Meeting place for aliens currently working on Planet Earth

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"Your Yackerboom is showing"











ADV:  Want to start lots of lovely wars without placing yourself in danger?  Haven't got the time to become a Genocide General?  Too intelligent to become a U.S. President?  Worry no longer!  The time has never been better to become a Neocon, what with so many of them deserting the sinking ship!  Plenty of vacancies, absolutely no waiting.  No need to join a think tank any more, no need to even think!  Much better if you don't!  You could be arrogantly strutting about the beltway with the best of them by this time next week!  At a loose end today, addressing and receiving instructions from AIPAC tomorrow!  Contact us in the next 15 minutes and we throw in some right-wing Christian dogma to fall back on when all else fails!  But wait!  There's more!  Pay us by brown bag and we guarantee employment as a political consultant or military expert at the Fux Spews Chunder!  Special deals for retired military officers, police homicide investigators, and lawyers, both unemployed and unemployable.  Provided you agree with them, the right wing pundits will give your microphone volume parity with their own!  A once in a lifetime chance for your bullshit to be heard.  Offer ends Tuesday.




The Holy Delegation from Veltvodel IV arrived on Earth today, bringing with them a cure for all human diseases, the means to end all wars, hunger, and poverty, and the technology to enable Humanity to explore the universe.  Unfortunately, they landed within 1 kilometre of the House Of Commons, and were promptly beaten to death by the London police.  Cardinal Blair was on hand to give the Last Rites, but the Delegation decided that Catharism was the way to go.










With the Moon in the House of Yackerboom, and Jupiter aligned with the War Party, we have entered the Age Of Airpower, where the Beautiful People will lovingly enter military aircraft and, 10,000 metres above the ground, bomb the crap out of those damn civilians below so that, reduced to their component molecules, they may be reunited with the Gaia. Love, incense, beads, and bombs rule, o.k.?








Some of our alien visitors have been raising concerns about police beatings.  The answer is simple. stop beating up the police!  They are really quite nice when you get to know them.





Aliens please!  Watch those damn retro rockets when you are coming in to land!  Dallas was a very nice city, and someone is bound to notice it missing, and will be asking questions!  We can't keep blaming everything on the Bossa Nova!  We have told the authorities that some fool played a Frankie Avalon record too loud, and that seems to be holding them for now, but please be careful.  We are supposed to be infiltrating this planet, not vapourising it!





We welcome a delegation from the Oxy-Morons, a race of intelligent game show hosts, to the planet.  Apparently, they are here to teach the Fux Spews Chunder pundits to look like real humans.  Quite a job ahead of you guys, I'm afraid.  They did a great job thirty-odd years ago, making Blood Sweat and Tears look like a genuine rock and roll band, but the current mission is going to test them.  Wait till they see Calamity and Homo, not to mention Dill Oh? Really?



The Cloning Clinic have done it again, with the U.S. presidential candidates.  The paint job and the tits will fool the plebs, but they are all perfect clones in all other respects.




This website has been voted as The Most Relevant Thing In The Known Universe by a select committee from the Movement To Eradicate Greek Grafitti From Icelandic Public Toilets.







The Punditi, quasi-intelligent bipeds from the extreme right of the Andromeda Galaxy, have completed taking over the Fux Spews Chunder, that fabulous fictional news circus that we can all thrust.  They say that they are having some difficulty rising to the self opinionated blowhard level of their predecessors, but have found that shaving their legs and increasing the dribble going down their chins has helped a lot.  The replaced pundits were all drafted into the U.S. Army and sent to Eye-rack, where they were last seen just outside of Mosul, sucking their thumbs and crying for their mothers.  And to think people were saying that Yackerboomism was fading!








Doc, former member of the Seven Dwarves until opting for a solo career as a garden gnome. has been persueded to rejoin the group in the studio to help with their comback album, 'Hi Ho Hi Ho, It's Off To Iraq We Go'.  Snow White is far too senile these days to make an appearance, and will be replaced by Condaleezalaazaloozabatguano Ricepudding, who really needs this image makeover.









And when Lord Yackerboom came to this place, which was not like the other place except around the edges, he found Baal minding the shop, saying that The Big Fellow was off for a bit of R and R, what with King George the Dubberyar giving all those breakfast prayer orders, and, lo, Baal did cry to the heavens that he hates having to look after all the good people like Mother Theresa, when he has quite a good job in Diablo II, doing dark side thingies like Dickless Cheney was wont to do.  And the Yackerboom did say, better you than me.  Then the Yackerboom went to the pet store, but found it full of decaying parrot sketches, so he cried, O Baal, if you are bored, go forth and collaterally damage something, it does not matter whether the shop be minded or not, lest it be a cheese shop, the ruling classes are far to busy changing regimes to care about personal freshness or collecting second hand bagels.  Then he said to Baal, get a new job, you need to be working in the Holy Aura of Direct X 10, not wandering around a world that could run on anything Pentium class.  Take up your shaders and polygons and walk, my old foreskin impersonator.  You can't spend eternity as a low res bad guy.  And cast you not pearls before swine, for the buggers will eat them, and they were a good hippy band as well.  And Baal did take up his electric tambourine, and did a passable version of a well known Ted Nugent guitar solo.  Then The Beast came forth, they knew him by his number, for it was a human number, 1-800 BEAST.  And when he was told that The Big Fellow was on hols, he cried out, lo, times a'wasting, let's get those regimes changed, and he left for Eye-rack but, catching an Air Force plane with precision guidance, he ended up simultaniously in Tierra Del Fuego, Diego Garcia, and also Zimbabwe, where he passed out of all knowledge.  Then Baal pointed out that they were now in deep tutu, as The Big Fellow needs to have The Beast around, to threaten the plebs with.  Then the Yackerboom said that it didn't matter all that much, what with The Beast being a bit wet, you know, even him getting his spotty botty saved at the very end, what is needed is an entity completely unsavable, like King George the Dubberyar, who will be looking for a real job soon.  Then the air was torn asunder by a droning, feedback sound.  Fear not, the Yackerboom cried, 'tis naught but Carlos Santana tuning up. Then all the humans wrung their hands, as there was a shortage of bells.  Also, a shortage of belles, said Baal, noticing most of the males holding hands, and other things.  Here ends a very silly part of this website, which is really saying something.  So it is written, so shall it be read.














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