Mount Taranaki, New Zealand

Source: Bigstock

The Week’s Most Narrowing, Harrowing, and Cupid-Arrowing Headlines

HURTY GURDY
It was the worst week for Sweden since that time the Muppet chef made ribbestek and nobody ever saw Miss Piggy again.

First, there was Salwan Momika, an Iraqi atheist and TikTok prankster residing in Stockholm. Momika’s favorite online gag was to burn Qurans while telling Muslims to “come and get me.”

So last week Muslims came and got him; Momika was shot dead on his balcony while performing his latest stunt, burning copies of Sweden’s only contribution to Western lit: Pippi Longstocking. While initially it was thought that Momika’s murder might’ve been Longstocking-related, as the stunt pissed off Swedish literati and pedophiles, authorities now believe that the killing was orchestrated by foreign assassins from one of the many Muslim nations that routinely protested Momika’s channel.

Note to Quran-burners who make it their life’s goal to infuriate Muslims to the point of homicidal rage: Maybe don’t use as your base of operations a country with zero immigration controls. The Nazis guarding the camp on Hogan’s Heroes were less clownish than the Swedish border patrol.

Meanwhile in Orebro, a school for adults learning Swedish as a second language was bullet-riddled in what ended up as the nation’s worst mass shooting ever. Eleven dead, including the gunman. The school was a popular choice for African immigrants who’d immigrated to imbibe Swedish women’s insatiable appetite for black dudes. Indeed, in the school’s course catalog, its most popular class is described thusly: “It’s been a week of raw animal sex; now you gotta talk to the bitch. Learn how to say ‘Lemme sleep, you damn stupid ho; I gots a lot on my mind’ in a language your pale-ass cracker will understand.”

It makes perfect sense that a town with a language school for Africans would be called Orebro. Indeed, that’s also the name of the favorite cookie of Swedish women. White cream filling surrounded by black wafers, it doesn’t allow you to eat it until you secure it a green card first. And once the cookie gets permanent residency, you’re left with its mocha offspring and all the related bills.

GET BACK, GET BACK, GET AKBAR WHERE YOU ONCE BELONGED
In terms of idiots inviting mo’ harmadin from Mohammedans, nothing could top a Swedish influencer burning Qurans while provoking Muslims to “do your worst.”

Wait, did someone say, “Do your worst”? Why, that’s the catchphrase of Trump’s second term.

It’s like somebody dared Trump, “Can you think of anything dumber and less necessary than invading Greenland and annexing Canada?”

And Trump narrowed it down to two possibilities. The first: invade the Congo and harvest Ebola lesions for sale in the U.S. as nausea-inducing lunch snacks. And granted, that would’ve been a bad idea. But Trump nixed it due to lobbying from Papa John’s, because the company didn’t want the foreign competition.

Idea No. 2? Invade Gaza and “relocate” the Palestinians. Yes, Trump looked at the fetid strip of hellish earth known for one thing and one thing only—a bitter, violent, vengeful people who’ll blow up their own children to avenge land from which they were forcibly relocated—and he said, “I’m gonna forcibly relocate those zealots because what could go wrong?”

Trump’s plan, to use U.S. troops to kick the Palestinians out of Gaza, was announced last week during a meeting with Benjamin Netanyahu, who reacted to the news with an erection of joy that shot ramrod-straight from his slacks with such vigor, even Elon Musk mistook it for a sieg heil.

Trump announced that once the Palestinians are removed from Gaza, “the world’s people” would become the new residents, occupying an “international unbelievable place,” a “Riviera of the Middle East.”

At which point Gustavo the deported gardener dolefully looked back at the Texas border and said to himself, “It was that important to send me back to Jalisco that you elected this lunatic?”

As for the Palestinians, they seem upbeat. “We were getting tired of killing Israelis,” Hamas spokesman Qurz T. Ali told the AP. “This’ll give us all-new targets. We were thinking of going scorched earth on the 2028 L.A. Olympics, but it seems Karen Bass made that a moot gesture.”

MOUNT ROMNEY
Remember the outrage when Mitt Romney, the lab-engineered DNA admixture of Joseph Smith and a horse’s diarrhetic ass, declared that “corporations are people”?

While certainly true as a legal fiction, leftists pointed out that in real life only people can be people.

Why, a corporation identifying as a person is as silly as a man identifying as a woman!

And that’s why leftists don’t criticize “corporate personhood” anymore.

Well, New Zealand has just one-upped “corporations are people” to a degree that’s even making trannies say, “C’mon, now you’re just being silly.”

New Zealand’s very much like its most famous son, Russell Crowe. Looks great from afar. Impresses initially. And then you realize it’s an ungodly mess of unlikability and irritation.

New Zealand’s like New Guinea, but the giant dicks are figurative.

And now New Zealand has declared a mountain to be a human. Taranaki Maunga, a massive clump of dirt considered sacred by Maoris, is as of last week fully recognized as a person by the government of New Zealand. If you’re unclear on just what a Maori is, it’s as if someone took a look at Australian aborigines and said, “I like the subhuman intelligence and violent tendencies, but let’s trade the diminutive pygmy stature for massive Polynesian bodies so filled with blubber and poi as to render them bulletproof.”

So when Maoris insisted that their holy hill be officially recognized as a human, the New Zealand government said “fair dinkum.” After all, this is the same government that initially banned Candace Owens from speaking there until she declared that Jews drink baby blood, at which point the NZ government was like, “Welcome, sister!”

New Zealand, where Taranaki Maunga, a literal mud clump, must legally be referred to as “sir,” and where Owens’ Kikes Kill Tykes Tour 2025 kicks off next month.

Such a shame Bikini Atoll suffered the brunt of A-bomb tests. New Zealand would’ve been far less of a loss for humanity.

CHUBBY EXCHEQUER
“Kilonzi” sounds like how a ghetto black would order a calzone in an Italian restaurant. “Gimme one kilonzi, some fettucheen, and a fuckasha.”

But in fact Marianne Kilonzi was a rotund black woman who was senior VP of Citibank in the U.K. Two weeks ago she was brutally assassinated, and for some strange reason leftists aren’t cheering this one like they did that Luigi guy who offed the healthcare exec in NYC.

Maybe there is some value in corporate affirmative action after all; a black board of directors will ensure that insane leftists don’t cheer their demise.

As to what motivated Killed-onzi’s murder, London’s cops aren’t saying, as they’re too busy arresting old white men who posted transphobic memes on Facebook. But most likely, cold chips played a role.

Speaking of which, “Monjah” sounds like how a ghetto black would say “mangia” at an Italian restaurant. But Louisville’s Monjah James-Wooten don’t like him no eye-talian food. Nope, he wants fries, and they best be hot.

Which they weren’t last week when James-Wooten visited a Wendy’s. So he did the only rational thing he could: He pulled a gun and opened fire on the employees. And the employees, all of whom were armed (the only rational thing to do when serving fries in a 25 percent black city), returned fire, forcing James-Wooten to flee.

One employee was shot in the rectum (rectum? He killed ’um!), and Jones-Wooten was arrested.

Footnote: The next day Monjah’s female passenger contacted police, claiming she’d been shot too.

Those must’ve been some cold-ass fries; dude shot the employees who served ’em and the slag who was just a bystander.

Cold fries? Everyone dies.

THREE FOR THE ROAD (TO HELL)
When Robert Kenney Knox, it’s best not to answer.

Last week 23-year-old Knox, a black gentleman in Amarillo, Tex., decided to go barhopping. Slapping on his favorite aftershave (Oscar Micheaux-de-toilette), he called his best gal, Nahryah Hilesta Ines Hayes (recipient of the “You Got Too Many Names, Bitch” award three years running), and his token white friend, Britt Brinson-Cave, whose name seems more fit for a British noble than for Texas white trash.

And off the gleesome threesome went, to enjoy their Saturday night.

But trouble lurked on the horizon. While boozing it up at a nightclub called Bodega’s, His Lordship Brinson-Cave became overly intoxicated and retreated to doze in the car.

Leaving Knox without a hot wingman.

Enter Love Louima, a 25-year-old Haitian immigrant. And he had eyes on Knox’s gal.

Cue “Copacabana”:

His name’s Louima,
He wore a vèvè.
His voodoo power ’came aglow, when he cast eyes on Kenney’s ho.
He summoned Legba, to draw her over,
But Louima went a bit too far, so Kenney ran back to his car,
And then the bullets flew,
As Kenney fired at Lou.
There was AIDS blood on the dance floor,
The Haitian blown in two!

After killing Louima, Nahryah jumped into the driver’s seat as Knox in the passenger seat fired at bystanders as they drove off. Fifteen rounds were discharged, resulting in only minor grazes. That alone would’ve alerted the cops that the shooter was black.

Louima was pronounced dead at the scene. His body was turned over to the local Haitian restaurant for “disposal” at Sunday’s buffet (“our extra ingredient is Love”). Knox and Nahryah were arrested. Amazingly, Brinton-Cave slept through everything in the back seat. He was detained by Amarillo authorities for being a pompous-named dumbass.