Great Moments in Boner History

Kierkegaard's constant boner:
























Though generally glossed over by modern biographers, it is a common understanding among serious scholars that in the years between his 12th birthday in 1825 and his death in 1855, Soren Kierkegaard had a boner that just would not go away.

Here's to you, Kierkegaard! One hundred and fifty years later your erectile prowess remains second to none.

Serious Things to consider

This much I know: one day I will wake up and I'll have a mustache. It is in my DNA. Furthermore, under no circumstance and by no revolutionary medical procedure--including those performed by foreign doctors in dubious circumstances--will I be able to remove this mustache from my face. Mustaches are like cockroaches, they have a pervasive, superhuman conquering quality about them. They are almost never associated with the term “ephemeral”—even when the discussion involves a massive nuclear exchange scenario. The morning I wake up with a mustache I might even like it. I'm not sure; I don't know how DNA works.

My grandfather had a mustache, my dad STILL has a mustache and the lineage of 'staches--according to the vast file of family photos I have assembled--seems to suggest this trend continues all the way back to Ireland before photographs and even portrait drawing had developed into viable technologies. Hair around the mouth is an inveterate family tradition. Somewhere in a cave in Africa, there is a painting of one my ancestors, extremely hairy under the nose.


With the inevitably and finality of this event confirmed, many questions remain.

What do I do now?

Do I rage, rage against the dying of the light? Or do I start now learning the habits and intricacies of this slightly hairier culture?

I mean Otto Von Bismarck had a HUGE mustache, and he wrecked France. Jeff Foxworthy... he's made a lot of money, right? Worst case scenario I could always go the Burt Reynolds bon vivant route. Sure he's made some bad life decisions, but he'll probably go down historically as a guy that nailed a bunch of hotties. I could do worse.

What new hobbies will I enjoy? Will model glue be involved? Should I stock up if I see a sale?

How much of my life will now be devoted to mustache maintenance? Will it be Mustache Zen Maintenance?

Will I want to trick-out my mustache? If so, what options are available? Flames?

How will this mustache improve my gruffness. When I bring this new gruff element to the table, will I reach a new dating demographic? And if so, is this babe demographic older or younger?

Will gay guys finally start buying me the number of drinks I deserve?

These are big questions. Any comments or suggestions would be greatly appreciated. I’ll try not to kill myself in the interim.

Note: Public-- mustache ride jokes aren't funny anymore.
dr. koala dick

Because there is an election coming up

FUCK PLUTO

Literally, everywhere I go, and I mean fucking EVERYWHERE, I hear the masses plea for Pluto's inclusion in our galaxy. Pluto-mania is degrading, and I'm tired of hearing about it. We are a superior galaxy without it; this is evolution. Pluto is an impostor.

Pluto isn't even an impostor.

Pluto is nothing.

Let me ask you this America; Do you know Pluto?

Do you know that in 1984 three virgins were raped during an incident in Texas where the manager of a fast-food establishment was fatally shot four times in the eye, and that they never found the killer? Did you know that Pluto killed that manager and raped those girls? Because Pluto did. How do I know that? Because Pluto had the audactiy to tell me.

Look at Pluto. Look at Pluto right now. Pluto is smirking.

Pluto is irrationally pro-life. He wants fetuses to live so he can kill babies.

Pluto once wrote a mass email to corporate America claiming to be the long lost son of Rod Stewart, and requested discreet loans to help him pay for a DNA test that would prove his relation and allow him to collect on his deserved portion of Rod Stewart's estate. Thousands of Americans lent Pluto excessive sums of money. Why? Because as Pluto and Maury Povich know, America loves a good DNA test. America is also a trusting country. You know what Pluto did? Pluto took the money and put in a Bahamanian bank account, never to be seen again.

Pluto invented the Canadian Lottery.

Pluto covered Stairway to Heaven, and to this day likes its own version better.

Pluto will eventually crash into us.

Pluto is a huge Dave Matthews Band fan.

Pluto is a vegan.

I'm Dr. Koala Dick and I'm against Pluto

WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF HIS FACE!

paid for by dudes for a most excellent galaxy

BREAKING NEWS: Doctor Koaladick Goes to Code Orange Job Search Shutdown Alert

Ever received a letter that looked something like this:

Dear Dr. Koaladick,

Thank you very much for applying for the part-time data entry trainee job. I’m sorry to say that we’re going to be hiring someone else for the position. We appreciate the time and effort you put into the application.

Sincerely,
jobs@internationalscrabblestatistics.com


Dr. Koaladick sure got one. And here was his reply:

Dear Jerks,

Slob on my job.

Thanks (facetiously),
Dr. Koaladick


Nobody turns down the Doctor for a part-time data entry job and gets away without a scathing retort. He didn't go through three and a half years of intense, near-militaristic training in Koala medical school and a grueling residency at First Koala Baptist Hospital in French Guyana only to be told he wasn't good enough at Excel. Fuck Excel. Doctors don't need it. Dr. Koaladick's job search lesson of the day: scathing retorts build respect in an industry and will only further your career through reputation.

3rd person all the way,
Dr. K

Ding Dong:

ENCOUNTERING RUDENESS: the supermarket

A supermarket may seem like a "super" place, but these bustling epicenters of gluttony can be veritable petri dishes for unnecessarily rude behavior. A supermarket always has an unsavory underbelly and, usually, it's the people who work there. Just politely force a supermarket employee to let you into a store's bathroom. On the way you'll see a hallway and a break room filled with folded-up boxes labeled "oranges," "ding dongs," and "home enema kits." This says a lot about supermarket employees. First of all, who leaves so many boxes lying around? Maybe they did it to complement all the sticky brown linoleum, but more likely these people just live like savages. No wonder they are so unhappy. Also, some of the boxes are big enough to make substantial forts out of. Let's try to demonstrate some creativity, people.

Supermarket employees tend to have the attitude of "look, I don't WANT to be here." But what supermarket employees don't realize is that I don't WANT to be there either. If it were up to me, humans would have stolen the secret of photosynthesis from plants long ago. Come on evolution, we need this.

But it's not just the employees. Complete strangers, evidently unable to handle the stress of produce, roll their eyes, sigh demonstratively, and generally act like big jerks when spoken to. This happens on a routine basis, noticeably more so in supermarkets in urban centers on the east coast. It's usually not an outright insult but a tacit implication of "I don't want to talk to you. I obviously hate sharing and didn't learn a damn thing from preschool. Want to play duck duck goose? I'll fight you." Sometimes it's difficult to respond to that kind of attitude. I say we do something, by silently walking away less and calling people "dickless" more. There's no reason we as a nation shouldn't be rude right back.

Watch as this baby is confronted with rudeness and struggles at first to find a response, but then digs deep to send a lasting message:


uh oh, that baby just got dissed


think, baby, think!


nicely done

And watch as this lady deftly handles a produce worker who looks like Moby (so many of them do) with a ready response.


this lady knows what's up in the produce section

See, it's not that hard. Just carry around an insult in your head in case you need to use it. I like "assbag" or "dicksmoke," and sometimes even the more obscure "jerkfuck" (what does that even mean?). Don't hesitate: when someone is rude to you, call them a name before it's too late.

power to the people
Dr. Koaladick

Three questions

When I hear people in the street arguing in arabic, or some vaguely clicky language that sounds like it's from the middle east, I automatically assume they're arguing about Israel. Question: Is this wrong? And would it be appropriate for me to tell them I think the solution to the whole Israel-Palestine conflict has something to do with Natalie Portman having twins with the future head of Hamas?


You remember that show Denver the Last Dinosaur? Remember how he was "your friend and a whole lot more"? What was up with the "whole lot more" part?


I recently recieved a free massage from a guy with the same name as me. I didn't like it, but I didn't hate it. Does this make me gay? And if so, should I have tipped him poorly?


stepping over passed out goth nerds all day long

dr. koala dick

LET'S GET RID OF THIS WORD!

Once when I was in fifth grade, I bought a sweet pair of Rollerblades. They were black and electric orange did I mention that they were sweet. They were so sweet that I had barely had them an hour before I smacked two rad, matching, No Fear stickers on the back of them. If Steve McQueen had a pair of Rollerblades, this is what they would have looked like.

After the stickers were affixed, I took them out for a spin grabbing my Easton aluminum hockey stick on the way. After five minutes of contemplating the intricacies of the Blades; testing their glide, turning ability, just how tight I could strap those babies around my feet, I came to the conclusion that these Rollerblades needed to be pimped out to the gills.

Always thinking ahead, I had bought a set of fucking sweet “Bullzeye” wheels (In Red) and Killer Bee Abec 5 bearings for the wheels at the store along with the blades. We did not joke around back then. I was twelve, it was 1995 and every kid I knew wanted to be a roller hockey junkie, and I wanted to be the junkiest of the junkies.

I went inside prepared the wheels, and took the original wheels out of the blades. As I began to insert my new wheel inside the blade there was a tightness, much like a tightness I would experience later in life, however this one was not natural. Even at the young age of twelve, I understood that there would be no getting this wheel into that blade no matter how hard I tried to jam it in.

Being the Sherlock that I am, I went to check the packaging for clues. Certainly I had bought the right size wheels. The instructions on the wheels claimed to fit any adult male size Rollerblade. This made no sense. I had Rollerblade ® Rollerblades, so they had to be industry standard size. And it was impossible that I had picked these sweet blades from the female section. I didn’t like figure skating, and as a corollary there was no way this could have happened--even accidentally, especially accidentally. I checked the package of the blades to see if they were any clues there or some sort of help number I could have my mom call to berate some poor sucker in Nebraska. It was on the Rollerblade box that I discovered the root of my problem. The Rollerblades were not adult male size, they were…….UNISEX!

First off all, the way society uses the term “unisex” is bullshit. It does not even corresponded to the Latin correctly. Obviously the term “unisex” when broken down ( uni and sex) translates to something along the lines of “one sex”. How does a word that means “one sex” refer to things that are supposed to be applicable to both sexes? How do they even do this with Rollerblades when the male and female foot sizing are on different standards?

This leads to another problem with the word. Things that claim to be unisex, never really are. Name one thing that you know to be labeled unisex. Is it really unisex? The only thing I can think of that transcends this rule is sleep, and that’s medical.
Whenever someone makes attempt to go the unisex route, usually we, as a society, are able to associate some gender specifications to their choices. Consequently, we then make value judgments on their decisions--“ Nice Kilt?”. We all know what moomoo's, pony tails, and cooking classes mean. Unisex attempts to be extra medium, and that is bullshit.

As you can imagine, twelve year old me was terrified upon making this discovery. Was there something wrong with me? Sexually…no (and I have the signatures to prove it). I had just been tricked once again by the corporate world fuckheads in part of their attempt to socialize the world so they could make millions of dollars while we all rot in low lit basements wearing orange sweaters. Ten years after, we all know what happened to Rollerblade ® and they’re decision to be unisexual. What’s the hardest part about Rollerblading? Telling your parents you’re gay. I returned mine. I did this not because I was insecure, but because you know who loves unisex? Communists, that's who.

This is why I decree we should eliminate this word for our vocabulary. If Ted Theodore Logan couldn't make a word sound cool, then it shouldn't be there in the first place.

The Equation

A little math I learned on the subway:



spring break Germany '07?

SOMEBODY DID SOMETHING ABOUT THE WEATHER!

Earlier this week, in an effort to improve weather moral, The National Weather Service announced plans to change the naming systems for all tropical storms and hurricanes. Officials at the monolith of geeks decided to make the move to avoid being a daily scapegoat like they were last year. NWS Spokesman Tom Krog articulated the NWS's stance, "Frankly we were all tired of the lack of respect we get from both the general public and the weather itself. It’s a shit job, and I went to college for four years. I promise you this, a Meteorology Major is way harder than Dentistry School. We decided it was time to show the weather who’s boss." The new system is aimed with increasing the public’s excitement with weather. Krog went on to explained the NWS's choices for the names, "The idea is to change storms names from their current state to objects associated with the current culture's nostalgia. No one wants to get hit by Hurricane Beta--it sounds like an STD". While the nation will still be bombared by massive storms in unprecedented numbers, The NWS hopes that the new naming system will give each powerful storm and “American Idol” like popularity. Below are some examples of the new naming system.




Hurricane Christmas is Coming


Hurricane Tracy Chapman


Tropical Depression Rollerblades

What I Learned One Semester in College

But does he like the "tradition" of kissing shirtless boys???

America Forced to do 230 Birthday Shots by Asshole Friend

America awoke late this afternoon with dark circles under its eyes. The previous night's July 4th bash had taken its toll.

This is not a common feeling for America, a nation known not only for apple pie, baseball, and assassinating people with missles from hundreds of miles away, but for holding its liquor (or so it tells chicks). However, late last night America's asshole friend Judd Mueller forced the proudest of nations to do 230 birthday shots, then shoved it into its own pool, permanently fucking up its cell phone.

This was only after Mueller, along with an entourage of America's loose acquaintances who had not been invited to America's very nicely catered party, shot roman candles at each other in America's garage. America, almost fully incapacitated by alchohol and busy chatting up an equally drunk Mexico, was unable to get it together and throw Mr. Mueller out before it was too late.

The scene was ugly as America, flailing in the pool and unaware of its phone's condition, swam to the shallow end and celebrated by shouting a rendition of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man."

Has America learned its lesson? Only time will tell. One thing, however, remains certain: if Judd Mueller does not buy America a new phone within 24 hours he will be shot from long range by a missile. How's that for insurance?

A Solid Proposal

Because Monkeys are our future.

NOT WITHOUT MY FISH TACO!!!

i'm beginning to suspect that college might have been just a diabolical advertising campaign concocted by the makers of KEYSTONE LIGHT.

also i think it's important to spend the fleeting days of youth establishing the basis for an insanity plea.

(they can hear us whispering!)

Terror From Above

Let the Eagle Soar.

Robo-Robertson

...and he can leg press 2,000lbs!

Geography Corner: Denmark

Denmark:

Denmark was created in 1993, by Jenna Anderson, for her third grade science fair project. Jenna created Denmark by building a Play-Doh and aluminum can base, microwaving it for twenty minutes, and then yelling at it in German for an hour. Within three days single cell life began, and then continued to develop at an unprecedented rate. Despite it being the only project of its kind and now containing a new species of reptile (The Jennasaurus) Denmark took home the red ribbon. Taking home the blue ribbon was Mark Patson and his fabricated two week observational analysis of his pet monkey—clearly done by his parents.

After the science fair, Jenna placed Denmark in her family's garage next to her dad's weight set. In March of that year, a bear broke into Jenna's garage tried to eat Denmark. Denmark's ability to adapt, as well as their innate knowledge of all things wild, allowed Denmark to outsmart and evade the bear. Instead, the bear ate mold off an old broken toilet Jenna's family had replaced. The bear did this because bears are stupid, and exercise almost no discretion as to what they eat. However, this first triumph for Denmark was bittersweet.

In July of that year, Jenna's father, Andy, sent Denmark to Germany. Andy was attemtping to make a donation to a nonexistent Holocaust Museum. He had just seen a show on the History channel about the Holocaust and was shocked to learn that it was in fact probably true. With international shipping rates at an all time low, he also used the opportunity to do some "early" spring cleaning and insulated his donation with garage clutter. Andy's favorite proverb regards "killing two birds with one stone." Andy also prides himself on doing spring cleaning in the summer of the year previous to the oncoming spring. Andy is an "early bird".

As one might expect, Denmark was not received well in Germany. Many Germans remarked that Denmark was not sexually deviant enough for Germany, while other suspected Denmark was in fact art work crafted by a young Jewish girl during the holocaust. Fearing another Anne Frank (a constant PR nightmare for the Deutschland), Germany hired a rag tag team of ex-KGB agents to dispose of Denmark quietly.On route to the disposal site the KGB agents became enamored with Denmark. They loved Denmark's risqué humor. They loved the way Denmark listened. They loved the way Denmark felt late at night when the crisp breeze blew in from the North Sea. They loved Denmark's beer, and they loved the way Denmark played soccer. Denmark made the ex-KGB agents feel safe. Prisoner's of their own prisoner, The KGB agents decided to unprisonate their captor/ prisoner. Late, on August 8^th 1994, Denmark was liberated.Nestled along Germany's northern coast newly liberated Denmark continued to grow. Within the year the public became increasingly aware of Denmark's existence and the UN was forced to deal with the enigma that was Denmark. After numerous strategy sessions and hour of delegates devising jokes about UN Secratary Butros Butros Ghali, the UN opted to take the position that Denmark had always existed. To further perpetuate their policy, they took several little known artistic gems and retrofitted them to include Denmark. Hamlet; Prince of the West Texas Roller Derby became Hamlet: Prince of Denmark. The play was then attributed to Shakespeare because you can attribute anything to Shakespeare and no one, and I mean NO ONE, will ever doubt you.

They told people NFL Kicker Morton Anderson is from Denmark In reality, Morton Anderson is a robot. The UN rewrote the foreword to every Hans Christian Anderson collection--noting what a "Great Dane" he was, and how the scenic Danish coastline inspired him. They gave credit to Denmark for inventing an obscure and mildly delicious type of pastry, and some of the kinkiest pornography. They developed LEGO in Denmark, and then built houses, cities, castles, and futuristic space stations out of Lego all over the country. Secretly, Denmark is the real LEGO LAND.

In conclusion: if Denmark a fictional country built out of LEGO is not safe from the terrors of this world, if we are not free to sit in a bar in Copenhagen with a mildly pricey lady of the night, a delicious Carlsberg smoking hash cigarettes making jokes about minorities then what is freedom. You can't just give a kid LEGO LAND and then take it away and tell him it’s not safe, can you?

Investing all my money in the Kronar

dr. koala dick

ps. I didn't make one joke about having a Great Dane in my pants--even though I do (literally).

Solving America

zombies think comprehensive healthcare is bunk.

5 alive

Dear America,
Why can't we "Cinco de" every month?

Best Regards,
dr. koala dick

To Fuck With Tom Krog

war of the dance

Dear America,

I think we both know it's time we stop pussy-footing around the situation and start pussy-footing right into it. I am tired of the "War on Terror" and I think you are too. I'm ready for the "War on Terriers"-- which I bet Fox News already has a graphic ready for. Regardless, it’s time for the current war to end, and the next war to begin. Thus, I invoke that we Americans, in this time of crisis, for the good of mankind, the History Channel and the Holy Starbucks on the corner/Internet Pornstar down the street, utilize the most potent weapon in our arsenal: Dance Crazes.

Just now, you probably suspected I was going to say something about the A-bomb? If by "A-bomb" you meant awesome dances, then you were right. If not, you are probably not a pretty cool dude. Academically speaking, I would have mentioned the atomic bomb (I'm not afraid of it, I love the bomb)--if that had been what defeated the Japanese. But the Japanese barely flinched at the bomb. The Japanese didn't care about the Atomics. What got the Japanese off their seats and into surrender position was the irresistible urge to get down to "Funky Town" faster than a kamikaze. If you don't believe me, look at them right now. Look at their dance dance revolutions. Look at their karaoke bars. Look at their god fearing erotic anime coca cola jeans wearing Chevrolet funk McFunk. You know what’s not lost in Translation? A little Bump n’Grind (ain’t nothing wrong with that).

The Japanese weren’t’ the only ones who caved to the primal groove. "The Charleston" in its early developmental stages tore the German army out of the trenches and had them hamming it up in Hamburg in World War I. "The Twist" brought bacchanalia and rapid desertions to North Korean Army.Disco shook Saigon so hard they had to evacuate it in helicopters. "Dancin' In The Dark" steamrolled its way through the Berlin wall, bringing Liberty, VH1, and the possibility of a steroid free lifestyle to all of East Germany.

During the late 1970's facing a extinction level robot invasion by it own super secret robot army, the CIA recruited Michael Jackson to create a dance that could be used as a weapon. In order to swiftly and secretly annihilate the ranks of robots, he astutely invented the “The Robot”. Through his sharp pops and mechanical footwork he showed robots that humans are better at being robots than robots will ever be. Dismayed, the Robot army promptly surrendered and unconditionally subjected themselves as slaves to the Japanese.

So what is the next step? I'm glad I asked for you. First, we need to coax minorities into creating a particularly addictive and crappy body motion. All the great dance crazes start with minorities. “The Charleston” with young people, “The Robot” with sort of a Black dude, “The Macerana” with Latinos, and the “Electric Slide” with cousin fuckers (interesting side note here, the electric slide helped create the internet, so I guess in a way Al Gore actually did create the internet). Then we take this dance craze straight from the street, throw it to the same guy that writes all of Kelly Clarkson's songs or whatever. The we give it a cool catchy name like “The Fatawa”, pump this thing on MTV non stop and sit back and enjoy some sacramental wine coolers. Within weeks, the militant Arab world will be throwing up high fives and legs grabs instead of i.e.d’s and praise Allah’s. Then we can get on to shooting those damn terriers.



head to head,

dr.koala dick--representin' mesopotamia

Ice Age: The Campaign

Archaeologists recently found this relic during a dig in Slovakia. Carbon Dating indicates that it is approximately 150,000 years old. As always Koala Dick strives to bring you the latest in Archaeological news and once again, Mission Accomplished.

Gitmo Confessions: The Easter Bunny

1. "the easter bunny sleigh runs on abortions."
2. "if your rectum doesn't hurt, it's not easter!"
3. "the cia invented carrots in the 80's to keep rabbits poor."
4. "i spend 75 days out of the year impregnating the president's day chicken to get all those eggs."
5. "those aren't jelly beans, rabbit shit just tastes that good."
6. "you can't give up meth for lent. i've tried."
7. "the only reason they crucified jesus was that nobody had the balls to crucify a giant talking rabbit."
8. "by 1975, i was so tired of regular sex that i decided to fuck bugs bunny. he dressed up like a lady; i give it an 8."
9. "have you ever eaten a chocolate egg filled with rabbit semen wrapped in aluminum foil with 'cadbury' printed on it?"

Push This Button Or The Cripples Have Won

Ever walked by one of these buttons and wondered, 'Why is it that I work hard all day to put food on my family's table, using words like "workforce" and "payroll" and "jobsite," watching "This Old House" and knowing what the fuck Kevin O'Connor is talking about, driving home in my American car and listening to classic rock radio before I honestly, hard-workingly open my screen door made of honest, American aluminum, take off my CAT boots and blow the suds off a few honest, hard-earned Bacardi Silvers, and yet handicapped people don't even have to open doors for themselves? Why do they get to push that button while I have to use my callused God-fearing hands like a fucking caveman?" I think we all have. That's why Dr. Koaladick is letting the world know that these buttons aren't just for handicapped people anymore. SAY GOODBYE to that moment of guilty deliberation and START pushing that button for yourself. Handicapped people are handicapped: it's a fact. According to science there is very little we can do about that. So why can't everyone else benefit from their misfortune? (It's called 'the needs of the many'--look into it you PC-crazed left-wing nutholes.) Maybe this is how our society's disabled can finally give something back.
Wake up people: there is no reason to manually open doors when we have buttons to do that for us. We are living in the future and it's time to accept it. Push that button, or the cripples have won.

Dr. Koala Dick's Geography Corner

FRANCE:
France was founded by group of Canadian explorers in 1858. In 1856 the Canadian Government created the expeditionary group to scout an area of land in the Old World where they could send the "Sovereign Nation of ye olde Crazy Redmen". The group set out in early 1857, but three months into the journey decided it best to attend the first annual MTV spring break in Daytona Beach Florida. The Tangential journey delayed the group seven months but the members of the expeditionary reached a general consensus that "No Doubt" rocked.

France's inviting and majestic Norman coast, the explorers lived like crazed vagabonds commonly engaging in cannibalism, bestiality and the grotesque card game UNO. This continued for nearly a year as the explorers wandered westward. However, on the fourteenth of July, the eight remaining members of the Canadian expeditionary stumbled upon a cabin along the banks of what is now the Seine river. This cabin turned out to be no ordinary Cabin and in fact was an infrequently attended reasonably priced gypsy whorehouse. Finding this a most excellent place to lounge about and be sassy the explorers set up permanent residences alongside the Cabin and thus began settlement of the city of Paris.

Looking at Modern day France it is hard to believe it is the same place settled by eight lazy horny Canadians. Today the borders of France stretch like a veteran whore to contain over 540,000 square kilometers (which is about twenty miles). Inside those borders France is populated by over 60 million people who all speak a language that requires a tone one would only use with small dogs and infants. The population enjoys a delicate cuisine as the average Frenchmen often dines on elegant French cheeses, really long crunchy bread, and his own hollow and meaningless threats--which all taste delicious when washed down by a daily glass of exquisite French wine.

It's also no secret that France's favorite pastime is rioting. This hearty tradition started in 1904, when common Frenchers became upset with the Canadian Monarchy instilled as their government. As protest the Frenchers played several rousing games of tennis before rounding up all the douche bags they could find and cutting their heads off. The very first of these fun games of cat and mouse and pitchfork and reign of terror lasted a record 10 years; a record contemporary Frenchmen have been trying to break ever since.

In 1939, France invaded Poland under the command of Charles De Gaulle and Napoleon Dynamite. Germany attempted to continue its policy of "appeasement" towards the French; however, this tactic succeeded only in inhibiting the preparation of the lazy German army. In 1941, the lazy Germans were overcome and the French marched on Berlin led by Jerry Lewis and a monkey named Chuckles. While France's actions incited a world war their efforts were soon thwarted when they attempted a LAND WAR IN ASIA and found Russia cold and surprisingly absent of Mail Order Brides . On April 30, 1945, while being bombarded by allied planes Charles De Gaulle, his wife Evita Peron, Napoleon Dynamite, and Chuckles all committed suicide by taking cyanide caplets and then slipping on banana peels, knocking themselves unconscious. Those who witnessed the event remarked that it was quite hilarious.

More recently an influx of immigrants has been the force altering the social landscape of France. While the countryside continues to represent traditional France with its rampant bestiality and exploitation placing drunk tourist on bicycles, the urban environment is filled with a new social class determined to take French rioting to new heights. Furthermore, French politicians are attempting to aid this lofty goal by pissing off everyone they possibly can. The current administration have offered economic recessions, steadfast commitment to hidebound policies and a Pro-monkey agenda to incite rioters. So far their efforts have been heartily rewarded.

France also continues its dedication to the arts. France recently announced plans to allow David Blaine to perform his upcoming illusion underneath the Eiffel Tower. In this illusion, as a tribute to France's global contributions, Blaine, using two male assistants will make their genitals disappear while frozen in ice for Forty days. During these forty days he will only be fed emulsified Tabloid newspapers through a tube while his two assistants alternately will sassily declare attributes describing grapes, cheeses, and proper protocol for surrendering. France cannot wait.

Also, French girls are easy,

dr koala dick

God's hazy cosmic jive

It's time to talk about the rapture:

Let me begin this discussion by explaining to those of you operating below OC III (Operating Christian) what the rapture really is. Essentially, according to certain texts interpreted in a certain manner by certain people (who all happen to have television shows that do not air at primetime nor on major networks) God is going to basically evacuate the world of all the good people (who all happen to have their own television shows and an uncanny ability to quote a vague equivocating sentence or two from the bible) before leaving the rest of us to be torn apart in the most bleeding vagina way possible. It's nothing space age like the beliefs of scientology, just good old fashion God kicking man's ass.

Now, if you listened to the people who are Rapture scholars, or Rapturetarians as I call them, or you regularly tuned in to their television shows, you would know that the Rapture is probably going to happen soon. I Hope you kept your Y2k stash stocked like I did. While these Bible geniuses cannot tell you the exact date (The Mayan calendar ends in 2012; hint hint) there are numerous passages indicating that the Earth is ripe for the rapture—most of which are based on the fact that a lot of other bad shit is going down. Be prepared. Soon, a portion of the world’s population is going to be divinely and majestically lifted from this earth—leaving the rest of the population to be tortured and ravaged by demons that probably look like Scott Baio or at least have the same eyebrows.

Many people fear the loss of their loved ones to the Rapture. I say good riddance; more beer and pussy for me. Others, potential Rapturees, worry about the grief caused to their dirty whore of a family member when they are Raptured away from the suck fest that is their pagan son’s life. The Daily Show did a piece on the Rapture a few years ago. Specifically, they did a piece on a service that allows prospective rapturees (PR’s) to write an email message that in the event of the rapture will be sent out to all the friends and family members they like, but have decided are ungodly. This seems like a very Christian act. Rapture emails remind me of that part in the bible (and Mel Gibson’s movie) where Jesus looks down from the cross at the innocent Romans and blatantly Jewish persecutors and says with his last words, “Have a nice life, fuckas!!! It's H-dubs for the J-dubs."

Regardless, this immensely popular service works by having a password mainframe that the PR must sign into every two weeks. If the PR does not sign into the mainframe every two weeks, the prepared email is sent out to the PR’s chosen mailing list. Note that PRs must get a rapture email sitter when leaving the country for missionary work lest they face a very awkward moment of shooting their rapture email load prematurely.

I signed up for an account myself. However, my selected email explains that I most likely have not been Raptured, which is probably due to a little bit of awesome experimentation I did in college and the fact that I don’t believe Jesus is the son of God (he seems more of a second cousin type to me). My email further extols that more likely I have been kidnapped by pissed off fundamental Christians and harmed in as many Jerry Fallwell approved ways as possible. I ask my friends to check the crawlspace under my house, the local dumpster and the East river for any clues of my whereabouts.

Now, I can imagine some of you are still skeptical about the Rapture. You doubt the Rapture’s magic. But let me tell you, I have seen it happen many a time. My car keys are Raptured practically daily. My glasses are also frequently Raptured. My girlfriend's birthday, important documents, childhood pets and sense of decency have all been Raptured. I must say, it’s pretty cool.

Now I will admit that at first this whole rapture thing was perplexing even to me. However, once you realize it’s happening, you get used to it. It's become a comfortable element of my everyday life. I used to yell at my mother, accusing her of moving all my drug paraphernalia and porn, but now I know it’s just God borrowing it for a god time and then keeping and holding onto it for me until I'm ready to use it for HIM, or whenever he's bored with it. By the way big man, I'm still looking for my old nintendo. When something's gone Raptured, rather than frantically panic, I just continue my day knowing God will return it from its state of Rapture when he God damn feels like it. Often times it seems like the only things God doesn't rapture from me are my virility and quick wit--coincidently these are the only two things I'll need come doomsday.

Raptureing your mind,
dr. koala dick

saturn bashing

dear universe, when are you gonna get with the fucking program? it's about time every one of you sacked up or ovaried up or whatever-it-is-you've-goted up and embraced the doctor koala dick happy wholesome oligarchy solution. you may hold on to your kings and your presidents and their glorious verbal handjobs; kd desires not the spotlight. all around us there are wrenches fucking with the works, and yes, the future looks bleak. but doctor koala dick's unique perspective and unparalleled innate brilliance can drag us out of this cosmic mire and into the age of unlimited excellence.

this universe is in a shambles. i mean, just take a look at our own galaxy. have any of you seen saturn? i know!! saturn is a blight on the milky way, has contributed next to nothing to interstellar culture, and has traded more bj's for crack cocaine than anyone else in recorded history. how long are we gonna put up with this ringed derelict before somebody lays the hammer down?

and hey, what about colorado? i have had it up to here with you, colorado. you sit there with your ski resorts and your uberdank ounces of mary jane and think you're soooo cool. you guys act like you invented mountain dew and smoking pot but anybody with half an education knows that isaac newton discovered mountain dew while under the influence of some primo white widow and presented it to the public at the first x games in 1710. the universe was extreme before you got here, colorado. get over it.

doctor koala dick is sick of this place. do you know what it feels like to be living in the year 2006 without wakeboard lanes on all the highways? this is supposed to be the future! isaac newton discovered mountain dew like 300 years ago!

so why don't you all just close your eyes and let the doctor go to work? doctor koala dick will install wakeboard lanes in all major highways within three years, wipe colorado from the map, and stick it to saturn like nobody has before.

because we deserve better.

and because fuck saturn.
dkd

Abraham Lincoln: shafted on BJ's?

Today, the thirteenth of February, we celebrate the birth of one of our nation's greatest leaders. In today's post-Pangea society, it is important to reflect on our current state and how we got here--a reflection not unlike the State of the Union address, but with more clapping--and to recognize those responsible for making life a little bit easier for all of us.
Lincoln was one of those guys. He basically won the Civil War for the Union, until '70s rock band Lynrd Skynrd won it back for the South and then died in a plane crash, a crash so epic that the South was no longer able to utilize its railroad infrastructure because the instruction manual for trains was encoded in Freebird and all the conductors were too sad to listen to it anymore, thus leaving the South without its prime advantage--an agrarian economy coupled with the inability to recognize fair criticism from Neil Young.

Lincoln freed the slaves. This was fucking huge. He also restrained himself from wording the emancipation proclamation: 'Dear South, read the declaration of independence--carefully this time--and pull your heads out of your asses. There will be plenty of time to work on your shitty truck after we take care of this.'
Lincoln also came through big time for Bill S. Preston, Esq. and Ted Theodore Logan in the end of Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure, thus becoming the first U.S. president to tell San Dimas, CA to 'party on, dudes.' Lincoln's birthday reminds us of many things we take for granted, things this man gave us while asking little in return. A true public servant, seated firmly in the pantheon of American heroes, Lincoln can be a lesson to us all.

But his birthday raises a fairly obvious question: what's it like to celebrate one's birthday a mere day away from Valentine's Day? Did Mrs. Lincoln give him both a birthday blowjob and a Valentine's Day blowjob? Or, did Lincoln have it like kids with birthdays near Christmas, and have to get combination birthday-Valentine's Day blowjobs? Was Mrs. Lincoln even into bj's (and by into i mean willing to)? Did people even do that back then?

Now many people will tell you that Lincoln was gay. Just last week a history major friend of mine told me he'd read an epistolary correspondence between Lincoln and some other 1800s guy, and that some of the letters sounded pretty gay. For instance, Lincoln apparently wrote to this guy after he'd stayed with him, and mentioned something about how the dude's thighs felt when he and Lincoln were in bed. Now that sounds pretty gay. But, America, you have to understand: this was the 1800s. Back then EVERYONE was gay.

Think about it. Charles Darwin, Walt Whitman, Guglielmo Marconi: gay, gay, gay (especially Marconi). What's astonishing about all this is that Abraham Lincoln was NOT, in fact the first gay president: John Adams, who held the office from 1797 - 1801, and thus was president when the big gay 1800 new year's ball dropped, retains that distinction.

But my point is this: it doesn't matter that Lincoln was gay, because gay men need something special on Valentine's Day too. Back to the original topic at hand, my guess is that Lincoln got the two special acts only in years during which he had done something particularly great, like 1861-65. Before that, he was busy walking miles and miles to return dimes and losing the Lincoln-Douglas debates. He made a damn good showing, but that's not really worthy of double dome, now is it?

i think we all know the answer to that,
Dr. Koaladick