Tag Archive | humor

I just love satire.

List of satire news sites

I’ve grown weary of ridiculous satire pieces being shared as fact. I love satiric writing, I do, but sites like the Daily Currant and The Onion take things too far sometimes. At the very least, they should have a disclaimer at the bottom of the fictional follies they publish bold enough for those who do not possess the satirical savvy required to prevent them from believing everything they read without question.

If you come upon an article from one of these delightfully distasteful sites, PLEASE do not forward as fact or get your panties in a bunch about it.

Satire – noun

1. the use of irony, sarcasm, ridicule, or the like, in exposing, denouncing, or deriding vice, folly, etc..

2. a literary composition, in verse or prose, in which human folly and vice are held up to scorn, derision, or ridicule.

A literary work in which human vice or folly is attacked through irony, derision, or wit.

Irony, sarcasm, or caustic wit used to attack or expose folly, vice, or stupidity.

List of satirical sites offering up doses of delusion for your reading pleasure . . . I realize this describes just about every news source these days, but these are the ones who admit it.


I am certain there are many, many more . . . Please feel free to add to the list in comments.

From the Daily Currant –

The Daily Currant is an English language online satirical newspaper that covers global politics, business, technology, entertainment, science, health and media. It is accessible from over 190 countries worldwide – now including South Sudan.

Our mission is to ridicule the timid ignorance which obstructs our progress, and promote intelligence – which presses forward.

Q. Are your news stories real?

A. No. Our stories are purely fictional. However they are meant to address real-world issues through satire and often refer and link to real events happening in the world

Not real folks, NOT REAL!

Crystal R. Cook

The truth about the pretty princess.


There is an unmistakable distinction between little boys and little girls that goes well beyond biology. Daughters and sons can be very different creatures. I’ve had the honor of raising both, the girl child is my topic of discussion today. Before you think you know where I’m going with this, I would like to say I’ll not be writing all about sugar and spice and everything nice. Whoever came up with that little ditty could not have raised a girl. I won’t bore you with cutsie tales of fancy dolls and tea parties or any other precious and precocious anecdotes pertaining to the pandering of princesses.

Darling daughters can indeed be sweet and lovable, but there is often a motive behind it. I don’t care how perfect a parent thinks their little angel is, they would have her institutionalized if they could get into her head for five minutes. Girls are smart and cunning. They can generally think circles around boys, and sadly, sometimes parents as well. Most of them perfect the dirty look before they’ve reached their first birthday. Girls have mood swings from birth that increase in intensity as they grow and mature. One minute you’re invading their privacy if you dare ask something too personal, such as, what did you do in school today? and you run the risk of being accused of not caring if you don’t ask.

They can tell a fib like they where the inventors of deception while looking innocent and sounding so convincing a mother can actually believe her sweetie-pie didn’t get into the lipstick she sees smeared all over her daughters arms and legs. A little lady can be as quiet as a church mouse or as loud as an entire herd of oxen. She can command attention or she can become invisible in a crowded room. This sometimes troll-like princess is a confident and curious little creature, she will boldly take what is not to be taken and has the ability to make you feel guilty about it when she is caught.

When my own troll princess was still quite young I decided to read a couple of books on the care and keeping of girls, but quickly came to the conclusion they where either, A. Written by men. B. Written by childless women or C. Written by a teenage girl to confuse and bewilder the reader. In one book in particular, I think the author had split personalities. The first chapter talked about the unbreakable bond a mother and daughter can share, and the second chapter discussed why they might never have a close relationship with each other. The fourth chapter explained how to talk to your young princess in ways that will get her to open up, and the fifth chapter concluded you cannot actually converse with her on an emotional level. By the time I got to the seventh chapter entitled, A Young Woman’s Privacy, I decided to sneak a peek at chapter eight. It was entitled, How to Spy on Your Daughter. I quickly added it to my garage sale corner of the closet.

Another title caught my eye in the bookstore one afternoon, Your Daughter, Your Friend, I skimmed through the pages and was not surprised to find it included advice such as, If your daughter says she just wants to be alone, leave her to her thoughts. Personally, in my experience, both as a woman and someone who has lived with a female child, this can be bad advice. To a female, the words leave me alone can mean a multitude of things. The statement can mean, Don’t leave me alone, or, I need to talk, or, I need to be held, or, Walk away now or I will make your life miserable for as long as humanly possible. You are playing the equivalent to russian roulette if you dare try to figure out what she means.

If you leave her alone she could accuse you of not caring about her feelings. If you ask her what’s wrong she could accuse you of butting in, and if you try to comfort her with a hug she could accuse you of being condescending. Trust me, I know. My moody teen queen and I played many times. I didn’t always guess right. I found slipping five dollars under the door was the right answer.

When a mother and daughter even look like they are going to spar, the men and small animals of the house should take cover. Everyone knows a woman wants to have the last word, so a tiff between a woman who is used to having the last word (the mother) and the young woman practicing the art of getting in the last word (the daughter) can last hours longer than need be.

Few subjects can cause more trouble than clothing, hairstyles, room upkeep, boys, make-up, siblings, homework, chores . . . actually, I guess anything could become the topic of a heated debate. Debate is good. Debate is healthy. Perhaps the roller coaster ride a mother and daughter embark upon together has a greater purpose than meets the eye. I suppose in many ways it allows the young girl to learn to express herself, to stand up for her rights and learn to never let her voice go unheard. A mother can see her little girl growing strong, knowing she will be the kind of woman who can command the respect of those in her life.

A mother daughter relationship is a fragile thing; they put each other on pedestals and then occasionally try to knock each other off. They rarely succeed of course, but if one of them should happen to actually take a tumble, the other one will be there to catch them. Some of the greatest friendships are forged during the turbulent years a woman and her young shadow share a home. If they are lucky though, when wings have sprouted and the nest is only a place to visit, husbands will be alone and unarmed in the battle arena and victory will be attained on a daily basis . . .

Crystal R. Cook

Fantasy, fruit loops & mindless drivel.

Stephen Mackey

Here I sit, with a sink full of dishes and a floor in dire need of vacuuming, thinking of nothing but mindless drivel. That in itself is not unusual, thinking of mindless drivel that is, not neglecting my chores. I am never mindless nor neglectful, or maybe I am, I didn’t used to be. No matter, it’s not like I can be objective on the subject. I’m fairly certain I just contradicted myself, 2 points for mindlessness.

I shouldn’t refer my daily housework endeavors chores. The word chore implies something you do to get your allowance. Somehow I doubt I’ll be getting five bucks at the end of the week.

I’m not sure what I could even buy for five dollars these days. Maybe a new hair brush. Mine hurts my head if I’m not careful, half those little colored balls have fallen off the tips of the plastic bristles or been plucked off, one by one in the night by some unseen maker of mischief. Of course, it could simply be that it’s old, I tend to hang on to items past their usefulness date. Not much of a spending spree I suppose.

It doesn’t matter, I hate my hair most of the time anyway. If the whole world was just bald I’d be a happy woman. I’d just shave it all off, but I’d probably have a misshapen head or something and look in the mirror every day and complain about that.

I’m not much of a complainer. I’m not. Besides, I don’t think anyone around here really listens to me all that often. My husband. Now he’s a complainer. Does anyone else know how hard it is to be married to a perfectionist? I used to be one, I’m over it now. So over it.

My husband is a great guy once you get past the fact that he’s a man. Don’t get me wrong, no man haters here, I have nothing against men. I love men, love, love, love them. I gave birth to three of them. Can you imagine what my bathroom looks like? I don’t get it, that thing cannot be that difficult to aim. Point and shoot boys.

When they where little a friend of mine suggested putting fruit loops in the potty to use as tinkle targets. It was great until I realized no one had flushed yet the soggy little rings of artificially flavored sweetness had disappeared, (insert collective eww here). I still have no idea who the culprit was.

My kids have always been really picky eaters, well, if you don’t count the fruit loop thing. They found some chocolate peanut butter in the store the other day and talked me into buying it. I have their undying adoration for the rest of the week now.

I bought some tea for myself, they say it’s relaxing. I don’t know who they are but I listen to them sometimes. I bought the Sleepy Time tea. I sipped a cup while reading a few chapters in my new book, the one I got for my birthday two years ago, and drifted off to sleep. It was wonderful until I awoke about an hour later with an extremely urgent need to use the powder room. A cup of tea will make you pee. They don’t print that part on the label.

I would have woken up anyway. I always do. I haven’t slept through the night in over twenty-four years. First it was late night feedings and diaper changes, then the bad dream phase. When they did sleep through the night I would wake up worried because they’d not woken and rush in to check on them. Just when I’d get used to it, a new bad dream phase would begin. Now late night television, video game marathons and the occasional bad dream often keep me from having those restful nights I so deserve.

I have a dream, well, more like a fantasy . . .

I envision myself waking around noon, gliding to the lilac scented tub that’s been drawn for me and submerging myself in warm bubbles. My husband comes in with a breakfast tray filled with fruits and champagne. He tells me the kids have gone out for the day and he will be in the garage building me bookshelves, I smile and dismiss him. I towel off and drape myself in a silken robe. Gracefully, I make my way into my spotless living room and do a Sound of Music type of spin before sinking onto the couch for a well deserved nap. I awaken to the cherubic laughter of my family as they return home. My husband retrieves the television remote for me before he begins to prepare dinner. After I’ve eaten my fill, I escape the pressures of the long day in a hot shower, then slide into bed and dream the sweetest of dreams.

But, that is a rather far stretch from reality. Far, far stretch. I live in the real world with popcorn under my feet, I didn’t even know we had popcorn. I guess I’d better lug out the old Dirt Devil and get to work. I can drivel in silence while I scrub the pans . . .

Crystal R. Cook