APOCALYPSHIT

Haven’t we had enough of so-called “artists” getting up in public circumstances and saying vile and nauseating insults about Jews and Black people?

Artists are supposed to be a little more universal than ordinary suckers, a little more tuned in to the cosmic vibration of life, or whatever it is.

I believe that comedy is supposed to be about LOVE.

LOVE LOVE LOVE. All you need is love.

That’s why I invented the Mel Gibson Inflatable Sex Doll. You pull the string and it shouts “Fuck me, rabbi, fuck me!”

Now, when I heard Mel Gibson pleading to get fucked by a rabbi, it tore at my heart’s emotions. Am I not an Ordained Rabbi, with a degree from The Mel Brooks College of Rabbinical College? As a rabbi, the happiness of even vile, rubbishy scumbags like Mel Gibson is my paramount concern. For this reason, I donned my priestly vestments, greased my rabbinical staff with kosher lubricant and plunged my erect, equine member into Mel Gibson’s rectal cavity.

As the minutes passed, I felt the pressure build up in my loins. The air in the room began to steam up with my perspiration as I hammered away at Mel Gibson’s butt. Soon his ass started filling up with flies, who were lapping all the perspiration and lubricant as I thrust away at him. The only sound in the room was his desperate pleading for me to “Fuck me, rabbi, fuck me!”

I became so enthralled by the act of love I was performing on Mel Gibson’s butt that even when the friction of my screaming member against the latex walls of his rectum produced a cloud of thick black smoke to engulf the room, I could not bear to stop grinding deeper and deeper into the burning, fly-infested chamber of his ass.

All of a sudden, I heard a loud BANG! The mechanical, piston-like motion of my throbbing member had burned a hole in the walls of Mel Gibson’s rectum, causing an explosion which had stunned the flies feeding on the sweat and the lubricant, causing them to fall dead to the floor. An eruption of gas and hot air blasted through the burnt-out walls of his ass, propelling latex solar Mel from my grasp and causing him to fly about the room, banging into walls and knocking over lamps and furniture.

I tried to grab him, but he flew about the room in such a frenzy as to evade my grasp, destroying the room’s furnishings. I realized to my horror that my girlfriend, Magpie, was due to return any moment, and she would be enraged to find the whole room destroyed, the floor covered with the corpses of dead flies.

As Mel Gibson careened through the air, ruining paintings, shredding upholstery, shattering crystal ware, the gas from his ass shattering my senses like the scream of a jet engine, I realized that the only thing that would stop this madness would be to shoot him with blasts from Dick Cheney’s shotgun, which I had procured earlier that day. I grabbed the shotgun, pointed the muzzle at Mel Gibson, who was momentarily stuck in a corner of the wall, and pulled the trigger.

The ensuing explosion caused a blast that blew out the windows of the room and ripped the clothes from my body. But at least Mel Gibson was dead.

Or so I thought. This week his latest movie came out. Like a ghoul who refuses to die, the only thing that will keep this cocksucker in his grave seems to be for a wooden stake to be driven through his heart.

Who can forget his last little valentine to the Jewish people that portrayed us as crooked demonic torturers of an eminently gentile Jesus? What charming bouquets of affection would he toss in our direction this go-round?

As it turns out, he has directed his gentle attentions toward the indigenous peoples of Mexico, portraying the Mayans as ghastly, barbaric torturers who dispatch each other in the most hideous ways imaginable.

Thanks again, Mel, for contributing to world civilization in the only way you know how, another manifestation of white, Christian culture sprung whole from the tortured rat’s maze of your cranial interior! Nowhere in Gibson’s latest epic is there a scintilla of anything approaching the universal truth of the Mayan empire as a golden age of architecture, astronomy, mathematics and literature that lasted for centuries and built hundreds of majestic cities throughout Central America. Or the fact that they left behind a rich literary heritage in the form of books and manuscripts that were immediately obliterated at the arrival of Mel’s heroes, the Jesuits. In Mel Gibson’s world view the Mayans, like the Jews before them, are reduced to the level of subhuman cretins and bloodthirsty imbeciles. It seems to me that there is an psychiatric element of projection going on in Gibson’s twisted psychology.

Admittedly, I haven’t seen this masterpiece. I’ve been visiting the Yucatan for several decades. I’ve seen for myself the actual remains of the Mayan civilization and spent many pleasurable hours conversing with the charming descendants of this noble race, in addition to reading books about their achievements and philosophy. I don’t need to have them portrayed to me by a burnt-out, degenerate drunken scumbag of a nazi prick. Fuck you, Mel, and the horse you rode in on.

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Posted on 12/11/2006 ( Permanent Link )
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