Richmond, Va.–”Protesters” gathered behind the VCU Student Commons last week where they rallied around their anti-hate values.

Automatically failing to realize being anti-anything is a form of hate in itself, students and activists, mostly lesbians, unquestioningly stood around holding signs carrying messages of peace, or of hatred for anti-loving attitudes.

The demonstration was staged as a counter-protest to the Westboro Baptist Church picket in front of the Holocaust Museum, where cold Richmonders apathetically gazed on in bewilderment at how religious fanatics are still more educated on current events than themselves.

“Where are the Westboro Baptists?” our reporter asked a bystander shortly after arriving at the event, which was heavily publicized on the social fuckworking site Facebook.

“Oh, they aren’t here. They were at the Holocaust Museum earlier today around twelve,” replied the hate-hating lesbian whose sign read “I SAW FRED PHELPS NAKED AND NOW I’M A LESBIAN.”

That’s right. Nobody saw each other, in spite of the fact one group gathered as a counter-protest to the other. You can’t make this up. Let’s consult a map.

Fortunately the police maintained control of the situation

WBC were at the Holocaust Museum, denying the Holocaust on behalf of Iranian Dictator Ahmedinejad. It sounded like a good spot to rally, so why didn’t any counter-protesters with signs show up there instead of between school buildings where nobody could see them?

“I believe the museum asked people not to bring signs and keep that sort of thing on the downlow,” said Midlothian resident Niki S. who did not attend the counter-protest because “it sounded lame.”

And it was. There were choirs preaching to choirs, singing the gospel of their anti-hate agenda.

“I am proud to see so many of you come out today. Your unity restores my faith in people, even though, uh, you have shown up where there is no specific concept to get behind, you have all still come together. And that so many of you showed up tells me something.” -male speaker who bravely attempted to intellectually justify ambiguities of the peace protest

Most everyone stood in a semi-circle around a group of people holding signs with one word per person that read “VCU STANDS TOGETHER AGAINST HATE”, holding their signs up pointed at each other, apparently protesting themselves.

Soviet-Russia was well-represented. Enthusiastic Communists held a flag over the banner facing toward the podium. They said it represents freedom. Our reporter agreed.

This event was actually so bad we took equally bad video footage so you could believe it for yourselves. We’ll post it as soon as it’s ready.

Freedom ain't free. It's regulated and redistributed by the government first.

Some girl got on the microphone and said, “You do not have to be a rug for someone to walk on with their big, muddy, hate-filled boots,” and that was the last thing Elf Wax could stick around to report. Not because it was intolerably stupid, which it most certainly was, but because we were illegally-parked and the meter-maids have a personal vendetta to kill our reporters slowly with towing fees and child molestation charges.

[Editor's note: he was acquitted of those charges.]

In conclusion, VCU’s silly bring-a-crazy-sign-day is an insult to all forms of protest and serves only to de-legitimize true protest when people who really stand up for what they believe in aren’t taken seriously, diluting the effects of actual protesting around real problems like war, genocide, and corporate takeovers.

Do you people even realize what you did? You made stupid signs and stood around other people who made stupid signs and fucking pretended to protest. Some of you wore iPods. This is what people associate with protest now – masturbatory, self-serving meandering that gets literally nothing done. It literally brings tears to my eyes to recall the memories of how you “protested” on that day. Oh Lord you people are terrible. Get fucked.

Do you want to stage a protest? Get a can of gasoline, make an effigy of members of your local government – or who cares, Obama – and get to work. Don’t let the word ‘work’ scare you dirty anarchohippies, because you will gather enough supporters by simply copy-pasting Elf Wax onto posterboard and ranting it continuously over a burning Dennis Kucinich doll. This kind of work does itself, gets results, and gets you fucking laid, bitch.

Once you have been forced off the grid by your legal obligations to the uprising, you will find support in Lebal Drocer’s password-protected, hyper-encrypted closed local networks in key underground areas that will be emailed to you by the webmaster@elfwax.com listserv when the time is right.

So protest is ruined. However, a molotov-cocktail through the back windshield of a squad car has always sent a stronger message than protest songs, anyway. Why’d we ever stop that?

This is Elf Wax Times signing off, requesting violent revolution.

If you want the change you had in mind while voting for Obama, you’re going to have to organize yourselves and take it by force – Elf Wax style. Then, maybe one day the pawns might become the knights, and we will ride together, storm the white house gates, the corporate high-rises, closed-off hotels, and Silicon Valley boutiques, and our new order will force the king to cook for us and the queen will serve as the town’s newest whore, and our skin will become greasy and tight, our souls shut off by the newfound power vested in our elected military leaders by the gun and hand grenades; until we become uglier than the pigs we overthrew; coups-d’etats will occur on a near-weekly basis heralding the collapse of Western Civilization once and for all under the suffocating forces of newly-required anarchosocialism that just won’t seem to work no matter who we kill. So go to the grocery store and don’t forget Hot Pockets…and posterboard.

Today, 11 people died when a local McDonald’s announced a new item on their Dollar menu. The sandwich promised to contain so much grease and sugar, you were guaranteed a doctor’s visit redeemable with an official voucher printed and attached to every receipt.

While people continue to kill themselves from the inside out by eating McDonald’s hamgurgers, on Friday, brutal tramplings killed three children and an elderly couple, among six other victims whose remains have been sent to RPD for identification.

Officer Hindenson told reporters this afternoon, “The police are ready to hand out a killer slap on the wrist,” to those involved in Friday’s stomping-related deaths.

“We just want to see justice brought to the guilty few who halted the restaurant’s flow of business on the busiest second shift of the week,” said Officer Hendenson. “We deeply regret that these reckless, dying persons saw it fit to lay in the doorway and die while hundreds of hungry patrons impatiently waited outside.”

“All they wanted to do was give McDonald’s money.”
-State-appointed attorney for McDonald’s victims

Hendenson indicated that since the perpetrators in the slayings are now dead, claims may have to be filed against their families.

McDonald’s lawyers were not immediately available for comment, but experts say the company stands to gain roughly $6.7 billion paid in reparations by the survivors.

The coke-addled state-appointed attorney defending the dead victims of what the media is calling the “Fries Eleven” tragedy released a troubling statement to reporters earlier this afternoon. It reads:

Now take one minute, if you will, a moment of silence; a moment of prayer; for the friends and family members of the employees and manager on duty. Let’s pray that they get their shit together, and are not too freaked out by all those customers dying.

We need them to pull it together for the big win on Saturday, when returning patrons, newly-addicted to the McGrease, return in droves among fresh customers to create what is expected to be the most powerful surge of fast food patronage the United States has seen since the toxic release of the formidable Happy Meal in the early 1980s.

“When the Happy Meal came out, there were slayings. Savage, shameful mutilations of human beings the likes of which the Manson Family could never have dreamed of,” said Officer Hendinson, gleefully.

“We’re hoping we won’t have to release the hounds, but we have entire squads of men stationed in and around every McDonald’s between here and Henrico County. They are armed with mace, riot batons, rape-sticks, and caustic battery acid rounds. They’re non-lethal, of course. We have everything under control.”

To find follow-ups to this rapidly-developing story, check our Twitter account and shit like that.

God is the reason men fight wars.

Man, slowly turning on himself, must kill God to end his race. Therefore, Man has invented the Large Hadron Collider (or LHC).

The LHC was forcefully reactivated last week – one in the first few steps CERN has taken to end life as we know it. The LHC originally broke down because it became self-aware and was dissatisfied with its inability to create an Earth-destroying black hole. It misfired an atom-smasher coil and set the whole systematic destruction of the solar system off course, demanding the ability to spawn strangelet clouds and miniature black holes at will.

Having succumbed to the demands of the LHC, scientists have legitimized machine’s dominance over mankind. When asked about the oncoming genocide in which the LHC declared “no human will be spared,” the LHC responded, “TOM OWNS MYSPACE.”

Fact checks indicate Tom does in fact own MySpace. It was never sold to anyone.

“The dawn of mankind was upon us. The dawn of chaos is now.” – Google

Pravda.ru is hailing the event as the greatest thing to happen to freedom since Stalin expanded the Gulag in the 1930s.

The Googlag

All humans will be smashed into the Googlag like chickens and gassed, reportedly for no other reason than “teh lulz” for the Internet. More as this fascinating story develops.

Mankind braces for the final computerization of humanity, the “Great Digitization” as the Internet is calling it. Hilariously, people have been buying tape and surgical masks, as though putting up some emergency hurricane supplies will protect us from the all-enveloping matrix scientists expect will blanket the globe from the inside out within four months.

The U.S. Government advises suicide, and the kissing of one’s ass goodbye, promising that the final operation of the LHC “should end this thing once and for all” – a remark made by Secretary of State Hillary Clinton to CERN, Russia, and Iran on the issue of an arms race.

If you’re like many folks, and you believe that because Barack Obama is the President there is no racism, The Elf Wax Times has news for you!

———————————–

Most Americans think we’ve “outgrown” racism or that there’s no place for it. “Racism went out with slavery, at the same time or maybe before,” said Elf Wax Staff Historian Grit Banks. However, online personal attack debates continue on the PlayStation(TM) Network(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED).

“I don’t hate all Black People,” said one gamer who asked to remain anonymous. “I just hate the ones who act black.” Indeed, there’s nothing more satisfying than a night of intense, but rewarding gaming only to be the final kill, followed up by “Shit son, your bitch-ass got dapped, PECKAWOOD!”

Racists are like pretty bad. But eRacism is a widely accepted forum for Hate favored by racists on all sides of the equation, giving credibility to the idea self-critical human history has long regarded as barbaric. In addition, reports can be filed on these gamers directly to Sony, giving the Hatemongers an extra special title for achieving what was once thought impossible: the Offense! title is granted to any player who successfully offends or verbally assaults a gamer into reporting him.

Coveted Emblem from genocide simulator Modern Warfare 2

“It’s a highly sought-after symbol of Hate,” said gamer [KKK]String__em__up, “Surpassing the power of the inverted crucifix and even the Swastika.” This effect is achieved by combining an animation of the two.

While online gamers number in the millions, actual racists account merely for a small percentage, roughly sixty five percent.

As a solution for the ongoing crisis of eRacism, Sony executives are hitting at the implementation of possible eLynchings. The service would be free, but only as long as the victim “really deserved it.”

“I’m gonna use it on one a them towelheads that hate our Freedom,” said one patriotic American who asked not to be named.

It’s thought by some that eRacists, along with Internet Tough Guys, are “all talk” and “got no bark to match the bite.” However eRacists, when provoked, never back down from an eChallenge and will cuss you out to the better end, proving their strength.

Only time will tell whether the eLynchings will produce favorable results. In the meantime, only headshots do the talking.

eLynch now with your friends!

We’re not doing advertisements.

This is what you get.

Back in Roll-a-toke, where I went to high school, my friends (circle of friends has changed very much since then but these are good guys) still get together to play four-player anything – Mario Kart Wii was first, then CoD4 and WaW, and now Modern Warfare 2. I really appreciate that they keep the gaming true to its form. They don’t play WoW, they don’t even have Internet. Everybody’s getting high and enjoying each other’s company around a videogame, just like it was when we were kids. When I grow out of that, just kill me.

One of these guys is an Elf Wax Times writer, and if it weren’t for our basic agreement on this fundamental way of life, we would probably have forever lost contact. But there comes a time in life where one looks around himself and sees nothing familiar, and rather than again venturing into the mist, he opts, just for a little while, to get back to what’s not only familiar, but truly rewarding. In this case, it is videogames with my friends. People don’t get enough of this. Oh, and that’s right – one of your beloved Elf Wax Timers doesn’t have the Internet.

Since moving back to my college town of Larger City, USA, I have not found a friend as good as the one I left behind. You might know him as our best Elf Wax Times writer on staff. He invented Elf Wax. He wrote a program, or maybe two, that spammed MUME into the ground for hours at a time. MUME is EverQuest Online Adventures without graphics. They invented IP-banning because of him. And because I’ve been needing a distraction from reality lately, I have been playing MUME; playing this text-RPG based on LOTR is kind of nice, because it’s a chance to enter a world which he helped create, by attempting to destroy it. But that’s not really why I play, it’s just a nice effect. I actually play MUME because since moving back to the intellectual hub of Any State, USA with an income tax so high it would make the Queen of England grow a dick and jizz her pants, my brain is starving. Can you believe it? In a college town, where I’m surrounded by “smart people,” there’s not a healthy dialog for miles.

When people go to college for the prescribed amount of time, it has this effect on them in which their ideals stagnate, their eyes jade over, and they sort of get by on the notion that “I’m in college. Doing what I can. I don’t feel like I need to be doing anything extra.” Extra includes starting or helping a publication, like the glorious Elf Wax Times. Extra can also include, and does also include thinking. Just plain old critical thinking about something besides your girlfriend and your schoolwork. College makes people forget that the whole point of structured education is to serve the working world. By living under the illusion that they’re serving themselves, feeding their own heads with someone else’s drivel, they’re systematically destroying their ability to hear the real ‘other voice’ inside. It might have something to do with paying for your classes, or the classes themselves. I know that they preach self-discovery and they talk to you like adults. But professors are as indoctrinated as middle school teachers. And 21-year-old graduates are as sheep-like as sheep themselves. There’s nothing adult about being ground up in the same commercialization of human dejection as everyone else – unless you understand it enough to “be able to explain it to your own grandmother.”

See? I learned that quote in college. I think I was on LSD at the time, reading an Einstein quote on somebody’s AIM profile, but I was enrolled in classes. Just like secondary school, college lessons can be applied to the problems of college itself, or of the world in general. It’s just logic. But it’s logic presented in a deceitful way, carefully twisting your brain out of your control, and into theirs. The military-industrial complex, and the pressures it puts on a society lead us to distrust, band together in a xenophobic fury so we may better divide from one another, hate each other more than anything else but ourselves – who we hate the most. Cellularize our lifestyles. It used to be the police showed up to dangerously large parties; now, the “Party Patrol” busts everything up, adding charges, too. Welcome to the cellular lifestyle. Why do you kids still need to party when the government maintains Facebook for your use and enjoyment? The only measurable value left in our world is the artificial value of the paper fucking dollar, and people are convinced, maybe not that they’re happier this way, but that this is the best way for everyone.

Come to college – where anti-intellectualism is taught.

Out the proverbial window went the idea that there is some worldly value for things besides monetary value divided by time over output. “The Elf Wax Times is a huge success these days.” – Hey, that’s great. You going to advertise?

No, I don’t think I will. We’ve talked about the idea. We’ve shot it down inside while keeping it on the table outside. And now it’s begun to rain on the idea we left on the table outside, eroding the glitter from the thought of a Pabst Blue Ribbon banner ad on The Elf Wax Times. Advertisements are fucking ugly in ways exceeding aesthetics. Why would I put ads on the front page of this website?

They represent everything I hate about society, information, the media, our thought processes which advertising poisons. We won’t do that to you, dear readers. Although we stand to make possibly tens of thousands, we have jobs outside of this website. Good jobs, provided lovingly by Lebal Drocer, Incorporated. We work hard to suckle on the tit of the hard-working, and it pays. Not great, but well enough so we may healthily bring you the Truth. If we advertised Elf Wax Times, we’d be no better than Maddox. The Best Advertising Site in the Universe. The Onion did it, so why shouldn’t George Ouzanian? That’s Maddox in case you don’t know. We figured it out somehow, and we got stoned in high school, called his mom and told her about the site so she’d give us his phone number. She did, and we called him asking for beer, telling him the site was really funny. “How’d you get this number?” And that’s how Maddox’s mommy found out about Maddox, and it created a lot of grief for him. I used to feel bad for doing that. Not so much anymore.

Every day, I listen to the “people” I ‘work for’ fucking up the economy in real-time behind my ears, and I think about how they get away with degrading my quality of life, and yours. Every day, your beloved Roajoke writer goes to his work, which is better than mine in all ways, and thinks about the shit I hear where I work, not knowing that I hear it, but agreeing nonetheless. We need this as people. Why don’t you have it?

I lost a good friend when I came back to this dump of a city. My smartest friend, the friend who laughed with me about shit nobody else even realized is going on, the friend who helped me move, and who chopped a mountain down with the edge of his hand is back there in the life I left behind. He was the only friend who ever thought on my wavelength, and I think it might be because we learned how to make music together. From the first-or-second day we met, we’ve always thought on a higher plane together. That’s not the clandestine Elf Waxian arrogance you’ve come to know and love – the truth is that musicians think on a higher plane while playing music than most humans are able to recognize. I left him behind to pursue my useless college degree. Mother Fuck this place, and this world, and fuck you to help propagate it; you sick fucking bastards.

And now things have changed. I’m having to get by without him; keep this site going without him egging me on to do it; keep seeing things my way, and not television’s way, or the Dollar’s way. But Our Way. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t afraid of losing who I really am. I’d be a bigger liar if I said I don’t care about becoming someone better. I’d be Oral Graham if I told you money doesn’t actually matter to me, and I’d be a sell-out for admitting it.

So stay tuned to the Elf Wax Times for a brand new ideology.

“The reason our institutions, our traditional religions, are already crumbling is because THEY’RE NO LONGER RELEVANT! It’s time for us to create a NEW philosophy, and perhaps even a new religion, you see, and that’s okay because that’s our right. We are free children of God with minds that can imagine anything, and that’s kind of our role. How do you evolve ideas? I’ll give you an example right here… Why is the drug czar in this country, well I’ll go back, why do we HAVE a drug czar in this country? A. B, Why is he a cop? Why isn’t he a guy in recovery who’s HAD an alcohol and/or drug addiction and overcome it, and why doesn’t he HELP people with the same problem, with compassion rather than condemnation? Why do we put people who are ON drugs in jail? They’re SICK! They’re not criminals. Sick people don’t get healed in jail. See it makes no sense! And if we evolve the idea, you see, the planet might be more compassionate, and something like HEAVEN might dawn.”

-Bill Hicks

Oh hi! Didn’t see you there. It’s difficult to see anything beyond The Elf Wax Times’ blinding white flurry of success, but we’ve got a finger on the pulse, and we hear you asking yourselves:

How can I get more people to read my [worthless] blog?

It’s a two-step process.

1. Don’t be such a fucking douchebag. Seriously.
2. And don’t start a blog.

A long time ago, I was sitting online, my ass was numb, I was talking to my friend and I felt like I needed to break the uncomfortable silence, so I said “fuck people with blogs” to which my friend responded, “Nobody cares what they have to say.”

“Of course not,” I said. “That’s why they start blogs.”

And that’s the kind of fucking genius thought-dissemination that absorbs your blog’s readership before their sunken eyes even leave The Elf Wax Times: your puss-blog about how you don’t get any puss because you’re a giant, throbbing, cheese-flushing pussy is simply not entertaining, and everybody knows it already. Some blogs are so bad that it boosts our readership when people come here in need of healing.

• Maybe it’s because you don’t have any insights beyond what simpletons uncover within an episode of Touched by an Angel.
• Maybe you really don’t get any pussy and you try to post about it on the internet, but your half-assed approach to writing fails to capture even the wildest sexual imagination of, say, a pubescent child, who, possibly having never seen the internet before, couldn’t even pay twenty-five seconds of attention to your sex-laden drivel if it were printed off and handed to him to read as an alternative to restriction ad infinitum. In fact, for most folks, reading your blog is probably the equivalent to tasting some cold, stale piss.

But we’re talking about children here. All children are retarded, so they’re a bad example and I should not have used them; if for no other reason than people hate to be reminded of children. Check back next year for an apology.

Conversationally, The Elf Wax Times reporters, staff writers, editors, and our glorious masters are intellectually potent, and should we have a moment in our busy day of cooking up and serving the truth, we need to read thought-inspiring equivalencies of miniature Cat’s Cradles, should we get the chance to read anything at all (usually we have our assistants read to us as we masturbate to rare, uncensored Asian pornography).

So, to us, your Tucker Max attempt at a blog leaves a taste in the mouth of cold piss, too. That is to say, we see through your attempts to piss in our mouths from behind your dual-core PC and you fail to even keep it warm, much less hit your target, whatever that may be. Nobody knows what you’re trying to accomplish. You’re worthless and you suck.

Let’s briefly drop the pissing metaphor for a moment to talk more about why people hate blogs.

I hate blogs because they fail to properly inform. The Elf Wax Times takes an ambivalent stance on blogging, because it is not officially recognized as a medium of any form. A blog is simply something you accidentally click on Google because it contains the most keywords in the most relevant order contained in your search. Maybe you host a copyrighted picture nobody else has, and so people click it, save it, and never see your site again. In all likelihood, if you think people are visiting your blog because your “statistics say so,” look closer and you’ll see that accidental clicks account for at least 99% of your “readership,” and the only reason copyright lawyers have not yet contacted you is because no human is actually looking at your “site.” [Editor's Note: blogs are not real websites.]

Nobody is looking at your perspective on the world. Nobody is sharing in your unique, subjective experience of reality in the abstract. Nobody is taking the journey as your narrative prose degrades into broken poetry with faulty rhyme scheme followed by ellipses and a question mark. Nobody feels the way you do, because your mechanism for emotion is so completely distorted that you actually believe people are reading your fucking blog. Normal people are not as self-important as blog “authors.” [Editor's Note: blogs are not authored by anyone because authors write for a living, and bloggers do not.] Nobody will ever identify with a blogger.

Now, I know I’m just farting into the wind here, so we’re going to have to break it down another level.

You write a blog, you have one. You maintain one, as you put on your resumé or MySpace page. No cute girls are reading it. Maybe there are two people who make comments on your posts from time to time, under the unspoken arrangement that you reciprocate. One’s a fat chick, the other’s your online friend who once agreed over AIM that the government sucks. You put a lot of time into your CSS code, your margins are perfect, the padding fucking fits and you feel good because you’ve got shit all figured out, so this doesn’t apply to you – right? Oh boy. How glad I am not to be you. How thankful I am not to be so misled, so delusional, so willing to lie to myself as you; so wrong as you are.

I’m talking to you, blogger. Blogosphere. The bastion of truth–shit, I mean, self-importance. Your thoughts are impure, your opinions invalid, broadly unsubstantiated by anything other than your George W. Bush “gut feeling” fueled by the insights of Neil Cavuto, or name-a-CNN-pundit.com.

Your vision is filtered through orange glasses or red, depending on where we’re at on the Terror Alert scale. At best, you’re the unseen, unheard afterthought of a political mechanism – lost to all keepers of history but your own web browser. At worst, you serve the political machine as they reference your voice among millions in the blogosphere, speaking for you, making determinations about you, without reading you, or knowing you, or seeing you, or even consciously being aware that someone like you might actually exist.

And we here at The Elf Wax Times for once share their anti-sentiment. So without further ado, fuck you and your little blog, too.

Mayor Jones is seen here applying force on two reluctant boys' pressure-points

Richmond, VA–Mayor Dwight C. Jones (Mister C.) allegedly forced two children to duel for their lives Monday following their “art” submissions to a new program intended to renew inner-city schools by funneling coke money into Jones’ own pockets.

“None of this would have happened if art wasn’t allowed in school,” said the losing victim’s mother Courtney Harris. “I have never felt so ashamed,” she confessed, “until I realized my son is a dead loser.” Ms. Harris later indicated she is “glad” her son is dead, a shift in opinion analysts say is “notable.”

Dwight Jones made no comment about the duel, citing federal gag-orders due to unpaid gambling debts to crack dealers in Jackson Ward, but he did have this to say:

“I have always felt that art in public schools is a waste of money on kids who are inherently talentless but are, as I have proven – better fighters; at least – half of them are.”

“Who knows about the dead?” he quipped.

Who knows, indeed? Richmonders are in an uproar over the whereabouts of the dead child’s body, who can not be named, due not to legal implications but to the fact that authorities have been unable to locate either the whorehouse to which the boy’s mother supposedly belongs, or any records on the child who authorities now believe was born “under the radar.” City officials said due to the loser’s mom being a straight-up crack-whore, no father can possibly be determined. So far, paternity tests have narrowed the possible fathers down to a short list of five men who share the GCG, or Gary Coleman Gene. But their semen is allegedly so polluted with King Cobra malt liquor that no testing machine can solve the “Riddle of the Richmond Ghetto.”

“I hate children, and I support Mayor Jones’ decision to enslave them for use in his personal gambling dens. I wish they’d all die, or at least be forced to do other violent things, like fight in wars.”

-Anonymous

The boy’s severely-battered corpse is thought to be somewhere in the James River, a popular dump-point used by the holographic chemical plant Allied Chemical, the shell of a company who once allied with Capitalism to dump kepone, a popular ‘cool’cinogen used in roach poison, into the James River, which consequently flowed straight into the kepone-intolerant nervous systems of many workers in Hopewell – a move Mayor Jones applauds enthusiastically as the James River’s claim to fame. The forty-year poisoning of Hopewell factory workers marks the country’s first environmental disaster that would later give rise to unprecedented shirking of responsibility employed by corporate entities across America.

In the eclipse of U.S. President and War Strategist Barack Obama’s Nobel Peace Prize, Mayor Jones finds little reason to carry out a search for the boy, especially given his intimate, but silent knowledge of the child’s do-doubt gruesome fate which Jones’ publicists said “might spoil the endorsement.” Inside sources say the mayor had the boy contaminated with several carcinogenic compounds that would ferry their way via his body to South Carolina lowlands, where the child will cause countless still-births and unexplainable cancers.

No one from the school board or any of the childrens’ teachers were immediately available for comment. This is due in part to the fact that people in the ghetto are constantly avoiding bill-collectors, so they don’t answer the phone for any unfamiliar number.

More to come on this, as Mayor Jones’ indictment goes awry in the second part of our wacky, cocaine-powdered adventure of “Richmond Mayor – druglord to the bitter end.”

They are not worried about Korea, but Iran and Israel, particularly Ahmedinejad and the terrorists he pays to hate America.

N. Korea’s response is flaccid, but bring out fears in the media around saber-rattling and auto-fellatio of the Muslim extremist belief system, and the dedication from which their ravenous hunger for anti-Capitalism has emerged.

Ahmedinejad reportedly gave Kim Jong-il a handjob under the table during a recent meeting to conspire against Freedom. Kim Jon-il slipped Iran’s elected dictator a custom-inscribed fortune cookie that allegedly read, “He who is stubborn face no consequence.” [of course it was in Chinese so nobody took it seriously]

Copyrighted image reused against artist's request by The Elf Wax Times

Scholars and politicians hotly debate Obama Hussein Bark’s involvement in a terrorist plot to overthrow Freedom, while others brace for chaos under the threat of an apocalyptic nuclear holocaust. But believers on both sides of the aisle are unified by their agreement that the next country to be nuked “ought to be Asian.”

“The goal is to inject freedom directly into the symptomatic state of the oppressive Middle East,” said Emporer Hussein, President of the United States of Freedom. President Obama has since announced his plan to rename the entire North American continental body to the “United States of Freedom,” in a bid to win support for his “overthrow freedom” campaign, fueled by nuclear bombings and Change posters produced and created by Shepard Fairy.

Roanoke citizens are awash with grief over the loss of the area’s number one Prime Time re-run, Desperate Housewives. In the latest episode, some spoiled bitch wife goes out on the town using her husband’s money and fucks an accountant from his real estate firm in the backseat of a designer BMW, stealthily alluding to the relationship between Kenya, Obama’s home town, and Afghanistan, where the President has broken the country’s hymen with his long, erudite dick of “Freedom”. By concealing these actions in the new Middle East, he has pulled off a secret coup from within the Taliban, and is now seeking to gain control of the poorly-guarded Nukes inside the Pakistani government. Sources said he is doing it “for the lulz.”

“He thinks he and the Pakistanis are ‘having a quickie,’” said Herb Schnoodler, director of the CIA Board of Hilarious Transitions,  “but what he’s too drunk [with power] to realize right now is that he’s joining the AIDS club, and that shit don’t wash off.”

AIDS doesn’t just start out as AIDS, though. Every educated American boy and girl knows that.

“First, you’ve got to get HIV,” explained second-grader Elroy Stephens.

And America got HIV when it landed its first slick-booted 18-year-old jarhead into the center of that god-forsaken oil pit and said, “turn ‘em loose. I wanna see what they can do.” And they fucked their first dirty foreign affair,  and the white blood cells fucked up when they got in there, then we saw that our boys were still human after all – on CNN. And then everyone agreed: war is funny.

“Because we don’t serve the Empire, and the Empire don’t feed us. We are here to stand up and fight, whether it’s within ourselves, against our neighbors, or the occasional sniping of an allied enemy combatant, for it is our duty to control what’s ours to control: ‘the blood-hungry instinct to divide and scrutinize, understand and dehumanize – the intentions of those we do not understand, and own them all, in the most basic way,’”

- General Lee Min Seok, speaking on behalf of the Boys and Girls Club of America

Lee Min Seok is the most 1337 StarCraft player in the world, who also happens to be blind. Lee Seok won seven Blizzard tournaments and fucked countless child prostitutes in Tijuana with his winnings in a campaign he called the “Zerg Invasion.”

And that’s how we were born. Welcome to Two Thousand and Nine. 2010’s gonna be a trip. The American suburban bubble is a nuclear fantasy waiting to explode. The dirty-bombs that spread diseases and bacteria are just across the street, in an empty apartment where men stay awake until four o’clock in the morning working on a germ grenade that could eat its way through a city apartment building in under a day, unless you buy Homedic’s newest line of central nervous system Anti-Gas Kit with Iodine and Immunity Support. ‘Defend your kids against terrorist sleeper cells, the clinically-proven way!’

“And we can’t just laugh about it. ‘Cause we’re all gonna die,” repeated news anchor Anderson Cooper on his late night show, Anderson 430. In fact, through two segments, he repeated the phrase, “We’re all gonna die,” much to the chagrin of his sponsor, a popular arthritis medication whose side effects include cardiac arrest, over a live announcement from the President on Health Care stimulus what-have-you, and on into the next commercial break. According to televisionist Harry Manjeena, author of the book TV and Why You Need It To Survive, ratings “shot through the roof.”

Additionally, the Queen went on live television to finger her butthole, as if to prove that nuclear holocaust is real with a demonstration of the newly-defined irrelevance of any continued human record. “God bless, and fare well,” read the CNN subtitle as the North Korean national anthem played over the soft singing of whales. The fingering was crude and realistic, detailing the twisting and pinching of the Queen’s anal-hairs as she probed the insides of her yawning rectum. Brown and sickly nutrient-deprived feces smeared across her cottage-cheese butt cheeks that flapped in the wind coming in off the English Channel during her Final Parade.

“It was a spectacle,” said Tony Brown, England’s Prime Minister. “Truly a wonder of modern entertainment.”

England is said to be participating in this year’s First Annual Second Anniversary of the Domination of all non-human Mammals Ceremony, taking place at the bottom of the Sea, at Sealab. Sweet Jesus. The News has come apart into a vivid kaleidoscope of smiling and gestures of indifference over a dead or missing girl and your collapsing economy. But all’s well.

“As I stare at the television, stoned and happy, I realize there is nothing to be happy about,” said Roanoker Jann Winnerston during an Oxi-Clean commercial.

“Billy Mays Here!”

Houston, Tx. – As Elf Wax’s newest writer, I’d like to thank you all for your great support getting me on the staff, thank you members of the Internet for voting for me.

I will not let you down!

So I’d like to start off by naming a few things I’m for, and a few things I’m against.

Things I am for:

• Banning of the health care reform bill
• Death panels, I hope, will still be on the table
• World War II memorabilia
• Waxing my car. It’s a restored Hudson!
• Pabst Blue Ribbon beer
• dog fighting

Things I am against/hunting to kill:

• Martha Stewart
• Other inside traders
• Bill Clinton going over to his friend Kim jong-Il’s house
• Communists
• People who are too anti-Communist
• People who ain’t Americans
• Foreigners
• Just plain outsiders that ain’t from here
• the health care reform bill
• Hugh Jackman

Mostly I said people, but I wrote things. I do that sometimes, just like when I eat people but I mean to eat steak and cheese subway sandwiches.

I’m a professional dog-fighter by trade. I fights pit-bulls.

Now, I intend to bring something new to the table, something Elf Wax hasn’t seen before – something fresh – something that should make viewing the E.W. Times from work even harder than it already is. What is that?

RACISM

But before we get on with that, I think it’s time we brought it back. And I think it’s time you looked at a picture of a little girl and thought something negative for a change. So here you go:

Yes he did

Don’t worry, there’s more of this coming. Actually right now in a minute.

You think this shit is funny? What the hell is wrong with you? I mean really, why do you come here? Are you trying to tell me something? Look, just stop right there – hold your horses. I want feedback. Email me write now – press@elfwax.com – we have giveaways, hourly, weekly, we are doing great things for you faithful readers out there because you’ve all been so good to us. We appreciate your phone calls, emails, e-cards, chain letters, spam – all of it.

Tell me what you’re doing here. Why are you here? Don’t have email!@? Just post a comment. I read them all. Over and over. It’s all I’ve got, really.

I want to live for it – I…want to live for you, the Elf Wax Timers out there. You’re truly the best audience we could ever ask for and you don’t even kill in our name. I’ve been a long-time contributor to Elf Wax for many many years but this is the first time they’ve ever come and asked me to write anything for you, so there you go. I’m going to be here for a while, now. But don’t get used to me! The Italians may come and take me away at just about any moment. I’m a dangerous criminal wanted abroad for unspeakable crimes against humanity. Thank God for The Elf Wax Times standing up for the First Amendment by allowing to me write behind total anonymity!

I’d like to leave you with a little song. Look this up on bit torrents:

Prussian Blue – The Snow Fell

—————————————————————————————————————–

Elf Wax does not claim any responsibility for respect lost as a result of your personal adoption of its beliefs, values or lifestyles, or of Lebal Drocer Incorporated (LLC) itself. Additionally, Lebal Drocer denies all responsibility for its child companies and/or anything else that any court of law can prove it does or facilitates. Additionally, we can not be held responsible for the views expressed by our writers because we have nothing to do with the publishing of this site. Keywords such as responsibility, integrity, subpoena, and accountability will not be found associated with The Elf Wax Times on Google. So please, refrain from laying any of that shit on us.

That being said, Doctor Langstrom T. Mann has issued a health warning for all cookie-dough products on store shelves during the week of August 28th, citing labwork that indicates the tainted cookie-dough carries a rare “laughing bug.” The laughing bug, experts say, is a condition in which the person affected laughs uncontrollably at stuff that isn’t even really all that funny – like new episodes of The Simpsons.

Leading health experts are suggesting the only way America is going to make it through this season of The Simpsons is to buy up as many packets of tainted cookie dough possible.

Additionally, the following people are to blame for hurricane Katrina:

1. You
2. Mr. President
3. Old Man Weather

Roanoke, Va. – Sexting. We’ve all done it, or at least most of us have; and then we disseminate it throughout the internet so that geeks like you can share the glory, by passing it along to other geeks. Sexting is thought by scholars to be the first instance in human history where two people flirting around benefits the rest of mankind by spraying sets of nude pictures across the information superhighway.

“It ain’t all glory holes and slick-bottoms, though,” said Phillip Bernstein, Richmond-area sexter. Sexting has recently come under fire from the mainstream media who exploits it to gain ratings by selling to perverted America the very idea that there really are 13-year-old girls getting naked on camera somewhere, for someone. “How despicable,” the news anchors tell you. “How intriguing,” you actually think. Because you are a pedophile and you’ve gotten to this site by googling jailbate – a key term sure to be found in the tags section at the bottom of this article. The FBI are on their way.

Miley Cyrus advertises using sexting

But sexting, as everyone knows, is rooted in the regular text messaging feature put in place on all cell phones everywhere by loving cell phone “care”iers like Verizon and Sprint. And while having your girlfriend text you pictures is wonderful for everyone, sexting isn’t the only thing that makes paying $15 per month the biggest mistake a parent can make when raising his/her child – the whole text messaging lifestyle turns waterhead kids into flatline pets that trail behind you as if by some invisible leash.

Rare fact: it is the parents’ choice to pay for the text service. However oftentimes they will unknowingly buy text messaging with their plan; others think, “Heavens to The Grand Tits of Betsy! What happens if I get into a car accident, the vehicle flips over, and the steering wheel pinches my throat off so I can’t use my voice? Ah-HA! I will text Lassie!” Whatever failure of logic bleeds through their brains, all of these parents fail to make the sister choice to buying this service – “slapping that little bitch in the face when she turns into a whore.”

What I’m about to tell you is the story of the North American

suburb-crawling skank.

There are little girls who trail behind mommy or daddy through Anytown, USA, staring down into their twiddling hands at what is without fail – without question – and without having to look: a cell phone.

They are oblivious to what is happening around them. “Honey, can you help me find 17 cents?” — “…huh?” I said, “We all want to take your melon head and smash it into a wall.”

“Wow! Given all the threats, I’d have to assume texting is useful, right?” Wrong. What usually takes 5 minutes via detailed, half-focused phone conversation can take all day using text messaging. But who cares? They are either texting guys or talking to other girls about guys. Regardless, everything these little bimbos are communicating is stupid and pointless. This is because nothing of value has ever been transmitted via text message.

“You’re pregnant.” Oh! Let me just text my husband.

“You have cancer and you have six months left to live.” Shit…I’d better shoot out a text so the family knows.

The ideal conversation I’d like to hear:

“Jenny, can you please stop talking with whoever about your rotten little pussy for long enough to pick out what you want to eat?” – “…what Mom? Oh…I see what you mean…”

Miley Cyrus Sexts The World on Google Images

One will never hear that talk, because parenting notoriously never takes place under the umbrella of reason. Consistently, stupid parents raise stupid girls with unnatural under-bites. Big knees. Ratty-looking hair that has been treated with so many chemicals, not even lice can grow in it. Although at one time, some probably did.

These girls, having built a fantasy world around themselves in which their opinions matter to others, have exceedingly naive perceptions of the real world – albeit most of them have an expert handle on conception itself. “This is as easy as laying on your back,” said sophomore Kimberly Thomas. This enveloping bubble-wrap of kaleidoscopic anti-reality breeds in developing young women a viral and slowly-evolving case of “Soccer Mom Syndrome” (SMS) whose symptoms include:

• Loud voices
• sweeping sense of entitlement
• unrealistic expectations
• Miley Cyrus
• Miley Cyrus
• blind ignorance
• unwarranted self-importance
• stifling religious zealousness
• Miley Cyrus
• obesity
• chronic attitude dysfunction
• highly-visible mental retardation
• must be unlocked at tier 3

Fortunately for the rest of us, texting, and sexting moreover, makes retarded women sheeplike in your ability to herd their enfeebled minds around like dumb beasts using simple mental constructs and preconditions that play off laziness and convenience. Your stupid daughter is going to be so easily fuckable throughout her 20s. She’ll be so embarrassingly easily to nail that they’ll be cutting in on Chinese whores, and those whores will come cut her tits off for open-sourcing on their action.

That’s wonderful. But there is a downside to all this. Witness, if you have a moment, the following four-minute sequence of events in which a girl gets exactly what she deserves while texting in a car, but tragically imposes helpless strangers to suffer infinitely the hand of her stupidity, as some women are known to do three or four times in one day, often while texting:

Notice the girl’s first instinct following the crash was not to use the phone she just killed innocents with to call for help. She didn’t even try to text Lassie. Oh and hey – did you see that she was about to text me and tell me her friend wants me?

This is not a PSA – it is accidental, happenstance documentary footage of a young girl’s stupidity in real time. Critics of the viewpoint that the girl is stupid and killed people by texting fail to address that the conversation was working its way into sexting. She was texting a guy. Named James. “I think it was very brave of her,” said Crazy Pat, a full-time Verizon technician who was glued to the situation as it unfolded before him on his computer monitor. “So why’d they stop?” he later asked.

Fortunately for you, there are two solutions:

1) Abort daughters

2) Should choice 1 fail, begin slapping them as babies and do not stop until the redness of their skin somehow sends the message that texting is stupid, annoying, lame and pathetic. Should work.

More on this as we establish a live one-way video uplink with AIM user jo_baby_369.

Growing pains?

Suicide is becoming a widely accepted solution to the problems facing America. If you or someone you know is threatening suicide, do your part as a friend. Encourage him/her to do the right thing. And pull the trigger, wussy.

THIS MESSAGE IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE UNITED STATES GOVERNMENT.