be charged more for well woman checkups or be charged more for birth control because of someone else's religious beliefs, and if you're a student you will not have fees added to your federal student loans because the profit-driven middleman has been taken out of the equation, but we still know deep down in our innermost heart of hearts the Obama is a huge failure who just makes us want to puke.

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Prying My Insurance Card From My Cold Dead Hands: My Totally Rational Opposition to Obamacare

       
       By now you have probably all heard the incredibly bad news about the Constitution being torn to ribbons and shat upon and then torn into smaller ribbons with shit on them by the so-called "justices" of the U.S. Supreme Court. At the risk of using some slight hyperbole, this decision has caused Lady Liberty to burst into flames, allowing tyranny to spread its malevolent bat wings and plunge our once-great nation into interminable, godless night, and is the worst ruling since they voted to uphold the Nineteenth Amendment. I'm sorry, what I meant to say was the Dred Scott Decision.

I'm still incredulous about it.

       
       When I first heard the news that it had been stricken down I rejoiced, doing a sort of taunting chicken dance at the television and buh-gocking my little heart out, but moments later when I learned that through some sort of satanic trickery it had actually been upheld, my knees became weak and I collapsed to the floor, where I lay shocked and unresponsive for a number of hours.

       When I finally arose from my patriotic stupor, I resolved to take meaningful action on the matter, so I immediately took to the internet to make sure people knew just how much I didn't approve of this business. I let my disapproval flow through me like a raging river, harnessing it like a force of nature, making numerous threats that I could never deliver on and breaking through walls of deadly socialism with my capitalist caps lock; catching many a liberal in outright treason and then helping them see just how lucky they were through my super-effective scare tactics. They fell like lemmings into my carefully laid traps, and after they had been exposed for the revolting chickenshit hypocrites they truly were, some of them stooped so low as to attack me personally. I vowed that I would not stand for such treason, and that if these fiendish abortions of policy did indeed take effect, I would move to some other industrialized country, one that does not believe in coddling the tired and poor whiners, the huddled losers yearning to breathe free of charge, with some kind of pinko foolhardy universal healthcare system. When they informed me that no such country exists, I laughed in their pathetic data-compiling faces, and swore to take up permanent residence on the moon.

       I felt much better once I had gotten that out of my system, so I went for a walk down to my local DMV, to get an idea of what going to the doctor would be like in the repressive dystopia of America's future. On my way there I reflected on what a shame it was that the government was systematically dismantling a health care system which, in spite of the fact that there are currently 48 countries with a lower infant mortality rate than us, 37 with a higher life expectancy, 41 with a lower child mortality rate, that half of our health care spending goes to treat 5% of the population, that lack of health insurance is associated with more than 40,000 deaths in the U.S. each year, that nearly two-thirds of our bankruptcy filings are due to illness or medical bills, that 23 countries have a higher healthy life expectancy, and that 36 countries are deemed by the World Health Organization to have overall better health care systems, was without question the best health care system in the history of the world. The fact that we spent the most money on healthcare was good enough for me, and any other true American.

   
       While passing through the once-great streets of my besieged American neighborhood, I came across a cheerful young patriot who in spite of the full weight of the perverse federal government trying to crush every remnant of her entrepreneurial spirit, had become the owner and operator of her own lemonade stand. Feeling a little parched from the rather strenuous exertion that is associated with loving the shit out of your fatherland, I decided to stop and have a cup. They were reasonably priced at only 1 USD, thanks to the fervent competition that comes with a free market economy, albeit a rapidly vanishing one. The lemonade was delicious and tasted of freedom, and as I conservatively sipped on it I chatted with my new acquaintance, who for the sake of this polemic I will call "Paula Revere." I asked young Paula what she was trying to raise money for, and she said she had cancer. She had been diagnosed a couple of months back, and the company through which she was already insured had informed her mommy and daddy that they were not able to cover her for the specific health problem of cancer, because there was evidence she was treated for diaper rash at 21 months. They had also determined that each night when her mommy would tuck her in and tell her to sleep tight and not let the bed bugs bite, that she would ignore this advice and would in fact allow the bed bugs to bite, thus putting her in a high risk group for the cancer she now had. But she totally understood where they were coming from with that, and did not expect to be let off the hook for her poor life decisions. I was so impressed that I tipped her an extra dollar.

       
       I continued on with a little more pep in my step through the suburbia of American dreams turned to nightmares, and as I passed underneath the not-so-freeway that runs over the intersection of Rockwell and Twain, casting shadows of uniformity and hopelessness where once there was gaiety and childlike faith, the rain began pouring down like bald eagle tears. I had forgotten to bring my umbrella with me and I refuse to wear a poncho for obvious reasons. So I fashioned a garment of impermeable sovereignty using only the righteousness of my pioneer virtues.

       Only true patriots could see it, of course, and I found it most amusing to note the expressions on the faces of obvious comrades as I frolicked irregularly through the fearsome torrents with all the whimsical aplomb of a latter-day Fred Astaire. They were baffled by my maverick indifference to moisture and perturbed by my refusal to fall in with their insipid ranks, as they looked on from the safety and mediocrity of their hybrids.

       They had good reason to be apprehensive of me; after all, I was their very worst nightmare. They couldn't contain me in their fuel-efficient coffins, nor could they entangle me with their spiderwebs of logic, nor could they ensnare me in the skewed booby-traps of their facts, nor could they control me with their thought control towers. I was that grassroots behemoth that wouldn't go away, that totally organic prairie wind of a movement that may very well be Old Glory's last hope, standing proudly with the backing of my billionaire overlords. In other words I was Johnny Appleseed to their Monsanto, but I was getting ready to mighty morph into Paul Bunyan and show them exactly what I was capable of.

      Yes, it was pretty apparent that they were terrified of me, for they knew deep down that I was Keanu to their Matrix. I was the great menace to their Orwellian "progress," the biggest threat to their dehumanizing agenda, with the possible exception of Sarah Palin. Oh, how abundantly clear it was that when she was so much as mentioned they peed a little, because they were keenly aware of her ability to destroy them. Were she ever to run for president they would spontaneously combust, and they were probably thanking Science that she was too grassrootsy for that. I really hoped she would reconsider, and run with Justin Bieber in 2018.

       
       But for the moment that was merely a lucid hypothetical, and I had important business to tend to. In the very same way that Republicans in the House were liberally using the tax dollars of the people they represented to make a spectacle of their butthurt and impotent rage, so too did I need to make a statement on the matter, and consequences be damned, even if it meant directly infringing on other people's liberties. I was now approaching the Department of Motor Vehicles, and not surprisingly, there was a line out the door.  As I glowered in horror and disgust at that drab formation of fellow travelers, I vowed to tear through them like Montezuma's revenge. Each would be summarily dealt a wedgie or a noogie, or, for the particularly ugly ones, a combination of the two. But just as I was thinking that, I noticed I had a cough, of a rather alarming, wet variety that was possibly consistent with the early stages of pneumonia. Perhaps I should not have cavorted through that deluge after all, I thought. But then I remembered that I had health insurance, and was perfectly safe.

poem.

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Oscar Mayer For President: Bologna 2012

                   
                                              

Mitt Romney would like to cordially invite you, the flea-ridden, syphilitic rabble to a kick-ass party at his vacation home. Figuratively speaking, of course.

       As we hunker down and enter into the super-serious phase of this year's spellbinding Republican primaries, I am filled with the giddiness of a hundred giggling geisha girls, because I simply cannot wait to see who will emerge as the gallant victor (the one tin soldier who rides away, if you will), and who will be reduced to a mere fluffer for him in the big race, in which the heretofore unnamed knight in shining armor has a very real chance of coming out on top, since the aforementioned primaries they are having right out now are most assuredly not some kind of pointless tallest-dwarf contest.

Were this a fitting metaphor, which it is so completely not, Romney would be the one on the right.

       I can liken the unrestrained jubilation I will feel if the guy who I have a hunch is gonna win this thing does in fact prevail to when my favorite Toddlers and Tiaras contestant really puts on the ritz and nails her routine.

Here, the only inconsistency is that Romney's mother is dead.

       But that person will be bound to encounter some stiff competition from the likes of sitting President Barack Obama and overnight sensation General Joseph Kony.

       Though Kony may in fact be running for President of the World. I am not exactly clear on this and at my earliest convenience I will google it to make sure. But for the time being let's just assume that they are the two front-runners, or evil supervillains, if you will, while Romney is the hero that Gotham deserves. And let us not forget for a second that Mittens has spent years doing undercover work as a liberal, closing tax loopholes and providing near-universal healthcare and doing other communist shit, in the overwhelmingly treasonous state of Massholechusetts--all for the sake of learning exactly what makes these freedom-haters tick, and most likely at the behest of Lady Liberty Herself.

       So suffice it to say he knows the meaning of sacrifice. This is a guy who during the Vietnam War had the guts to speak out in favor of the draft, while other students at Stanford University were protesting against it, and then he had the temerity and backbone to abscond to Europe for 30 months to be a fucking Mormon missionary, in the incomprehensible squalor of places like Paris, and incidentally to get ministerial deferment while he was there, and then come back to the States and get another student deferment; and this is also a guy who then had the good luck to get a high number in the draft lottery, thus ensuring he would never serve a day in the actual war, and all this while his father just happened to be Governor of Michigan and then Secretary of Housing and Urban Development under über-patriot Richard Nixon. I mean this Mitt Romney fellow is practically jizzing red, white and blue.

       The great Governor Rick Perry may or may not have said that the candidate who prays the hardest will become the next president, and despite the fact that awhile back he held what could only be described as the Lollapalooza of praying and was subsequently eliminated from the race, I still think that statement is categorically true, and that anyone who doesn't believe in the awesome power of politically motivated prayer risks incurring God's wrath and triggering another one of His signature BP oil spills. And that's why I believe that Mitt Romney is our man. Indeed, Mitt Romney is a man who prays so feverishly that he makes MC Hammer look like Friedrich Nietzsche.

       And if Rick Perry ever decides to write a book on how to pray your way right into the highest of offices, he might want to include that you should first and foremost not have a hunting camp called "Niggerhead," because even if you are the Nancy Kerrigan of praying, it will turn out to be your Gillooly in the end. Except you will not go on to win an Olympic medal, I'm afraid.

       But I would say that Romney is more like Oksana Baiul, whom as you may recall brought home the gold that year. And nowhere is his champion spirit more abundantly apparent than in the rearing of his litter of five wonderful boys, who have all turned out to be so nightmarishly similar to him that it is almost as if they were a race of cyborgs spawned from his patriarchal prototype, and sent to Earth with the express purpose of inundating us with news of his greatness, and not merely his organic if antiseptically conceived crotch fruit.

       And certainly his glowing resplendence of character is evident in his prowess as a financier, which is also why he is so thoroughly qualified to save the horribly ailing economy, which is definitely not in a steady pattern of recovery, and most importantly to create jobs, which stuttering dickbeard Barack Obama is failing at so miserably that job seekers are just giving up and presumably going off to live in a cave somewhere and possibly becoming Islamic militants, and if you are not quite buying that steaming pile of shit, then he is still not doing it nearly fast enough. That's why we need the guy whose business model consisted of fucking companies in the ass with an opportunistic dildo and giving workers the shit-end instead of their pensions...intentionally causing the loss of thousands of jobs so that he could do things like buy a $12 million dollar beachfront home in California and tear it down so he could build another one four times as big. Seriously, fuck this guy and the horse he rode in on.


     

Mitt Romney's business model as CEO of Bain Capital

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An Up-Close Look at the Vagueness of Certain Things

       You know what's really fascinating to me is how little we actually know about things related to certain stuff. Or it could be that we really know a lot about those things. In either case, I think it's safe to say that we could always learn more. Well, that's precisely why I decided to sit down and write this particular thing. It's going to require a certain amount of effort on my part, and will take up a number of units of my time, so I certainly hope you have an opinion about it.

       See, this is a perfect example of what I am talking about. There is something about it that is just really, really hard to define. Maybe it has to do with the fact that at the moment I am a certain degree of drunk.

      Man, I don't even know what to say about this one. There are just so many thoughts going through my head. My reaction when I saw this was that I was pretty much dumbstruck. I just sort of looked at it and was all like 

   

It would have been better if he had just said "chillin."

This one makes me feel a whole melange of emotions.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a stance on this.

       This one raises a lot of questions for me. I am wondering whether they are good surprises or bad, whether or not I will know about them beforehand, whether they may actually be things about me that the road will find surprising, and whether I should just say screw it and choose an alternate route. I don't suppose there's a book out there that could help me decide.

Well, I'll be damned.

       This is one of those things that really inspire you to just go for it.

Didn't read this particular one, but I bet it was really something.  

      There are two kinds of people in this world: one kind, and then another. But no matter what kind you are, you can find something here.

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