Latest Issue
Volume 32, Issue 1:
The Heuristic Playboy

Cosmetic Surgery for Animals

It is apparent that our society is becoming increasingly sexualized. From Lindsay Lohan’s big-ass titties to Donald Rumsfeld’s vagina tightening, male and female sexuality are being pushed to the limits through the wonders of cosmetic surgery. The pressure to look just fabulous extends beyond humans to the oft-overlooked animal kingdom. One man capitalizing on the growing market of “animal augmentation” is Dr. Rodrigo “Pelligro Abejas” Alexander. Through his services, any creature can obtain a sexily symmetrical face, a boner-popping body, or at the very least a panty-dropping positive self-image. But is it worth it? Hoping to highlight the benefits of such surgery, Dr. Alexander explains some of his successes.

Princess, Golden Retriever
Liposuction

When this dog came to me, its tears were not of little doggy joy but of sadness, and grief, and also much more sadness. On TV, seeing much smaller dogs as celebrity arm candy left this pooch feeling doggy jealousy with a large dose of DIC (doggy inferiority complex). I sat down, looked deep into her eyes, and whispered into her eye: “Just because teacup chihuahuas have a different body type than you doesn’t justify
exclusion from shamelessly being lugged from red-carpet affairs to penthouse coke orgies.” After I sucked out more than 30 pounds of fat and unnecessary “blood weight,” this dog looked really super-duper. My work was a smashing success; just last week the cover of National Enquirer showed Paris Hilton unconscious in a puddle of her own vomit as Princess photogenically lapped up the remains.

Moesha, Tiger
Fur Bleaching

Like many Panthera tigris, Moesha felt her dark fur limited her social and professional upward mobility. While the more eye-pleasing white tigers lavishly consumed the finest wines and freshest lobsters at the Mirage in Las Vegas, Moesha was stuck in the hot, humid, and poverty-stricken jungles of the Tropicana. She was sick of having racial slurs like “Tigger” and “Stripe Back” hurled at her on a daily basis. I suavely explained, while massaging her ugly orange back, that white fur would unlock the door to life’s treasures. After six months of painful fur bleaching she emerged whiter than my dead mother’s pubes GAA God rest her pubes. Moesha can now be seen running alongside Lance Burton at the Monte Carlo.

Muffin, Siamese Cat
Breast Augmentation

It was painfully clear why this sleepy Asian cat was in my office that cold January morning GAA it needed bigger tits. Its mini kitty-titties were flatter than my dead mother’s EKG. So I gave it what it desperately needed, some DD tigolbitties. This cat is now getting fucked constantly, and not only by me! But also by my brother (but don’t pass judgment; Alfonzo is a total slut). Regardless, Muffin’s success has made this surgery very popular among our feline friends. Sizes range from small to “Oh my god that cat’s tits are so big she can’t even walk” (very popular).

Ludwig von Strudellwasser, Mule
Testicular Implants

I am very proud of this surgery; it is my proverbial punch to God’s throat. Nature may have been too weak to provide the majestic mule with testicles, but I was able to thrust them in Ludwig’s scrotum with an iron fist. Now when Ludwig plows a field, he does so with a raging pink boner. As he moves, his cantaloupe-sized nuts drag in the mud.

Make Your Own Action Movie

The Briefing

Government Official: (gravely) I assume you all know why you’ve been called in here today. We’ve got three hours/seven days to diffuse this atomic/biological warhead planted by the notorious global corporation/ syndicate globotron/corp. I know you’re all just a bunch of ex-military/college students/normal citizens with blue-collar occupations, but you’ve got what it takes/you’re the best trained/you’re the only ones left to do the job. I trust you understand what’s at stake here.
Joker: Your cushy government job/our reputation?
(Group chuckles)
GO: Funny. The transport leaves for the moon at oh five hundred.

The Mounting Tension

(Team looks at bomb)
Team Captain: Okay team, whatever you do, do not press this button/cross these wires/move.
Vlad: (banging warhead with wrench/hammer/pipe while drinking from bottle/flask labeled “alcohol”) What? This is how to diffuse bomb in Kyrgyzstan/Tajikistan/Russia.
(Bomb opens revealing a clock)
Captain: Great. All we need to do now is…
(Crazy guy starts pressing button/crossing wires/moving)
Teammate: He’s got space/mind dementia!
(Team tackles crazy guy, but not before equipment is damaged/teammate is killed/hope is temporarily lost)

The Decision

Pilot/Driver/Vehicle Operator: (gravely) Okay, one of us needs to stay behind. (No one volunteers) I didn’t want it to have to come to this. Pick a straw/pick a number between one and seven/rock, paper, scissors, best two out of three.
(One by one, teammembers select/face off until only one remains)
The Chosen Guy: Tell my wife/girlfriend/son I love her/him. Tell her/him I’ll always be watchin’.

The Complication

Government Official: (via intercom) Okay, I’ve got some good news and some bad news…
Expendable Character: I’ve got a baaaaad feeling about this/This doesn’t look so good…
Captain: (gravely) Okay, what’s the good/bad news?
GO: There’s an asteroid headed directly for your position on the moon. You’ll have to use the bomb to deflect it.
Captain: (after a moment of resignation) Okay, what’s the bad/good news?
GO: That was the bad/good news.

The Critical Moment

Expendable Character: (via intercom to guy still on the moon) We’re running outta time/there’s no time/hurry up!
The Chosen Guy: One…more…minute…/just…another…second…
(Clock gets cracked open, revealing two wires/two liquid-filled tubes/another bomb)
TCG: (wiping brow) Hey Captain, what’s your favorite color/wine/movie?
Captain: (intensely) Blue/port/Casablanca.
TCG: (to himself) Ahhh, I never liked you anyway. (Grabs handful of wires/tubes/bombs and pulls them out, activating spring system and hurtling bomb towards asteroid)

The Aftermath

TCG: (Gets out of chopper and is hugged/kissed/hugged by wife/girlfriend/son) C’mon baby, let’s go home/make some heavenly collisions of our own/play some soccer.

Top Ten Reasons to Escape

  1. Ctrl-Alt-Del not working
  2. Town’s just one long dead-end drive since the factory closed down, so maybe it’s time to pack up your lucky hat and suitcase full of dreams and hit the road like the young guys says they should, and the old men say they should’ve. Also, you killed a cop.
  3. Chemo ward smells like old people
  4. You’re already a medical experiment; might as well go horribly wrong
  5. Most Dangerous Game not actually Beer Pong
  6. Quarantine, shmarantine!
  7. Just blew up Bond villain’s secret Antarctican complex; also, are James Bond
  8. There was a big line for not escaping
  9. You’re a famous black comedian and the hooker has an Adam’s apple
  10. Pirates unsympathetic about rope allergy

Berkeley Bong Ripping Contest Violates Law of Non-contradiction

Last weekend, Berkeley’s most notorious potheads faced off in a battle of lung capacity and “sheer stoner righteousness,” resulting in a logical paradox of G+A|delian proportions.

The paradox arose from the identification of the contest’s apparent winner, David Resinbauch, as “a big fuckin’ loser” and “a major punk.” This fact received further support in the interview that followed Resinbauch’s victory, in which he meticulously described the weeks of training that preceded the contest. “Imagine like a Rocky montage, only instead of ‘Eye of the Tiger’ playing, it’s that Phish song with the tambourine,” said the impotent ne’er-do-well.

Resinbauch won the contest after managing to cash a 1.2-gram bowl in a single breath, thus securing his status both as the Superman of burnouts and a huge goober. While Berkeley’s experts in formal logic and cannabis culture are still working out the ramifications of “the stoner’s paradox,” it has already been agreed that the other competitors can simply be categorized as losers.

I Am Smarter Than You

Hey you. So you think you are so smart, with your handlebar mustache and Swarovski crystal monocle, but do not nod your top hat and shake your mutton chops resolutely in wondrous awe of your own perspicacity. Maybe you won the Wolf Prize in mathematics a couple years ago, but I know you only proved Fermat’s last theorem with blowjobs. And seriously, who wins Nobel Prizes anymore? Why don’t you just go hang out with Toni Morrison and a calendar from 1986?

I envision brilliant connections all the time. Have you ever thought about the positive correlation between owning a gun and having a moustache? Or how about the inverse relationship between the number of sexual experiences and the number of unibrows an individual has? Or that all middle-aged Japanese-American men are named Ken? I did not think so. You must be a petite young lad and I must be Socrates, for I just pillaged your derriere with my magnificent diamond-studded shaft.

While you are a simpleminded one-trick mathematical-biological-literary pony, I dominate every field ever created by man and then some. Did you know that I solved all problems in the scientific field of !xbalijko? I bet you do not even know what that is, idiot.

You “speak” the English language in the same way that a hobo has sex with a pile of leaves: Eww. On the other Super Bowl ring-adorned hand (mine), I speak six languages fluently. I speak Bushmen Swahili extra fluently. Take that, you stupid click click whistle.

So how many times have you been awarded the Pulitzer Prize, not counting the one last year? That is right my dimwitted brother, the answer is zero. So place your tail in between your legs, board your carriage fabricated on broken dreams and undeserved acquisitions, and make your way back to the mountain of mediocrity on top of which your baroque mansion sits daintily.

William Safire is on vacation.

Semi-evil Doctor Dolittle

Have you ever wondered what happens when you take a fat kid’s peach cobbler? He sits on you. That’s right, he sits on you as he eats the rest of his peach cobbler, wishing it was a la mode. That’s why six years ago I used all the knowledge I could remember from that time I watched the Eddie Murphy version of Dr. Dolittle to learn to speak with animals. Confused? Think about it this way: who needs peach cobbler when you can have that fat bastard mauled by a grizzly bear? That may sound impressive, but my exploits with my ironically dubbed “animal henchmen” have gone far beyond a simple mauling:

Talking to my dog

Dog: Okay, so I run over and jump on that woman over there?
Me: …And then I come pull you off and apologize…
(Dog runs over and jumps on woman)
Me: Oh! My goodness, I’m sorry, miss, sometimes he gets away from me.
Woman: Oh, it’s okay, my husband’s dog does it all the time and his dog is a bit stronger…I’m used to it.
Dog: (to me) Shit.
Me: Shit.
Woman: (being leg-humped by dog) Oh, my!
Me: Stay the course, little buddy, stay the course.

Deciding the Ultimate Question: Who would win in a fight to the death, a rhinoceros or a polar bear?

Me: Hey polar bear GAA I saw that rhino with your mom at Ikea the other day, shopping for a new kitchen.
Polar Bear: What?
Me: Yeah, called your dad a deadbeat too. I figure he’s got his eye on her ever since the breakup.
Polar Bear: WhaGAA I’m not taking some puddle-drinking, pig-looking motherfucker for no father!

Winning the first prize on America’s Funniest Home Videos

Me: All right, remember your cues, people! First the cat goes for a drink of water in the toilet, then what happens?
Mouse: Then I run past the toilet.
Me: And???
Cat: And I freak out and fall into the toilet.
Me: Perfect. That $1,000 is as good as mine!
Mouse: I just don’t see my motivation in this scene.
Cat: Hey c’mon Mouse, have a little trust in our distinguished director.
Mouse: That’s funny, I thought kissing his ass was the gerbil’s job.
Me: Cut! Quit recording!

Using the super-intelligence of certain animals to get through college

Me: Hey Dolphin, what’s the Third Law of Thermodynamics?
Dolphin: Man, didn’t you study at all? You know you can’t take me into tests with you.
Me: C’mon Dolphy, if you help me out, I’ll give you a treat…
Dolphin: Fine. Just take this underwater radio earpiece I invented and I’ll give you the answers during your tests.
Me: Awww Dolphy, you’re the best! Here, have a fish.
Fish: AAAAAHHHHH! OH GOD NO! MAKE THE PAIN STGAA

What Eddie Murphy never thought of was: Why talk only to animals?

Me: Hey Crabs, do you think maybe you could, y’know, leave my genitals?
Crab: Sure, why didn’tcha ask before?
Me: (waiting) So, when do you think you might be taking off?
Crab: Oh, about a week ago, right before you had sex with the woman in the Arco men’s room.
Other Crab: SNAP!

Martin Luther King Gets Undeserved Recognition

A recent survey reveals that, in casual speech, the “Jr.” is omitted from the end of “Martin Luther King” 67% of the time. “This not only detracts from Martin Luther King Jr.’s well-deserved recognition, but also gives undo respect to his father,” said Revel Washington, professor of African-American Studies at UC Berkeley. “I hear people all the time say ‘It’s on MLK’ or ‘Martin Luther King Day.’ Though a respected reverend, Martin Luther King Sr. by no means deserves this undo recognition.”