Nearly all the posts are bilingual.
Presque tous les articles sont bilingues.

English spoken. On parle français. (وكمان منفهم عربي، حبيبي)

Most of this blog's contents is subject to copyright. For instance, many of the latest illustrations I've made myself. I'm the cooperative type. If you intend to borrow some material, please contact me by leaving a comment. :-)
La plupart du contenu de ce blog est soumis aux droits d'auteurs. Par exemple, nombre des illustrations les plus récentes sont faites par moi. Je suis du genre coulant. Si vous comptez emprunter du contenu, SVP contactez-moi en laissant un commentaire. :-)

Sunday, January 13, 2013

December 21st, 2012 : Goodbye Galaxy!

[Traduction séparée du dernier article, encore une fois pour raisons de taille...]
Remarque : Version française légèrement remaniée et enrichie, vous pouvez la relire en attendant le prochain délire... sur le même sujet!


HO, HO, HO! Happy end of the world, everybody!
Unless you happen to reside in Bugarach, Aude (France) or Mount Rtanj (Serbia), in which case you'll survive, you're nothing but serfish jerks, and I'm not wishing YOU anything, so there!
I hope you're taking your holiday vacations, dudes and dudettes, because there's some reading awaiting you, right here and now, and no later than immediately. Maybe even sooner.

The Signs are all here: the End of Times is near.
How near? Well, at least one year closer than 12 months, 12 days and 12 hours ago, give or take a few prophecies!
For starters, let us quickly correct a common mistake: *THE* ill-fated Date is not 12/12/2012, with apologies to some of my buddies on Faithbook. As the most genialistically brilliant among those of you who are observant will no doubt have noticed, we are still alive today. (Even if our planet keeps getting worse and spinning less smoothly every day...)
The truth is, those Mayans didn't only have a bug in the very COMPACT hard disk of their solid stone calendar, they also had rather poor keyboard skills. Following a most embarrassing typing mistake (the scribe's chisel must've slipped), they missed the far-out-gnarly-overboard-super-cool-to-die-for number, 12/12/12, and instead they typed 12/21/12. Frankly, when you ponder that they'd been calculating all that since year -5000 BC, which does require a minimum of focus... yo, mondo lame-o, Mayan dudes, man! Like, bummer.

65 years ago, deep inside the ruins of a Greco-Ottomano-Roman palace where I was looking for naughty frescoes, I fortuitously stumbled upon a little red blue book called "Is man the product of evolution or of creation?" It was written by the highly erudite followers of Hari-Jehovah. (Yes, you know, the Cult of the Self-Strangling Thugs, these people who suffocate in huffish puffish offense the instant they glimpse a bare shoulder, and who close down public swimming pools.) It began [the book] with a double drawing, showing on one side the very beautiful Adam and Eve, shamefully hiding the nakedness of their original creation behind a bush so that God wouldn't see what He has made Himself ; and on the other side a trio of hairy hunchback anthropoid apes (#3 being their little ape-cub) with clubs and animal skin rags, looking nicely primitive and beastly, a bit like my former neighbor Mustafa Ben Elias from Cairo, only with a more intelligent look. (That Mustafa was really something, his head had a very low ceiling.) The book asked, on page 1, chapter 1, line 1, "In your opinion, where do you think you came from?"
[You see? I've got a heck of a memory, when it comes to remembering referents references!]
Some day I'll tell you more about the above pious icon.

Granted, there's a teensy-weensy bit of hypocrisy in their story, given that in our parts (even more than elsewhere), apes are the proverbial emblem of the worst possible ugliness, something which could up and subliminally influence us more than a few subconsciouses of yours. Then again... when you've seen the mug of Khalil Abou Mustafa, my neighbor's father... But anyway.
So, that book with scientific objectivity irrefutable-because-piety-makes-people-infallible, after clearly explaining to us that the world had SO obviously been created in 6 days of 1000 years each, and therefore we were smack in the middle of the 7th day when God/Jehovah is resting, proceeded to remind us that past the weekend it's time to get back to work. Yeah, damn right, that means You too, god or no god it doesn't matter, no double standards, the Law applies to everyone! Consequently, and since we're in the Year 5000 of Creation (Mayans and Hebrewvangelists agree on that), the Divine Sunday (or Shabbat?) is drawing to an end. ("Why a 5000 years' rest day after a week of 1000-year-long days?" Quit asking so many sarcastic questions, you little miscreants! Or else, bam-bam-tushie with lightning bo-boltsies, get it? OK, on we go then.) So then, Abraham's Brahma is about to ring his alarm clock and go back to work, which of course implies taking it all apart and starting the whole thing over again. Like me playing with my Lego™ bricks.

The Book of the Truth to Be Believed Blindly Because We Are Beautiful (except Mustafa who looks like a hirsute female yeti) concluded by reminding us that it's high time to make repenting amends, to join the Only True Church (that of the Witnesses), and to make sizeable donations, for the Signs showed that the End was Imminent (65 years ago). As a matter of fact this drove me to sell off my valuable masculine virginity to the first fat skank I met, but I digress. [Yes, exceptionally I may digress at times, no snickering please, thank you.] Indeed, both World Wars, plus those of Vietnam and Algeria, plus Nasser's assassination, plus Ben-Gurion's death, plus the Biafra famins, plus the spanish flu, plus the Black Plague during the Crusades, plus the fall of the Roman Empire, plus the departings of Alexander the Great and the inventor of the wheel, all this was harbinger that the End was imminent, literally about to happen. They weren't wrong: it was a close cut, but I've lived long enough to witness the coming of the candied date cooked up by them coco nutty Paztecs the day they were molded in a mud slightly darker than ours. An inferior quality which explains, obviously, why the pious missionary saints, with the help of their guns, their cavalry and their cannons, could so easily persuade them to convert to the Gospel for the salvation of their souls. It was about time indeed, because we're almost there.
Almoster and almoster.
It's all gonna blow.
Any day now...

First Sign: the one right before your eyes. Let's admit it: a world that gives birth to such supremely lame stuff as my blog, not to mention Steven Seagal's movies, Céline Dion's songs, Oum Kalthoum's whinings, Duchamp's restrooms for gents, Bridgestone tires, urban Hummer SUVs, scandinavian ludifisk, Coca-Cola and Swatch adores Salvador Dali's droopy watches, it's like those worrying noises of rivets coming loose in Grand-Papa's car, a sign that everything's about to fall apart all over the road. (My own grandpa's name was Pharaoh Titanikhès-Ankh-Arton.)
Besides, have you noticed that rats are getting rather scarce lately? They're abandoning ship by means of galactic hitchhiking, they wave the first flying tea saucer that passes by, and they skidaddle outta here pronto.

Same with dolphins. The Dbayeh Marineland opened an investigation after the mystery swiping of its guests. The fools, they could've spared the trouble, had they just asked for my opinion (but nobody ever does ). The previous day, while I was passing there by sheer coincidence (rumors claiming that trouble follows wherever I set foot are completely baseless), anyway, I decoded the dolphin language to pass the time while waiting for my taxi. I've already done more brilliant stuff just for fun. Dauphinois isn't so complicated, just ask the people of Briançon. Never mind, bottom line is, dolphins "Flipper" and "Looping", whose actual names are Zweekek and Fyoûwwîîît, were saying: "Godbye, ta-ta, so long, and thanks for all the fish." They were on a rendez-vous with a Vogon cargo on Highcosmicway 42.

After rats and dolphins, everybody knows that humans are the 3rd smartest species on the planet, so it's my turn to get a move on.
[Announcement: final notice for the belated beauties wanting to join my harem, the di-lithium antimatter engines in my space pyramid are already warming up. "Limited time offer, last chance before global liquidation."]
Second sign: the insanity that's gripping the crowds. Imagine that, if nobody gave them a hand by slightly adjusting the referendum vote by 30%, these crazy Egyptians might miss the chance to bowingly be saved in the nick of time by the Shari'a of Allah, and of Mohammed Morsi his Prophet (may Zeus thundersmite those that cartoon him).
"Morsi's God works in mysterious ways."

Referendum in Egypt in two steps.
"The voting polls? First you go round the Army... then past the mosques..."

Third sign: blasphemies are multiplying lately, in an ominous atmosphere feeling like the end of days, under the ever-boldening influence of Satan. Just look at what national (and heathen) satirist Pinter has dared commit recently (just 19 months ago): worse than Muhammad, HE'S CARTOONED GOD HIMSELF, that madman. All by himself, he's gonna incur on all of us the wrath of Odin, Jupiter, Baal-Melkart and Wotan!

In his defense, he's been announcing his faith in the end of the world since 1936:

Sign #3½, even the most deeply islamic countries are now making movies on Muhammad the Prophet Peace-Be-Upon-Him, and I'm talking about sunni countries, where any portrayal at all is harâm, treyfe, impious, cursed, muggle!... not to mention strictly forbidden.
I'm not kidding you! AFP announced it on the evening of December 18th (exactly THREE days before the End of the World, like any self-respecting Divine Omen): the company Divine Light & Co, or as it's called in arabic Alnoor Holding, located in Qatar (a country massively financing madrassas in the whole world, from Pakistan to France to Mali to Patagonia), is tooting loud and clear, hosannaleiluyah with blaring trumpets (TA-DAAAHHH!!!), that it's just allotted one billion dollars of budget to that clearly pharaonic(!) movie project. Their previous attempt, with $1.5 million, had embarrassingly failed to make Jesus Come to Judge All the Bad Guys. (I won't say "make him come BACK", out of respect for our Jewish friends who are still awaiting the FIRST coming of the Messiah.) Anyhow. Also out of respect again for the-lucky-numbers, this time it'll be a trilogy of SEVEN episodes.

There had already been a saudi animated cartoon(!), produced 12 years ago (cool number, etcætera) by hiring away animators from Disney. It had barely managed to cause 9/11. Even though they made a praiseworthy effort with their blunder of personally representing the Prophet's uncle (who's equally portrait-taboo) before rectifying their audacity. And the last "live action" film, in spite of enlisting a famous star like Anthony Quinn, had even less succeeded in rattling the globe, at best causing the assassination of Bob Marley (a tragic loss, I'll grant you that), the appearing of rings around your the planet Uranus, and sightings of a monster in Dover, Massachusetts. Not ambitious enough, obviously. Not worth asking an archangel to dust his trumpet.
I hope this time they'll make a big fat gordito blockbuster in high definition 3-D, with videogames coming out simultaneously on all consoles, PC and iPad, and a marketing tidal wave of toys, electronic action-figurines, collectible trading card game, t-shirts, Happy Meal surprises... and themed merchandise. Let's not forget about the themed merchandise! We mustn't neglect a single detail, otherwise the Great Annihilation is once again going to slip by right under our noses and beards.

But I trust the quatari Illuminati Inc. & Co. If, in just 3 days, Jesus coud "destroy this temple and rebuild it" bare-handed, Qatar with its huge commitment will surely manage to shoot us a superproduction that leaves BHollywood green(!) with envy. HBollywood where some movies are wrapped in hardly more time than it takes to act a theater play! Not to mention some other branches of cinema. I heard say that on porno shootings, the word "cut!" is strictement forbidden because it brings bad luck. As a result, thanks to the understandable(!) eagerness of the men who are very attached(!!) to their work tool(!!!), some actresses can finish 7 films in one day, and rest for the rest of the month, thanks to the salary earned with the sweat of their... brow(!!!!).
And, may I remind you that any good muslim is expected to know by heart since school the complete text of the Koran from A to Z. (More like from Aleph to Yâ'.) So there's less preparing time required than the 6 minutes 28 seconds necessary to read + memorize the script of an X-rated movie, including the highly literary dialogues. Anyway, "what the stinking heathens can do, we can do better, so there!"
Besides, the film of which that we're talking about here will be produced by an expert, Barrie Osborne, whose name will be familiar to all fans of fairy tales. So let's rendez-vous at the early-early-screening of the saga of the Lord of the Swords Slicing the Silent Lambs For the Aïd-el-Kébir (working title), on the 21st at midnight, which if everything goes as planned should also be the last screening. Of this movie and all the other movies in the world!

Word has it that among the guest celebrities, we should see, appearing in public for the first time in years, ultra-famous jet-setters such as Moses Ben Rameses the 2nd, Jesus Holly Christ Messiah, Muhammad Al-Qurayshi, Vishnu Avatar, Buddha Yokozuna, Toutatis of Alesia, Thor Odinsson, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Father Lustucru Dupanloup de Camaret, and masked luchador libre Quetzalcoatl El-Azteco. At the time I'm writing this, there's still no confirmation as to their rumored participation in a WWE "royal rumble sudden death" type fight, whose winner would receive the coveted exclusive title and belt of Return of the Intercontinental Heavyweight Savior. With a special guest star referee who's also a zombie (gotta keep with the trends), a worldwide expert in apocalypses, annihilations and cruel ends, let's pay a big welcome to --applause please-- the great, the one, the only, OSSSAMAAAA Bin LLLLLADENNNNN!!!!

He'll be assisted by a genuine risen Texas mummy, let's hear it for our star commenter, Harrrolllld... clapping CCCAMPIIIIINNNNGGGG!!!.

(We'll also have Terry Jones at the comments table, provided he can be bothered to take his nose off his book for once. At his age, he's still not done memorizing the Koran, what an ignorant!)
Let's get ready to rumble, there can be only one (triumphantly remaining religion), and it won't be the neo-druidism of Highlanders. Too peaceful.

Fourth sign: our whole Society is going to unravel at high speed now that the homosexuals can legally get married and offend the face of Ahura-Mazda, not to mention they'll destabilize Earth's rotation axis. All preachers with hypertrophied religiousness are unanimous about this, and as you well know they're always right. Remember what they announced to us if we were to let women vote, drive and open their own bank account. 20 years later, there was AIDS in the world.
Besides, everybody knows this Armageddon matter will start with a confrontation between Iran and those dirty satanic faggot Amrîkiyyîns:
American strike against Iran:
"We're legalizing gay marriage."

Sign numero five: The most serious experts in special events confirm it, such as Ripley's Believe It Or Not!. [Hunh? Who? Google is your friend. ]
In honor of the End of the World, they're giving free admission to any of their 32 Odditoriums (in 10 countries) dedicated to all things "weird but true"... for saturday, December 22nd. A real bargain for large families!
There's a teensy-weensy catch, however: they've calculated that if there was no End of the World on the 21st, it would really cost them a lot of money. Therefore, in order to benefit from their mighty generous offer, every kind applicant will be required to bring proof that the End of the World did happen indeed. A mere formality.
P.S.: smart guys and cheapskates are warned in advance that this special bargain cannot be combined with other similar offers!

"Eep! Aliens ate my babysitter! There's something fishy about this..."

Finally, in 1991, while I was still at the tender age of about 8 years, aliens (some sort of crazy cyclope Pac-Men shaped like green eggs) abducted my babysitter to snack on her in their sandwich. Not cool. I had to build an improvised Jimmy™ class neutronic rocket with my construction game (lucky thing I had asked for the large box at Hanukkah), chase down those horrible Bloogs all the way to Fribbulus Xax, and bust their butts to force them to re-clone her for me, "exactly as she was, memories included, if you please". I almost got grounded by my parents to teach me to take better care of the domestic help.
While I was over there (more like UP there!), I heard from a Ferengi snitch that the Gannalech of the Vorticons was building a Stellar Death Engine to blow up the Earth, or the Galaxy, I forget which exactly. His calculations were off: the Dark Force of his big toy was going to boing the entire Universe! I put the kibosh on his shtick with my trusty bubble blaster in just 17 million points (not to brag), but in hindsight, it was a warning Sign of the Y2K12 bug.
[Yes, back in the day, I was just beginning to get famous as a super-humble cosmic hero, and I was nicknamed "eager young Commander Keen", a nod to Captain Superhero. Whom I inspired to go pro a few years later, without me he would still be a delivery docker on Betelgeuse 5.]
"Adieu, Galaxie! Et merci pour tout le poisson."

Ah, I almost forgot: on December 21st, the Men In Black assured me that female dog Laika will finally be returning from Space, to invade the Earth thanks to all the cosmic mutations she gathered during that time. The operation is already well under way, with hundreds of millions of allegedly "domesticated" poochies who completely launder-washed the adoring brains of their ga-ga masters and mistresses, who's a good baby, yes you are, yes you are, bebop-a-lula, a-hula-hula-hoop.
But dogs are so stupid: what good is it to invade a planet that won't last more than a day? They should've pulled it off in 1957! In dog years, that would've meant entire generations of dogs being in power.

But enough talking about the good old days of the obsolete 3rd Millenium, we're not getting any younger and this day isn't over yet.
Remember that local Santa Claus comic I had to remove around October/November because it could suggest a caricature of the Prophet (PBUH)? Well, it also got close to looking like a parody of our REAL national Baba Nawal, our self-taught toys expert, namely the oh so sympathetic Sidawi salafist, Sheikh Ahmad Al-Assir (let's give him a big round of applause, even though he's not a wrestling referee).
His name doesn't mean "the problematic" (3assir), but "the prisoner" (2assir), likely a reminder of an ancestor lengthily incarcerated by Sultan Al-Seveehr. And you'd better believe this here Prisoner isn't just a number. And even less so an act. No, he's more like an action figure boldly come to life.
So cool, the way he discreetly trims his moustache, looks most stylish.

Gossiping tongues insinuate (in VERY low-voiced drooling whispers) that his security staff is allegedly a militia-in-becoming, that he dreams of becoming Caliph of Phoenicia in place of our national Marcel Khalife, and that the man might be slightly edgy on the sides, perhaps even cutting-sharp with anger all the way to the middle. Don't believe everything you hear! Piety and holiness are quick to attract oozing bile from all the miscreants secretly aware of their own impiety (tsk! tsk!).
No, nay, I say. The truth is, our cherished Sheikh is a regular Mister Magorium, a friend of little children, and a great expert in season toys. [Right now is more like the season of the Apocalypse, followed on the Third Day by the celebration of Christmas, a.k.a. the Nativity Resurrection. We won't even notice that we were dead for three days, along with the entire Universe. That's right baby, such is the miracle of Christmas magic!]
The purest honest-to-Allah truth, is that our carrier's Sheikh doesn't like weapons, not even as toys, and has made it very officially clear by indignantly ranting in public against some pro-violence deviances of regional culture. Let us not forget that many kids in Iraq have perished, under the collateral damage of G.I.s rendered edgy by the ever younger age of candidates to kamikazy. Many kids, whose only wrong was playing war games while a very real one was actually taking place, and pointing a fake but realistic weapon at soldiers who can't take a joke.
I guess war makes people grumpy, and the tone of my blog is an exception.
Baba Nawal Ahmad Al-Assir showing an ickle kiddie-widdie how to use the wonderful new bike that he just brought him. This holy man's all heart!

And what was it exactly, that put our unprovisioned Sheikh in such a state of upset, the kind man? Toys, yes, but toys not complying with european safety standards... and even less so to islamic standards! Not only are they weapons, but on top of it they talk, I kid you not my good lady. Fitted with a mass-produced junk chinese chip, they splutter some obnoxious bellicist spittle of which I have managed to find an official transcript. Content advisory, not for the faint-hearted:

Fire! Fire!


No! No! Don't shoot! Stop the gun! Stop the gun!
[kaput silence]

My Maramoosh (elite anti-zionist secret services) were able to get me an MP3 file of the 1.0 prototype, which is a slightly outdated version today. Of course, it sounds a lot better on a latest generation dolby total surround home cinema system.
Now for the explosive(!) scoop. The great traveller's Sheikh Assir, whose ear was trained in hearing the whispers of Satan the Demon during his 7-year meditation atop a pillar in the Tiberine desert without drinking or sleeping, has spotted in this electronic abomination, thats insult to good taste and childhood innocence, an awful, appalling, abominable, apocalyptic blasphemy. In reality, this wicked accursed heretic chip is accustoming our dear little blonde curly-headed children to horrible insults against Lady Aisha, the yougest and sweetest bride of the Prophet (PBUH).
That one really took an expert to nab it. Me, I've listened over 20 times, and all I can make out is still a bunch of "don't shoot, stop the gun".

But goodness gracious, you may ask, what in Heaven's name is that cryptic DaVishnu Code , intelligible only to the initiated, what is it at long last that those devilish toys are subliminally whispering to thus de-pietize our innocent children? Ah-HA! Good question, score one for you
Since it is too vile for me to soil my keyboard by writing it, here's a picture of the sublimi-nasty message concealed in the heathen toys, as it was Revealed to us by Assir, the #2 messenger of Allah:

Our perceptive cashier's Sheikh didn't take the offense standing there. He promptly led his own investigation and, 12 minutes later (it helps a lot when Allah Inspires and Illuminates your deductometer in turban turbo mode), he was able to publicly expose a Shiite plot.
Pardon me? I said those chips were made by the CHINESE?
Bah, Shiite, Chinese... it's all the same! They're all part of Heathen Incorporated. If it's sitting bold Sheikh Assir that says it with a straight face, then it must be true. A man inspired by Allah cannot make mistakes or telll lies. In fact, he assures us that the complete conspiracy is Shiite-Chinese-Zionist, and of course aims at weakening the very foundations of islam.
In case the homos and St Valentine's day aren't enough to do it. (Or worse yet: homos dressed like Cupid!!!)

In a major park of New York City, an elderly gentleman with a crooked nose is sitting on a bench, facing another bench seating a gentleman with slanted eyes. [Ref.'s note: you see? I for one don't put any racist stereotypes in the jokes I tell!]
Suddenly, the elderly man stands up, walks up to the less old one, and enthusiastically happy-slaps him in the face.
The other guy exclaims: "AIIIIIIIAAA! Talnation, what got into you?
- Dis vas for Pearl Harbor. Mein father she died in Pearl Harbor.
- B-but... Peall Halbol was agglession by the Japanese! Me, Chinese.
- Bah. Japanese, Chinese... vhatever, it's all the same!"
He goes back to sit, happy about himself. The Chinese gentleman is left to ruminate. Suddenly he gets up, walks to the war orphan senior citizen, and smacks his face with a wushu chop that sends his dentures flying into the bushes!
- And THIS, is fol Titanic. Gland-fathel of Lee Ping Man, he die when Titanic sinking.
- Oy! Dis shmendrick is farklempt meshuggenah! De Titanic, dat vas ein Iceberg!
- Bah. Icebelg, Goldbelg... it all same!"

Stop! I can hear some laughs in the classroom. No laughing. It's heathen. Ayatollah Khomeini explained it clearly (verbatim quote): "An Islamic regime must be serious in every field. There are no jokes in Islam. There is no humour in Islam. There is no fun in Islam."
Is that understood?...
Right then, back to the impending Apocalypse, tick-tock, tick-tock, the countdown doesn't wait!

In fact, according to my calculations AT LEAST as convoluted and obfuscated as Reverend Harold Camping's, the exact, precise and final date of the Apocalypse is due on 13/13/2013 (or is it 3013? 3113? 1313? just a moment, let me check about that and call you back, in the meantime take a couple of aspirins). At any rate, I'm absopositive, because it's going to be a Friday the 13th. What about traditions, you Mayans, yo man? Huh? You forgot about traditions, didn't you? What about Fridays the 13th, good ol' american apple pie, Freedom Fries, Furn-el-Chebbak's Zaatar 'w' Zeit, the Apache peace calumet, the Maori Haka, islamic Shari'a, all those beautiful poetic and historical things that make the world a world until the very end (which is precisely today)? But man oh man, you Mayans, just because you're extinct, you just don't give a curse about good old traditions and Fridays the 13th. (tsk! Philistines)

[Link on You Tube]
By the way, allow me to introduce you to the mad Horseman of the
Apocalypse riding his ghost horse: the Sign is more than obvious!

"Oh, great, we're all gonna die." -- (François Fillon, merry French Prime Minister, interviewed on the Dummies of Canal+ in May 2011)

Being such an awesone genius myself, and unlike all those other dooming glooming pharting prophets, *I* won't stop at just announcing bad news: I'm also gonna find them a solution pronto! ("Vote for me.")
Scribe, take note, We have a Pharaonic Decree to issue.
[A-hem-HEM! Brhum-hu-hum...]
"Hear ye, hear ye, hurry, hardy, har-har! In order to fend off the End of the World, and in spite of all the hullaballo from the Government Unions that's sure to come back and bite Me with a vengeance, we hereby bye-bye declare the abolition of the 13th month, effective immediately. So it shall be written, so it shall be done."

OK. The world is saved, at least for today. Good. Next prodigy. Uhm... would anyone happen to know where I can find a 450km wide ozone plate? It's for plugging a hole.

P.S.: And furthermore, I was delayed to post this online because of the storm; Lebanon today is having weather that feels like the end of the world. One more Sign!!!

P.S.2: This is my 200th post. Yet another Sign?...

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