Manhattan Infidel

Popular mascot the Pillsbury Doughboy (real name Poppin’ Fresh) was slowly cooked today at 350 degrees resulting in a tasty treat.  Today’s events ended the life of “Pops” as he was known to his close friends.

The rise to fame and fortune of Poppin’ Fresh is one of the more remarkable stories in show business. Born in 1965 to a drug-addicted single mother Poppin’ Fresh spent most of his early life in foster homes.  A chance encounter with a Hollywood agent led to his hiring by the Pillsbury Company who were looking to replace their former mascot the Pillsbury Fire Ant who left to star in a dinner theater revival of The Pirates of Penzance.

From his first commercial Poppin’ was an instant success.  For the next ten years he was the face of the Pillsbury Company and his popularity was unrivaled.  In 1985 Time magazine named him the “Most Influential Anthropomorphic character since James G. Blaine.” 

A dispute with Pillbury over residuals led to his temporary firing in 2004.  However the outcry soon led to his rehiring.

After his rehiring Poppin’ supplemented his income with wildly popular personal appearances.

“Women loved him” said an executive with Pillsbury.  “I can’t explain it. They found him sexy. I mean he was only six inches tall, had no genitalia and was whiter than Edgar Winter but they still loved him.”

It was at one of these personal appearances that the end came for Poppin’.   Sources report that he had just been poked in the stomach by a woman when she left him alone with her daughter.  The daughter then proceeded to pick up Poppin’ and place him in the oven.

Poppin’ screamed and banged on the oven door shouting “Jesus Christ I’m being baked alive.  For the love of God let me out!”

As the end neared and Poppin’ had turned a toasty brown he lost the ability to formulate words and would just moan.

The woman returned to the kitchen and found the lifeless Poppin’ in her oven.

“Naturally I was horrified.  Horrified but hungry” she told police.

After removing Poppin’ from her oven she proceeded to eat him.  The woman appeared to be unfazed by the fact that she ate a popular mascot.

“I know that Poppin’ lives.  And as often as I eat him I proclaim his death until he comes again.”

The Pillsbury Company expressed sorrow over the incident and has started looking for an anthropomorphic character to replace Poppin’.  Rumor has it that the heavy favorite is G.I. Joe.

“I just got back from Iraq and need a job” said Joe. “This could help me re-assimilate into civilian society.”

Cheetah, the chimpanzee who played alongside Johnny Weissmuller in several classic 1930s Tarzan movies has died.

The Suncoast Primate Sanctuary in Palm Harbor, Florida announced that Cheetah died in his sleep at the age of 80 from “a broken heart and kidney failure.  But mostly kidney failure.”

“Cheetah was a very special chimpanzee” said the director of the Sanctuary.  “We all loved him.  He liked children, finger painting, watching football and flinging poo at people.  But mostly flinging poo at people.”

Cheetah was a fixture for decades at the sanctuary, retiring there in 1960 when his acting roles began to dry up.  Cheetah had many famous visitors over the years who came to view his finger painting and have poo flung at them.  But mostly to have poo flung at them.

Usually the people were tolerant of Cheetah’s poo-flinging.  After all, we all believe in multiculturalism and that was just a part of Cheetah’s rich cultural heritage.  But I remember one time President Nixon came to visit and Cheetah flung poo at him.  Nixon got very upset and said “No one makes a monkey out of Dick Nixon” and then he crapped in his hand and flung some poo back at Cheetah.  Let me tell you Nixon had a good arm.  Hit Cheetah right in the face!  After that incident Cheetah changed his party affiliation to the Democrats.  He never voted Republican again.

During his prime Cheetah was voted Hollywood’s most beloved primate, beating out George Raft three years in a row.

After his days as playing Tarzan’s chimpanzee ended Cheetah found it difficult to get work in Hollywood.

“He was typecast as a chimpanzee.  This was a blow to his pride.  As an actor he was so much more.”

Cheetah finally parted company with Hollywood shortly after losing out for the title role in “Life of Riley” to William Bendix.  According to a Hollywood historian, the producers felt that Cheetah brought a different emphasis to the role than they wanted.  That and they were tired of having poo flung at them.

Cheetah then tried his hand at Rock and Roll but his one single, “Flinging Poo at You” failed to chart.

A spokesman at the Primate Sanctuary where Cheetah died has asked his fans to spend a “few moments of silence remembering the joy Cheetah brought to people. And if possible if you could fling some poo in his memory that would be great.”

Good evening.  I’m Chris Matthews. Well tonight the race begins.  After months of watching white people and the Republican party’s token negro Herman Cain debate tonight white people in Iowa attend caucuses all across the state.  Why?  To take part in our great Republic.  But also perhaps because there are no negroes there.  I am joined by chief political correspondent Chuck Todd.  Good evening Chuck.

Chuck Todd:   Good evening.  I have a goatee.

Chris Matthews:  You are one funky white man.  I am also joined by the leader of the black race, his Holiness Pope Al Sharpton.  Good evening your holiness.

Al Sharpton:   Resist we -

Chris Matthews:  Thank you.  And finally I am joined by sportswriter and noted hater of white people, Mike Lupica.  Good evening Mike.  I’ll start with you.  What do you think of these caucuses?

Mike Lupica:  They disgust me. All I see are lily white people. Lily white. Lily lily white.  As I was saying to my Mexican maid: too many white people.  Why do you think they call it a caucus?  Caucasians!  That’s why!

Chris Matthews:  Do many negroes live in your neighborhood?

Mike Lupica:  No.  It’s a safe neighborhood.

Chris Matthews:  Thank you.  As a political reporter you are a great sports reporter.

Mike Lupica: What?  Whitey!

Chris Matthews:  Chuck Todd, any possibility Hitler will win the caucus tonight?

Chuck Todd:  I wouldn’t rule that out.  Iowa is a white stronghold  So obviously Hitler would be popular.

Chris Matthews:  Thank you Chuck. Once again I love your goatee.

Chuck Todd:  My mother says it makes me look sophisticated.

Chris Matthews:   Your Holiness Pope Sharpton, what do black people think of the Iowa caucus?

Al Sharpton:  Resist - 

Chris Matthews:  Thank you.  I am also joined on the phone by former MSNBC correspondent Keith Olbermann.  Talk to me Keith.  What do you see?

Keith Olbermann:  I don’t see much at the moment.  I’m in my bathtub right now.  Got my big toe stuck in the faucet.  It hurts.

Chris Matthews:  Well there you have it.  If you have just joined us MSNBC is declaring the Iowa caucus as too close to call.  But there is a distinct possibility that Hitler or someone from the Ku Klux Klan will win and forge ahead to the Republican nomination.  Pope Sharpton?

Al Sharpton:  Yes?

Chris Matthews:  Here’s 40 dollars.  Get us a few pizzas.  I’m Chris Matthews.  We now return you to the regularly scheduled program, “Lock up:  Tattoos and anal sex.”

Al Sharpton:  [Off camera]  Resist we much!

Chris Matthews:  I love that Pope. What a spitfire.  I’m Chris Matthews.  Goodnight.

Flo, popular saleswoman for Progressive Insurance has been arrested it has been learned.  In what may be a law enforcement first, Flo has been charged with “violence and harrassment related to an addiction for selling insurance.”

As Flo sits in a guarded and solitary cell, “We didn’t want her selling insurance to the other inmates”, victims of Flo’s reign of insurance terror came forward to tell their stories.

One victim tell reporters that his life has never been the same since his run-in with Flo:

My wife and I already have insurance.  One day this woman shows up at our front door and says “How’d you like a real good deal on insurance?”  I told her that I was happy with my insurance.  So she says again, “Flo can make you happy big boy.”  So again I tell her that all my needs have been satisfied.  So she says “Really?  Really?  All your needs?” and then she rips open her blouse and says “Take a look at the sisters!” and she grabs my head and buries them in her breasts.  “Feel them.  Roll around in them. Suck at the milk of Flo.”

Well then my wife comes out and says “Jerry what the hell are you doing?” and Flo says “Back off lady.  He’s my bitch now.  Once you’ve had Flo you don’t go back!”  My wife says “Jerry do you prefer her?” I didn’t have a chance to respond since my face was buried in Flo’s breasts.  But then my wife rips open her blouse and tells Flo “He prefers these!”  Well then Flo and my wife start comparing their breasts and touching each other.

I used to be happy.  Content. Now all I can think about is Flo and my wife touching each others breasts.

When asked if he bought insurance the man sheepishly said, “Yeah.  After that show I’d do anything for Flo.”

If that wasn’t bad enough Flo soon developed the FloBot to punish those who do not buy insurance from her.  But the FloBot soon malfunctioned and began severely beating anyone she encountered.

George Michael of London, England tells of his run-in with the FloBot.

 I was in a mens room in Kenosha, Wisconson looking for, er, my wedding ring, when FloBot storms in.  She grabs me by my throat and starts squeezing.  I haven’t been so frightened by anything so obviously nonhuman since I met Nikki Sixx.  

When asked how he escaped the FloBot Michael said, “Escape?  I like it rough!”

As for Flo herself, in a statement released through her attorney, denied all charges and said, “I just want to sell insurance.”

FloBot is still on the run.  Anyone who sees her is advised to steer clear and notify authorities.

George Michael is still searching mens rooms throughout the U.S. for his wedding ring.

It has been learned that Sheriff Andy Taylor of the town of Mayberry is currently the subject of a Federal civil rights probe. The Fed are close to unsealing an indictment charging Sheriff Taylor, among other things, for “creating an atmosphere of terror” in Mayberry that left citizens traumatized.

It is alleged that Sheriff Taylor, instead of giving all citizens the equal protection of the law, regularly shook the town down.  Those who paid him were protected.  Those who didn’t were visited by town drunk Otis Campbell who would beat them up, destroy their tractors and shoot their livestock.  Said one citizen who wishes to remain anonymous:

Otis was a vicious drunk.  Once I heard my neighbor screaming and I ran over and…..and I can’t even begin to describe the horror of what I saw.  Campbell had him tied up and was using a knife to cut up his testicles.  He kept saying, “Just give Andy the money and all this will be over.”  But he refused and kept shouting, “Freedom!”  I never saw him alive again.  He was my friend dammit!

Also, town barber Floyd Lawson was suspected of murdering people who had run afoul of Sheriff Taylor.

“We used to joke about how his shop always reeked of blood.  Floyd said it was because he nicked a customer.” said one resident.   “Once I guess I said the wrong thing and Floyd stabbed me in my hand.  I mean everyone know about the bodies buried out back.  But we didn’t want no trouble.”

The Feds also have Lawson on tape with Sheriff Taylor discussing a young child Taylor wanted beaten up.

Floyd:  But Andy, he’s just a boy.

Taylor:  I don’t care.  I want him dead.  I want his family dead.  I want his house burned.

But perhaps most damaging was Sheriff Taylor’s relations with Mayberry’s sizable black community.  Despite being 40% of the population, no blacks were ever seen talking to Taylor or even allowed near the vicinity of downtown Mayberry.

“It was known by all of us in the community that we were not to go there or Taylor would send Deputy Fife after us” said a black resident.  “And no one wanted that.  We all knew he was emotionally unstable.  A powder keg with a low blood sugar problem.”

Another tells of a run-in with an enraged and out of control Fife.

“He kept telling me that he had one bullet.  Only one bullet.  And he didn’t mind using it on me.  Crazy white boy!”

Fife was known to pull blacks off of buses as they were trying to leave town and threatening them.

“You want freedom?  Nip it!  Nip it!  Nip it in the bud!”

Sheriff Taylor for his part denies all allegations and blames it on a “desperate political ploy by the other party.”

“If I’m so unpopular why do I keep getting reelected.  Now you run along or I’ll have Otis pay you a visit.”

Astronomers at NASA announced today that they have found a wormhole.  This would be the first known physical verification of the long-hypothesized phenomenon.

“We were excited at first to discover the wormhole” said one scientist.  “Because frankly we’ve been bored lately.  We haven’t been doing much at NASA except helping Muslims improve their self-esteem.  So when we found this it was great.”

Their joy soon turned to disgust when they found that the wormhole was filled with nothing but worms.

“We were expecting time travel, faster than light travel.  Instead all we got were millions, billions of slimy, creepy, crawling worms. It’s giving us all nightmares.”

Still astronomers at NASA are counting their blessings.

It wasn’t as bad as the time we discovered the skanky prostitute vagina hole.  That gave us pause.  I mean none of us could look at our wives after that.  And don’t get us started about time we discovered the Rosie O’Donnell unwashed armpit on a Summer day after she’s been doing manual labor hole. That made us vomit. Or the time we discovered the View hole.  That’s an entire hole in the space time continuum that shows nothing but repeats of the View.  Now we know what hell looks like.

Given their disappointments over their recent findings many astronomers are beginning to question the validity of astronomy and physics.

“I’m afraid of what we’re going to find next.  Many of us don’t even bother to bathe anymore.  What’s the point.”

Accordingly NASA has announced that it will no longer look into space.

“NASA will now become a reality show.  We’re hoping to the Hulk Hogan, the Gotti’s and the Kardashian’s aboard.”

In a related note, Virgin Atlantic has announced that tours to the Rosie O’Donnell unwashed armpit on a summer day after she’s been doing manual labor hole will be available in the Spring of 2012.

In the wake of last month’s storming of the English  British Embassy, the Islamic Republic of Iran has issued an emergency plea for more flags from western countries (specifically the United States and Great Britain.)

Speaking in front of a specially-called emergency session of the Iranian Parliament, Iran’s Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei (pictured here)  begged the world for more western flags.

We enjoy storming the embassies of the great western satans.  We enjoy rioting against the great western satans.   But we have used up our supply of western flags to burn.  We are all out of American and English, I mean British, flags. Our strategic reserve of western flags has been used up.  If we do  not find more western flags we will be unable to riot and storm.  And then our economy will be in shambles.  It is imperative that we reach out to the west and ask them to send us their flags.  And no, I am not Ed Asner.  Stop asking me for Mary Tyler Moore’s autograph.

Immediately after Ed Asner’s, I mean Ali Khamenei’s plea for western flags the world sprang into action.  President Obama (pictured here) asked Congress to send a supply to Iran.

The Iranian people are destitute.  With no flags a famine is inevitable.  I ask all Americans to send their flags to Iran. It’s the humane thing to do.  But will we?  I don’t know. We are lazy.  Shiftless.  Stupid.  Bitter and clinging.  No.  The Iranians will probably starve.  I’d like to apologize in advance for their soon-to-be famine.  But we have one last hope.  I call upon Mary Tyler Moore to use her resources to round up any American and English, I mean British, flag she can find and send them to her old friend and co-worker Ed Asner.

The European Central Bank and the Federal Reserve have both issued warnings that the Iranian economy will collapse without any western flags to burn.

Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke (pictured here) told reporters that he is personally prepared to fly to Iran “with any flags Mary Tyler Moore assembles” to forestall worldwide economic collapse.

In related news, a large fire has been reported on the lawn of veteran character actor Ed Asner (pictured here). Said Asner, “I’m just burning some flags.”

NOTE:   The Manhattan Infidel would like to issue an apology for any factual errors in this story.

In a shocking act of senseless violence, a harmless, gentle young boy named Aaron who loves nothing more than playing his drum while his pet lamb, donkey and camel dance was savagely attacked and beaten by this man, former Beatle drummer Pete Best.

Witnesses report that the gentle young lad was drumming his signature tune, “ba-rum pa-pum pum” when a brutal, vicious, out of control and irrational Best punched the child, knocking him to the ground.

As the injured Aaron was comforted by his animal companions Best grabbed Aaron’s drum and said, “No, no, no!  It’s not “ba-rum pa-pum pum” it’s “pum-pum-pum-pum.”  Fast.  Use the kick drum on every quarter note!”

As a bleeding Aaron begged Best to give him back his drum, “Please mister.  My animals like to dance while I play!”,  Best started screaming at the gathering crowd.

What the hell is everyone looking at?  I’m Pete Best dammit!  I was in the Beatles for two years!  You’re all working for Ringo aren’t you?  Admit it!  You’re Ringo’s spies!   Well I’m not afraid of Ringo anymore.  I’m smart.  Not like people say!

The gentle young lad then picked himself up and again entreated Best to give him his drum back.

Mister.  Have a heart!  I’m an orphan.  Bandits stole my family’s sheep, killed my parents and burned down their farm.  Then I was captured by Ben Haramed and forced to perform in his caravan.  Please mister.  I have nothing left in life but my drum.  And my lamb, donkey and camel.  And if you use the kick drum on every quarter note you might push the beat to fast for comfort.  Just saying.

Best became even more enraged by Aaron’s advice and shouted, “You’re a Ringo spy too, aren’t you?”  

He then broke the little drummer boy’s heart by putting his foot through his drum.

“That’s what I do to Ringo’s spies!” said Best as the crowd pelted him with garbage.

Police soon arrived and, fearing for Best’s life, arrested him.

Best is currently being held in protective custody, charged with assault and rushing the beat.

Best’s lawyer promises full exoneration for his client.  “As long as Ringo has no spies on the jury.”

As for the little drummer boy, Aaron’s broken heart was healed when sympathetic citizens chipped in to buy him a new drum.  He was last seen leaving town playing on his drum, accompanied by his loyal lamb, donkey and camel.

When asked to comment on the shocking incident, Ringo Starr told reporters, “Excellent.  Excellent.  My plan is working.”

I ended part III of my interview with Santa by visiting a local establishment and showing my support for single mothers.  I now present my fourth and final installment.  You know, I don’t mean to brag but I smell a Pulitzer.  And if anyone from the networks is reading this I’m ready for my closeup.

MI:  Where am I?

Doctor:  You’re in a hospital.  The good news is we were able to save one of your testicles.

MI: What happened?

Doctor:  You were found in an alleyway outside a strip club beaten pretty badly.  What did you do to piss off a stripper that much?

MI:  Well I -

Doctor:  I mean the hatred that went into your beating.  You didn’t tell them you were a blogger did you?

MI:  Yes I did.

Doctor:  That explains it.  Never tell a stripper you’re a blogger.  In fact never tell anyone you’re a blogger.  It’s like advertising the fact that you are a broke loser who’s never known the touch of a woman.

MI:  But I am a…..oh never mind.  What day is this?  I have to finish my interview with Santa.

Doctor:  Well you’re in luck.  It’s Christmas Eve and Santa will be visiting us soon.

Santa:  Ho ho ho!

Doctor:  Here he is now!

Santa:  Ho ho ho [sees Manhattan Infidel] Ah crap.  You again.

MI:  Santa!  I have just a few more questions to ask you.

Santa:  Listen punk.  I’m tired of you.  You’re cramping my style.  Do you know how long it took me to convince those four 19-year old strippers that you weren’t my friend before they agreed to tie me up, pour chocolate-flavored nipple licker drops on me and slowly lick me to orgasm?  Do you? Well it wasn’t easy let me tell you.  And these weren’t just any 19-year old strippers.  They were Greek 19-year old strippers who were on the Olympic gymnastics team.

MI:  But my interview?

Santa:  What interview?  I should never have agreed to sit down with you.

MI:  Santa!

Santa:  Look if I give you a present will you quit whining and leave me alone?

MI:  Yes.

Santa:  OK.  I found this in the alley.  I think it’s your other testicle.  No wait.  Sorry. That’s Peter Falk’s glass eye.  He gave it to me at a Christmas party once. Here it is.  Anyway.  Enjoy your testicle.  Not that it’ll do you any good.

MI:  Thank you Santa.

Santa:  Well, I’m off.  I have to deliver presents to all the strippers. I mean all the boys and girls.  Ho ho ho!

And so ended my interview with St. Nick.

And if any of my female readers are wondering I have both my testicles back so look me up.  And no the fact that you recently spent time in prison doesn’t matter to me.

As part II of my exclusive interview with St. Nick ended we had exercised our minds and our bodies in wholesome physical activity.  I  now present part III of my interview with this rather remarkable figure.

MI:  This is a nice place. I’ve never been here before.

Santa:  It’s a bit above your kind.  Just don’t mention you blog.  Hey, there’s my favorite dancer.  Come over and give Santa a lap dance honey.

Desiree:   How my favorite big hunk of man?  Would you like your Christmas present?

[The exotic dancer known as “Desiree” sits on Santa’s lap and proceed to gyrate against him.]

Santa:  Oh yeah. That’s what Santa likes.  You know what Santa wants?

Desiree:  A private lap dance?

Santa:  A private session with you and a few of your dancer friends.  I  have a couple thousand in cash burning a hole in my pocket and it’s all for you baby.

[Santa pulls out a couple hundred dollar bills and slips them down Desiree’s G-string.  He then slaps her on her butt.]

Santa:   Oh yeah.  Look at that flesh.  So smooth. Did you hear the tone when I spanked her?  So tight.  

MI:  Yeah nice.  Manhattan Infidel wants some of that.

[Manhattan Infidel pulls a dollar from his wallet and tries to give it to the exotic dancer known as Desiree.]

Desiree:  What the hell is that?

MI:  It’s a dollar baby.  Come to papa.  This dollar is going down your G-string.

Desiree:  Are you serious?  A dollar?  Are you homeless?

MI:  Um.  It’s your tip.

Desiree:  You disrespect me by trying to give me a dollar?  Don’t touch me moron.  Is he a friend of yours?

Santa:  Ho ho ho. No! 

MI:  I was interviewing Santa.

Desiree:  You’re a reporter?

MI: I have a blog.

Desiree:  Security!  Security!

Santa:  Now you’ve done it.  Didn’t I tell you not to mention you’re a blogger?

[Two security guards come over.]

Guard One:  What’s the problem?  Is this punk bothering you?

Desiree:  Worse than that.  He’s a blogger!

[The two guards pick up Manhattan Infidel and carry him towards the exit.]

MI:  Wait a minute.  I’m Manhattan Infidel.  I’m universally beloved.   My blog brings joy to millions.  I mean hundreds.  I mean dozens.

Guard One:  Shut the hell up. We’re tired of you blogging types coming in here.  You buy one drink.  Spend maybe ten bucks and whine that you’ve never known the touch of a woman.

[They throw Manhattan Infidel into the alley.]

Guard Two:  Let’s rough him up.

Guard One:  The testicles?

Guard Two:  Great idea.

[They proceed to beat Manhattan Infidel up.  Santa walks past Manhattan Infidel to his limo. He has a dancer on each arm.]

Santa:  Ho ho ho.  Looks like you’re screwed fella.

MI:  Help me!

Santa:  Yeah, right pal.  Kick him in the groin once for me will you?

Guard One:  You got it Santa!

End of Part III.