Gentlemen Prefer Blobs

It was with an unusual level of kreative™ bureauthirst that a quorum of the Editorial Board met at the bar of the Rheum Room just down the hall from the Bumfuck Holiday Inn Business Conference Center --first right after the shitter--last Thursday night.

Business at hand—appointment of the Professor Emeritus to The JOCOP Chair at the Don Imus School of Ethnic and Feminist Studies at the University of Idaho.

It will come as no surprise to the readership that the final selectee was The Journal’s Senior Trans-Species Sexual Investigations Correspondent, David Marvin Mailer, whose academic credentials and wide spectrum of antibiotics in this area are eutrophic.

We congratulate Mailer (pictured above during a recent PRC inspection tour) on his imminent proximity to young women just past the legal permissorial age statute in several northeastern Utah counties.


A ventriloquist is touring the clubs and stops to entertain in a small town.

He's going through his usual schtick of risqué and dumb-blonde jokes when a well-dressed platinum blonde woman in the fourth row stands up on her chair and starts shouting at the comic.

"I've heard just about enough of your stupid blonde jokes, you arsehole! What makes you think you can stereotype women that way?"

"What connection can a person's hair colour possibly have with their fundamental worth as a human being?"

"It's morons like you that prevent women like myself from being respected at work and in our communities and from reaching our full potential, just because you and your Neanderthal brethren continue to perpetuate negative images, not only against blondes, but women in general, just for the sake of cheap laughs."

"You are a pathetic, misogynistic relic of the past and what you do is not only contrary to discrimination laws in every civilized country, it is deeply offensive to people with modern sensibilities and basic respect for their fellow citizens."

"You should hang your head in shame, you pusillanimous little maggot."

Gobsmacked by this outburst, the ventriloquist begins to mumble feeble apologies.

The blonde, now furious, screams at the stage--

"You stay out of this mister! I'm talking to that little sonofabitch on your knee!"