Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Strange Times Turns 100!

That's right folks.  It's here.  The 100th article.  Bet you thought we'd never get here, huh?  Well here it is, plopped into your laps like a steaming text log.  We know we haven't always been the most consistent in releasing news, but truth be told, sometimes there's just nothing going on.  Absolutely zilch.  That doesn't even take into account all of the werewolf uprisings that we've stomped out while simultaneously bringing you the good stuff.  The hard-hitting squirters.  The juicy giblets.  Cut us some slack.

Dr. Slack: She'll clench ya.

All of you ungrateful ingrates aside, we consider this a cause for celebration!  In lieu of this monumental moment, we decided to give y'all the skinny on how Strange Times made it this far.  Many think it is a secret passed down through generations while others believe we are utilizing herbal enhancements to stay so virile.  So strong.  So undeniably erect.  But alas, it is simpler than that.  Also, much more complicated than you could ever imagine.  To guide you through our rich and winding history, we have prepared a timeline of important dates.

This fuckin' guy.

4,540,000,000 B.C.:  Ahhh, we remember these days fondly.  Back in that time, we were nothing more than a simmering pool of ectoplasm leftover from the Big Bang.  We writhed and wiggled like gelatin.  You know, the kind with chunks of banana or whatever in it, but instead of fruit it was bones and organs and stuff.  We began to assume a human shape.  We siphoned knowledge of the cosmos and all of its inhabitants from the undulating cloud of gaseous consciousness known only as The Gigantula.

Our god is cooler than your god.  And he always has weed.

300,000 B.C.:  Now fully formed, we rose quickly through the ranks of neanderthals.  It helped that we marinated a little longer than most primitive humans, so we had wings, gills and could also explode skulls with our minds.  There was a lot of element wielding and astral projecting going on.  Summoned alien forces to build a few temples.  Nowadays whenever you see some doofus in a goofy hat standing in the desert going, "WHASSAT THING?!", you can be positive that we had something to do with it.  Hell, the pyramids are just giant toilets.

Big, pointy, slave-constructed toilets.

0:  This year was crazy.  Everyone was all like, "Is it B.C. or A.D.?  Or both?  Neither?"  No one knew what the fuck was going on, so they just recklessly banged each other.  We're talking like, all day, all night.  Non-stop booglin'. 

32 A.D.:  You guys are never going to believe this one.  You know Jesus?  Like, Christ?  Yeah, well we got pretty tired of his showboating, so we told Pontius Pilot that he was baaad news.  Then we blamed the whole thing on this dingleberry Judas.  Don't worry, he deserved it.  He was always being a buzzkill, saying stuff like, "You can't worship Satan anymore, Strange Times" and "Haven't you eaten enough of our lord and savior's flesh?"  As far as we know, he got it pretty bad.  Gnashed in the jaws of Lucifer or an eternal layover in Indianapolis.  Something like that.  All in all, it was a pretty good Sunday and someone made a pound cake to die for.

"Uh, could I maybe get a piece of that cake?"  Go home Jesus, you're drunk off yourself.
506:  This was the year of The Mediocre War.  Basically everyone was pissed at everyone else, but nobody had the nuts to do anything about it.  The occasional spear was thrown and one of our interns got crushed by a boulder, but that wasn't totally unplanned.  Eventually, people just sort of forgot they were fighting and became friends.  Then they remembered why they hated each other in the first place and the whole thing kind of went on like that for a few hundred years.  It sucked, but was kinda cool too.

1776:  It was around this time we migrated to the States.  The land of limitless possibility and overflowing with opportunity.  We managed to catch a ride with a big ass tortoise and arrive just in time for the signing of some really important document.  We slapped our names on the bottom with a footnote that essentially granted us total control of the whole country.  The powdered wig wearing pussies will try and tell you the contrary, but are you really going to believe those guys?

That's right Washington, go ahead and die. You still owe us that green picture of yourself.

1945:  We're just going to cut right to the chase.  We ended World War II.  Your grandparents are all shithead morons that just got in our way.  The fat cats in Washington want you to believe that victory was achieved through the perseverance and pride of piss-panted pansies, but that's all wrong.  Basically all it took was a few pairs of tube socks warmed up in the dryer, ten tubs of ape mayo and a fleet of super sexy dicksucking cyborgs.  The bombs were ours too, but had nothing to do with the war.  That was just fun.

In reality, the cloud looked way more like a dong.  Seriously, just ask anyone who was there.

1984:  Some of you greenhorns out there probably remember this era of our influence.  You'd have to be dead not to, which is very possible because we were killing a lot of people during that time.  They called us Big Brother, but we preferred Pig Mother, or Roy.  We revolutionized the way people thought, bought, sucked and fucked.  In addition, we developed one hell of an information extracting method.  It's called Fat Guy Sits On You Until You Tell Us What We Want To Hear.

2001:  Man, we remember this like it was a dozen or so years ago.  Space odysseys, leftover Y2K candy and we finally got rid of those pesky buildings disrupting the otherwise gorgeous New York skyline.  It was a year of many miracles and Manwiches.  Also, the first Harry Potter movie came out.  That was pretty alright.

2013:  We wrote this article.  Everyone was super stoked and probably got laid.

You know, sex.

So there you have it.  The lowdown dilly that led us here today.  You might be thinking, "But Strange Times, what about all of the time between the rough dozen dates that you described?  What was happening then?"  God damn, there's just no end to it with you, is there?  Fine, we'll tell you. Nothing.  Nothing was going on, alright?  Maybe a few decapitations, a couple of ex-wives and a whole bunch of expired lunch meat.  Isn't anything private anymore?

No comments:

Post a Comment