Archive | Parody & Satire

The Bailiff announced: “all rise for the Reverend Judge Solomon Dungry.”

Dr. Tundra watched as the Reverend Judge entered the Court. The inquisitor was a tall, cadaverous man, with piercing blue eyes and lips that were so thin, you could only see them when he scowled, which he did most of the time. He took his seat, a low bench next to a tall cross on his dais, and said: “everyone but the accused may sit.”

“That’s you,” Dr. Tundra’s Writ-appointed lawyer told him — a well-meaning man, but weak, and clearly a cog in this fundamentalist system.

“You are accused of three counts of heresy, Dr. Tundra,” the Bailiff read from a clipboard. “One — you have purposefully taught the heretical notion of evolution. Two — you have posited another Supreme Being than Our Christian Lord, God. Three, you have called this False God the Flying Spaghetti Monster.”

“How do you plead?”

“Not guilty of course,” Dr. Tundra said. “But may I ask, am I not entitled to a trial by jury?”

The judge stood up, as did the rest of the Court. “No, heretic, you are not.”

“But doesn’t the Constitution grant me –”

“No, it does not. Before I pass sentence,” the Reverend Judge said, “may I ask what possessed you to do these things? Surely you knew of our Holy Writ before you came to America to teach?” Continue Reading →

Psychlotron XII was well-known as the premier negolath-mining planet in the entire galaxy. (Negolath, as you know, is a vital element in the powdered wig industry, which has gripped galactic fashion since the disembodied head of Joan Rivers wore one to the 1206th Oscars.)

The problem with negolath is that it is easily transmuted into an aerosol, is highly reactive and can cause a range of maladies such as having your face to slough off. In short, if not properly handled, negolath killed people, turned them into hideous skin-deprived ghouls, or even worse.

The Massively Helpful Insurance Company provided the health coverage for the miners who quarried the all-important negolath.

And there had been a massive aerosol event; thousands of miners and their families were dead, losing their facial features, or getting sick. The Massively Helpful Insurance Company was on the hook for billions of credits in health care, that is, until they called in Darth Jeremy, Dark Lord of Insurance Agents. It would take him weeks, but the powerful villain visited each policy holder in turn. Continue Reading →

The Truth was out there, and it was Special Agent Frank Mulva’s job to prevent people from finding it.

If they discovered it … well … he just didn’t want to think about the ramifications. If people understood that sex was fun? There was no greater danger.

He had personal experience with it — the danger of the knowledge, not the actual sex.

His younger sister, Fanny, had been seduced by carnality. And then combined it with commerce; it was as though she had been abducted by aliens. Of course, unlike an alien abduction, he could always see his sister if he went to his nearest web browser and typed in lustylasses.com.

It tore his heart out.

For Fanny, the journey had started out so innocently. She and some other college friends got together one night to have a Passion Party — like a Tupperware party, but with sex toys and lessons from evil sexucators on how to give a better … Mulva couldn’t even think of it.

Yep, the Passion Party was the gateway to the evils of the hardcore porn industry, and it was Mulva’s key focus. He would shut them down. He didn’t care if they were legal.

He had a calling. Greatness was thrust upon him.

Yep, Mulva thought, thrust. Thrust, thrust, thrust. Hmm, odd. Why would that word keep running through his head?

Inspired by:
Swelling demand for sex ed | Recruits sought for pr0n squad | lips by robyn’s nest