People like to describe things as Orwellian because they’re morons and don’t really understand the term, but in this case, the comparison might be appropriate. It seems book publishers are hiring super liberals to read manuscripts and remove any racist, sexist or otherwise offensive content.

These readers primarily focus on young adult fiction because kids are so easily triggered, but even newspapers are firing staff members who don’t toe the PC line.

Alan Linda, a columnist with the Fergus Falls Daily Journal in Minnesota was recently fired after he wrote an article bitching about sitting next to a fat ass on an airplane. In an editorial the newspaper justified his dismissal by saying Linda’s column not only offended many readers, “but also offended us.”

Not to inject a little reality here, but do you know who else says being fat is a bad thing? Your fucking doctor, that’s who.

Obesity is the number one cause of preventable health problems in America and that’s why every week I stand naked in front of a full-length mirror and berate myself for becoming a 220-pound wad of jiggling whale cum.

This week Other-me was particularly brutal and roughly pulled my man tits in a grotesque pantomime of milking a cow, but that was just the kind of tough love I needed to really hit the gym this week.

And that’s part of the problem with society. We have got to stop catering to that percentage of the population that can never be satisfied. They’re just going to whine, piss and moan no matter what, so just tell them to go fuck themselves and be done with it.

John McCain tried to get us to arm the Islamic fanatics currently cutting a swath of bloodshed through the Middle East, and for years he has tried to drum up support for a military confrontation with Russia.

Most people dismiss him as a foolish old war-hawk, but they should look deeper. Why does he support terrorists, and why is he so quick to start a war with a country with the world’s second largest nuclear arsenal?

In order to understand John McCain, you have to understand what happened to him while he was in a Vietnamese prison camp during the U.S. war in Vietnam.

While there he was reputedly the subject of experiments conducted by a shadowy Chinese doctor known only as Zhang Guo Lao.

Prior to the war the doctor had become obsessed with the U.S. film The Manchurian Candidate, and the movie’s plot involved capturing the son of a prominent right-wing political family and brainwashing him to become a covert communist agent.

As the war in Vietnam escalated, Zhang Guo Lao felt that was the best place to put his plan into action, and in 1966 he established ties with the North Vietnamese regime, set up facilities on the ground and patiently waited.

When John McCain, the son and grandson of four-star admirals was captured in 1967, he seemed like the answer to the good doctor’s prayers, and for five years Zhang Guo Lao painstakingly conditioned McCain “to destroy America from within.”

After his release McCain entered into politics and might have been elected president if not for a series of missteps, gaffes and bad decisions. Thankfully, in addition to being a communist sleeper agent, John McCain is an idiot, and only his comic ineptitude kept his finger off the nuclear trigger.

Australia is investigating the Catholic Church’s handling of sexual abuse, and one of its recently released findings was that seven percent of Australia’s Catholic priests have molested children over the past few decades.

Their inquiry has been very thorough, but I didn’t need a team of investigators to tell me the Catholic Church is rotten to its core. The priesthood’s betrayal of its most vulnerable followers is just the final nail in the Jesus.

If the church is going to last another 1,000 years it needs to resemble what it looked like for its first 1,000 years, and that means more liquor and whores and less chanting and snores.

And while we’re at it, priestly celibacy is stupid, and repression of sexuality only leads to other unhealthy behaviors. That’s why for the first 1,000 years of the church, priests were allowed to get married, and a happily married priesthood needs to be reinstated now.

Some core dogma is also wrong and needs to be fixed.

Jesus didn’t die for our sins. He was here to be a teacher, and the core message of charity and love was the real take-home. He was murdered because of envy and greed, and people need to stop putting a bullshit spin on it to justify his death.

Oddly enough, once when I painted my tongue with Wite-Out to see what would happen, a booming voice said Jesus was coming back, and if we killed him again, God would tell us to go fuck ourselves.

The voice also said the next Antichrist would have a yellow beard and a strong association with the color blue, but I couldn’t hear the rest on account of me vomiting from what I assume was some kind of Wite-Out poisoning.

In the past, when someone annoyed me, I’d sometimes give them the gift of Mormon. Basically, you enter their name and address on Mormon.org, and quicker than you can say polygamous union, two identically dressed little automatons would come to their home and tell them the good news.

And since it’s easier to shake the clap than Mormon missionaries, this was a gift that kept giving.

But, as fun as that was, it was played out, and I couldn’t think of a suitable replacement. Until now.

Inspiration struck as I was watching the millionaire leftists at the SAG awards bitch about Trump’s immigration policy. Sure, they live behind walls in gated communities, and they could have used the millions they spent on that self-congratulatory shindig to help others, but I understand there’s no point being a limousine liberal without the limousine.

I also realize helping other people sucks, and I’d rather do just about anything other than a good deed, but I’ve never pretended otherwise. Unfortunately, some people aren’t as honest and have to be drug kicking and screaming into the light.

Only then can they admit they’re selfish little pieces of shit, just like me.

For example, do you know someone who went on Facebook in the last week and posted an excerpt from Emma Lazarus’ stupid poem and then opined about how we’ve turned our backs on the poor huddled masses yearning to breathe free?

Sure you do. And you could continue to let them slide with their bullshit, or you could take a page from the Codajoy playbook and sign them up with six different refugee aid organizations to house a family of migrants. I’m also looking for a cheap goat because I’ve always wanted to give a goat as a housewarming present, and this seems like a golden opportunity for that.

Last year people speculated Madonna was having a nervous breakdown after her disastrous Australian concert tour. During one show she even dressed as a clown and pedaled out on the stage on a tricycle before falling off and babbling incoherently to the audience.

More recently she raised eyebrows with her statements against Donald Trump and her admission that she thought about blowing up the White House. Most people just wrote off her comments as sour grapes from another limousine liberal pouting because she didn’t get her way, but I think it’s more than that.

I think the old girl has dementia.

Thanks to the tireless work of make-up artists, morticians’ assistants and animatronics wizards, Madonna is able to shamble around on-stage and give the illusion of youth and vigor. But, it’s all an illusion.

Madonna is almost 60 years old, and here’s a short list of things younger than her: the Slurpee, child safety seats, weather satellites, eight track cassettes, racquetball and contraceptive birth control pills.

And the more I look into this, the more I think her claimed birthday is bullshit, and she might be much older.

Here is a clear depiction of her riding a pig with some dude on a 19th century Russian woodcut. That would put her at well over a hundred and a clear candidate for age-related cognitive problems.

After two decades of trying to force the world’s shittiest web browser down the throats of its unwilling users, Microsoft finally came to its senses and put one behind the ear of Internet Explorer.
 
Unfortunately, the taint of suck that surrounded IE was so strong that most sane people refused to even try its replacement, Microsoft Edge. 
 
Much like me, I can only imagine they were gripped by the fear that Edge would unexpectedly appear behind them in their home or office.  It would slowly walk forward, dragging its one gimpy leg, before launching itself forward with unbelievable speed.  It would then wrap its powerful hands around their throats while attempting to rape them behind their desk or cubicle.
 
Thankfully, those fears are mostly unfounded, and Microsoft Edge wins for no other reason than it will delete my goddamned search history on exit. 
 
For some unknown reason Chrome refuses to afford me even the façade of privacy, and I refuse to enter incognito mode because that would mean admitting I’m just a middle-aged pervert, and not a normal man doing completely normal things.
 
Look, I’m not naïve, and I understand that every depraved and disgusting Internet search I’ve ever made is stored in an NSA dossier in one of their data centers.  I also understand that Google and Amazon have built a customer profile of me that’s so frighteningly accurate, its algorithms know me better than any real person on earth,
 
I just want the security of knowing if I search for “pregnant tranny midgets,” that little cry for help will just be between me and shadowy government and corporate figures.  My kids will never see it, and unless my wife hires a data retrieval expert as part of our eventual divorce, she too will remain blissfully unaware.

People don’t want to give cash because they think it’s cold and impersonal so they try to create a fake veneer of thoughtfulness by buying gift cards, but they shouldn’t because gift cards suck and only retards buy them.

You’re basically still giving cash, but it’s a terrible kind of cash that can only be spent at one place and it doesn’t give you change.

The only time it’s appropriate to buy a gift card is if you want to wage subtle psychological war on someone.

For example, my sister-in-law and brother-in-law are separated but spent time together for the holidays, so when we exchanged presents I gave her a Victoria’s Secret card just so he could imagine her buying lingerie and dressing up for other men.

I originally bought him a liquor store gift card, but I was afraid he would get drunk and kill himself, and then my wife and I would have to adopt at least one of his mongoloid kids, so I kept that card and gave him a Panera Bread gift card I found in our junk drawer.

It seems hard to imagine that gift cards didn’t really exist before the mid-90s when Blockbuster invented them. Prior to that you might get gift certificates, but there was no little fake credit card with the name of the business on it.

And since anywhere from 10% to 20% of U.S. gift cards are never used, business love them because you’re basically giving them free money.

My only gift card exception is for Amazon.com. Thanks to the two $25 cards I got at Christmas, I’m only $3.57 away from being able to anonymously buy that Fleshlight I’ve had my eye on.

Wikileaks founder Julian Assange shockingly accused outgoing U.S. President Barack Hussein Obama of falsely accusing the Russians of hacking the emails that helped Donald Trump defeat the Mesopotamian demon currently inhabiting the husk of Hillary Clinton in last year’s presidential election.

Assange went on to say that Obama is pressing these false charges “to delegitimize the Trump administration as it goes into the White House.”

It’s time to wake up sheeple and realize that Assange is a liar, and not only did the Russians hack Podesta’s emails and interfere in various other parts of the democratic election process, but they’ve been up to a ton of other nefarious shit, and I for one am not willing to give them a free pass.

For example, even though my homeowner’s association claims it has “irrefutable proof” I’m the one who stacked all the reindeer in my yard so it looked they were humping, that was 100% not me, and I’m not paying their bullshit fine. It was the Russians.

One night in the middle of December the Russians also inexplicably wrote “No Midgets Allowed” in flashing Christmas lights on my porch and anyone who knows me knows I would never do such a thing.

I find female midgets incredibly erotic and if anything would want to inform them that not only are they allowed, they are actively encouraged to stop in. Clearly, the Russians were just messing with me and trying to cause yet another fight between me, the HOA, my neighbors and my wife.

These crafty Bolsheviks are like gremlins, and if the movie Gremlins has taught me anything, it’s that they should never be fed after midnight or bathed. Not really sure how that helps me here, though.

One of the many perks of alcohol abuse is I almost never get hangovers anymore. I may feel tired from a restless night’s sleep, and my beleaguered kidneys and liver may give me a healthy reddish-yellow glow, but dry heaves, nausea and outright vomiting are relics of the past – except for this one magical night.

I like to ring in the new year right, and I find the best way to do that is to play liquor cabinet roulette and drink odd alcohol combinations until I’m fairly certain I shit my pants, but since I’m numb from the waist down, I can’t be 100% sure.

And since my wife frowns on me lying in bed the next day and ignoring the kids on a day off, I need a way to bounce back and at least get near my normal half-assed level of parenting.

Over the years I’ve tried every hangover remedy known to man from burnt toast and honey sandwiches to olive oil shots but there are only two things that really work. You either have to give blood or go to a health food store and buy borage oil capsules and fish oil capsules.

I’m not really sure why giving blood works, but I guarantee you can feel like absolute garbage and an hour after giving blood, you’ll be good as new. Unfortunately, New Year’s blood drives are a rarity, so you’re stuck with the health food store.

Borage oil capsules contain a fatty acid found in starflowers and fish oil is pretty much the same thing but from oily fish, and if you take them both with a nice Pedialyte chaser, the results are real and they’re spectacular.

There are few things on earth that can simultaneously set my teeth on edge and fill me with jaded glee like a well crafted humblebrag Christmas letter.

They always remind me of press releases from failing companies that are trying to hype some re-hashed product in a vain attempt to stay in business for another year. The only difference is the company shill who wrote the release understands the game while the creator of the family card is probably a sociopath.

All great humblebrag greetings contain three things: (1) Sports and/or academic achievement by their dumbass kids, (2) Work/Civic achievements for the dumbass parents and (3) Vacation or other news to contrast their success with your bleak life.

As a realistic parent I’m under no delusions about my children, and if all three manage to find careers that don’t involve sucking dick behind the Sheetz for crack, I’ll feel like I did my job.

And if you’re the type that feels like your nine-year-old throwing a two-hitter in a Little League game is notable, it’s just going to make it more difficult for you to accept it when that kid turns out to be a fuck-up and is still living at home at 30.

That’s why you always need a lot of children. Odds are at least one is going to suck.

I tried to get my wife to do a fake humble brag card this year, but her response was typical; “You have 51 weeks a year to be an asshole, can’t you at least be nice for one?”

Apparently, I cannot.