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The Week’s Most Pluvios Plumber, Grandiose Hummer, and Adios Summer Headlines

HEZBOLLOCKS
Last week “Hezbollah” became a question. As in, “His ball? Uh…it’s over there,” as the Israelis turned Hezbollah’s pagers into tiny bombs that blew the nads off the wearer.

The Jewish geniuses invented the Ellen Pager—sex change by phone.

And why were all Hezbollah fighters wearing outdated comm gear you might’ve seen on the streets of Compton in 1991? Because Hezbollah had sworn off “smartphones,” out of fear Israel could hack sophisticated devices.

In the prologue to Frank Herbert’s Dune, humans rebel against computers and ban “thinking machines,” reverting to steam power and buggies. This is known as the “Butlerian Jihad.” In Hezbollah’s real-life attempt to do the same, it turned into the Dicklerian Jihad, as several thousand jihadists saw their “Air Johnsons” go flying across the room.

It was, in terms of sexual satisfaction, the worst “blow job” ever.

Not to mention that every fighter who has finger injuries along with the penile ones will forever be looked at with disdain by his Imam.

Muslims may not eat pork, but they had one hell of a loin cookout last week.

As for how Hezbollah plans to maintain its communications now that it can’t use phones or pagers, Hezbollah leader Nasrallah, who luckily still has his Nadsrallah, suggested carrier pigeons.

Cue scientists in Tel Aviv thawing out those avian flu specimens.

Hezbollah leaders remain defiant, sending a telegram to Benjamin Netanyahu that was brief and to the point: “Nuts to you!”

CALL ME MA’AMMAL!
Call it Turner Syndrome and Hooch. In the U.K., a tranny and his dog are wasting taxpayer money faster than Keir Starmer can send it to Ukraine.

Gleicon Analha is the Brazilian-born Equality, Diversity and Inclusion Vice-Chair of the Cambridgeshire County Council. On a recent Zoom call with other councillors, Alalha presented his dachshund Pablo, decked out in a fancy dress, announcing that even though “Pablo has a penis,” he identifies as “gender-fluid.”

BTW, when the famously sex-addicted Picasso met a woman who didn’t care for his art, his last-ditch pickup line was “Pablo has a penis.” The phrase was resurrected decades later as a taunt Colombian drug lord Pablo Escobar would send to family members of men he’d dismembered.

Anyway, after introducing his tranny dog, Analha was left (in his words) “literally shaking” when lesbian council member Lizzy Pitt shot back, “Your dog is a male.”

And then all the other council members started “literally shaking,” with no concern that it might be Parkinson’s.

Analha complained to the council elder, Lord Mumbleton Inbreedingham III, who levied a fine against Pitt for making everyone shake. But then Pitt complained to the British courts that she was fined for merely speaking a truth. Justice M’lud Fossille Dementshire agreed, awarding Pitt compensation.

Now it’s Analha’s turn to sue again, after telling the London Times, “I grew up in Brazil seeing inequalities in my community, for example, on the same street millionaires’ houses and ‘favelas’ made of cardboard, I have seen friends dying of transphobia.”

Note to Analha—those “friends” probably died of exposure from living in cardboard. And if those “millionaires” are next door to cardboard houses, that neighborhood must have one crappy HOA.

So far the entire dispute has cost the government more than £63,000 ($83,000). Hopefully Pablo is getting extra food out of it…most likely Kibbles & (surgically removed) Bits.

A SASSY NATION!
It’s about time American assassins bring the nation some entertainment, because previous assassins were all about robbing Americans of it. John Wilkes Booth destroyed an enjoyable evening at the theater for several hundred patrons (the Yelp reviews the next day were brutal). Hinckley so badly befouled the name of Jodie Foster, middle-aged men couldn’t even masturbate to Foxes without feeling like a perv. Leon Czolgosz drove the Pan-American Exposition into bankruptcy (“Food! Fun! McKinley killed with a gun!” was a lousy marketing slogan). And Giuseppe Zangara totally blew FDR’s game by firing shots at the president-elect’s motorcade, causing FDR to jump out of the car and run away like Curly going “woo-woo-woo-woo-woo,” exposing the fact that the polio thing was just an act (it was an excuse to not have to sleep with Eleanor).

But Trump’s newest would-be shooter, a laughing blue-haired leftist maniac named Ryan Routh, tried to make assassination fun again, by camping outside Trump’s golf course for twelve hours just to remake Caddyshack, but this time with Judge Smails getting more comeuppance than a lost bet.

Routh (being led away): “I want a hamburger…no, cheeseburger. I want a hot dog. I want a milkshake. I want…”

Secret Service: “You’ll get nothing and like it!”

The only thing missing was the gopher, which had been exterminated by RFK Jr. (“Hey, I killed a bear and sawed the head off a whale. That gopher was nothing”).

Elon Musk, of course, had to add to the farce, tweeting, “And no one is even trying to assassinate Biden/Kamala.”

Turns out when you hand your platform to Nazis, all decorum leaves the site.

But perhaps the biggest clown act of all belonged to the Libertarian Party of New Hampshire, which tweeted, “Anyone who murders Kamala Harris would be an American hero,” followed by “sic semper tyrannis,” Booth’s assassination catchphrase (he changed it last minute from “The Booth, the Booth, the Booth is on fire!”), following that up with actual exhortations to murder politicians.

When the NH Libertarian Party leaders started getting death threats themselves, they hypocritically whined about it on Twitter.

Seems many Americans would prefer that libertarians stop following the NAP and take a dirt one instead.

POO-POOSA
Speaking of death threats, leaders in Springfield, Ohio, claim they’ve received 33 bomb threats since Republicans began spreading rumors of Haitian illegals eating cats. The city leaders can’t understand why there’s anger that their schools will soon be majority-Haitian.

Perhaps that question can be answered by visiting an American city that’s been majority Third World for a while now—Chula Vista, a bean border town in San Diego County.

In April, school district officials launched a student project to clean up the sewage-filled waterways in Tijuana. The kids “voluntarily” wrote letters to Governor Newsom demanding aid for the hombrecitos.

“Dear Gobernador Newsomos, please send dineros to Tijuana so they can stop swimming in caca!”

And the Gobernador listened, replying, “Dearest niños, I shall send mucho dinero so that those who sell us date rape drugs and meth can have only the most dulce of agua.”

Really brings a tear to the eye!

Along with vomit to the mouth. Because it turns out that the same school district has refused to employ a single janitor or custodian since January. Nine months. At the start of summer vacation, the school toilets were left filled with feces, and when students returned this month, even the Tijuanans could smell the stench.

As could the parents, who greeted their kids after the first day of school with “That’s not normal Mexican stank!”

Kids needing to poop were forced to use the urinals, as the toilets are “piled high.” And Newsom? Not one dinero in aid.

But before you non-Californians smirk, Chula Vista’s an “agricultural hub” for the entire nation, and many high school students are already working in the fields. So wash those lemons, celery, beans, cucumbers, oranges, strawberries, potatoes, barley, and grains (all of which come from Chula Vista) a little more thoroughly. And be happy that while you may die of E. coli, the Tijuana whores are using only the finest California-paid water to keep their donkeys hydrated through the encore performance.

BLAQUES REMOVE PLAQUES
In 2023, upscale, overwhelmingly Democrat Manhattan Beach, California—75 percent white, 0.4 percent black—righted a historical wrong by returning an area called “Bruce Beach” to the black family that operated it as a black resort in 1912, until the city confiscated it (it wasn’t racial; the city was going bankrupt from overtime for the lifeguards who had to keep hauling bodies from the surf).

To commemorate the return, the city commissioned a bronze plaque for the site. At the cost of a hundred thousand bucks, city leaders consulted with everyone from Ibram Kendi to Nikole Hannah-Jones to ensure that the plaque was “culturally sensitive” (most of the hundred grand went to Hannah-Jones so she could get her hair and nails did in one of the city’s fancy salons).

And then about a week later the plaque was promptly stolen.

Turns out there’s a lucrative trade in black-market metals. A month after that, thieves in one of L.A.’s last remaining black enclaves—Carson—stole every bronze and copper plaque from the city’s only historically black mausoleum. “It’s a tragedy,” caretaker Aisha Woods told NBC. “This cemetery tells the story of black L.A.”

A look at the tombstones confirms it does, from the 1990s when gangsta rap and AIDS were all the rage…

Here lies the body of DJ Quik,
A skid-row-dwelling hooker made him real sick.
Losing his T cells wasn’t part of the plan,
He confessed on his deathbed, “I’d no idea t’was a man.”

To the more recently interred…

Here rests the soul of Inglewood Willie,
Beat up a cashier ’cause his fries were too chilly.
The restaurant manager shot Willie dead,
An unhappy meal: cold fries and hot lead.

And the niches holding only meager remains:

For LaRhonda McGuggins we mournfully grieve,
She tried to save money with an excelsior weave.
When she lit up that blunt, her whole head went “poof.”
All they found in the ashes? One single gold toof.

Will blacks still vote Gascon in November?

You can bet your death on it.