Thursday, April 28, 2011

A Letter From Elvis Presley Concerning the 'Birther' Debate

Somehow, the following letter fell into my hands.  This is not at all forged in any way, shape or form and is one hundred percent legitimate in every way imaginable.


From the Desk of Sven Torgesen
27 April, 2011
Necochea, Argentina


Dear Birthers,


My name is Elvis Presley. I am a 76 year old man living in Necochea, Argentina, going by the assumed name Sven Torgensen. I once had a very successful entertaining career in the United States before faking my own death and retiring here. This move was a product of both a desire to shun the limelight as well as the emergence of a very lucrative real estate deal with a firm of aliens from outer space.

I had hoped to live out the rest of my days here on the beach, honing my whittling skills and learning to play the guiro, until passing away peaceful in relative obscurity. However, due to your recent insistence in perpetuating so much nonsense State-side, I feel compelled to break my silence.

I know a hoax when I see once, sirs and madams. In fact, I am a hoax. I am currently living a hoax. I know hoaxes better than anyone outside of Adolphus Hitlersen, who lives five doors down the street from me.

Now, I know you want the Obama birth certificate to be fake. It’s not. It’s clearly a real birth certificate. Two newspapers reported his birth. He was born in Hawaii. I might not know much, but God gave me enough common sense to read an official valid birth certificate.

You will ask questions that start with “Isn’t it funny,” or “Don’t you think” or “Could it be” and the answer is no. No, it’s not a forged certificate. No, ‘Certificate of Live Birth’ is not different from ‘Birth Certificate.’ No, no, no and shut up.

I have no patience for this nonsense; even from thousands and thousands of miles away. I know that I once said that I don’t dig the intellectual bit, but neither do I dig abject stupidity. The man has been your President for several years now, and will be until such time as he is either (a) voted out, or (b) reaches his term limit. No amount of Trump’d up charges (See what I did there? The old dog can still turn a phrase.) will change that. 

Frankly, perpetuating the myth that this is a 'hoax' is an affront to hoaxes everywhere.  I know for a fact that the producers of the moon landing footage are very upset as well.

Talk about issues. Talk about policy. Talk about anything else you like, but it is horse manure like this that is slowly killing the political process in my old homeland, and is the kind of nutjob whackery that makes faking one’s own death and moving to South America so gosh darned appealing.

To sum up, quit wasting everyone’s time. Also, go to hell.

Sincerely,

Sven Torgensen
A.K.A Elvis Presley

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Nat Topping is a Faking Faker

This only goes to confirm what I have suspected all along: never trust anyone named St. James under any circumstances. Even the good Saint James the Just himself. Just my foot.

Also reinforced by the aforementioned article on the Chicago Tribune: don’t trust people on the Internet.

By now this should be common sense. Apparently, it is not.

Q: Some random Internet guy named “Jesse Jubilee James” fires up a conversation with you on a ‘Deadwood’ message board. He’s a firefighter who knits, grows llamas, writes poetry, and makes plaques out of logs after forest fires to commemorate his love for you. Is he,
  • A: Fake
  • B: Made up
  • C: A fake person, I mean come on; Jesse Jubilee James? Are you faking kidding me?
  • D: I don’t have the time for this fakery.
  • E: Ah hell, I'll just leave your husband and plan to move to Colorado, only to find out that Jesse has suddenly died, only to find out EVEN LATER that he was, in fact, A,B,C and D.
If you answered ‘E’ then I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell you. Don’t talk to strangers.

But alas, in 2005 there was no Catfish, a movie that dealt specifically with this issue. Not that it would have mattered, because very few people saw it anyway, despite it being a very good movie.

And thus you have confusion, heartbreak, betrayal, and a lawsuit. Again, don’t talk to strangers.

Don’t get me wrong: I don’t mean to blame the victim entirely. However, I feel that criticizing St. James of Batavia would be hypocritical, given that I myself am fake.

ORGAN STING!

No, it’s true.* Up until now, you have known me as I have presented myself on the Internet: a late-twenties pasty white dude with a beard working at a non-descript job while trying desperately to get people out to see his comedy shows. It has all been a fa├žade.

In truth, my name is Rebecca Flimingston. I live in Plum Springs, Ky with three cats and my husband Dan. Here is a picture of me:

As you can see, I am afraid of cameras. I also have a nice living room, an excellent pair of sunglasses that I use as a paperweight, and this is my favorite song in the world.

Since we’re being honest: my life is boring. There’s not much to do in Plum Springs, Ky and, while I could sporadically blog about taking trips to Bowling Green to visit the Historic Railpark and Train Museum, nobody gives a damn about any of that.  Honestly even writing this now makes me want to claw out my own eyes.

So let’s just go on living this little lie, shall we? I’m Nat Topping. I’m a late-twenties pasty white dude with a beard, and I want to be your lover.

*And of course, by 'True' I mean completely made up.  Now you don't know what to believe, do you?  THE INTERNET IS USED FOR EVIL!!

Friday, April 15, 2011

St. Drunken's Eve...

... is traditionally celebrated with the following:
Shots of Irish whiskey, and...
Eating from a tin of old black olives found at the back of your pantry.

This is following by setting one's alarm clock  with just enough time to make it to the official St. Drunken's Day festival!

Huzzah!  It's a miracle!

Monday, April 11, 2011

St. Drunken's Plug Day!

Today is a very special day.
You see, today is St. Drunken's Plug Day!  It's a holiday that is the Monday before St. Drunken's Day wherein the hosts plug their St. Drunken's Day festivities.

Joy of joys!

Activities today include putting the finishing touches on pageantry, eating lunch, and completely stealing the entire St. Drunken's Day post from the RvD blog!

And now for the wholesale copy and paste work:

Robot vs. Dinosaur invites you to attend a fundraiser celebrating: St. Drunken’s Day! A Holiday for the Drunken Masses







The event will feature the first-ever St. Drunken’s Day pageant, drinking games, drinking songs, a raffle for fun drinking (and non-drinking) related prizes, a silent auction of one-of-a-kind St. Drunken’s Day artwork and a host of other fun activities including a goodly amount of a certain beverage made from hops and barley.


The Details:


What: St. Drunken’s Day Celebration When: Saturday, April 16, 2011 from 7 p.m. to 10 p.m. Where: 3036 North Lincoln Avenue, #2 Tickets: $20 in advance, $25 at the door (this event is capped so purchase your tickets early--don’t get left out of the celebration!)


To purchase tickets see any member of RvD.


You must be 21 to attend St. Drunken’s Day.


About St. Drunken: St. Drunken is the world’s mostly forgotten patron saint of drunks, inebriates, drinkers, imbibers and people who like to have fun. He is responsible for finding arbitrary reasons for people to get together, enjoy each other’s company, shake off the weight of the world, and drink alcohol (usually to excess).


All proceeds will go to help fund future RvD shows, not to buy beer for RvD. Mostly.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Indigo Wisdom

This is a picture of my brother, Don.  He is also known to a select few as 'Gib,' and since I've been around for a while, I've earned the right to call him that.  That picture of Gib is also the cover of a book that my mother wrote called 'Indigo Wisdom.'

This might sound like a stupid thing for an actor/writer/comedian with a blog to say, but I'll say it anyway: I'm a very private person.  I don't really like talking about my personal life or political views or religious beliefs in a public fashion, and on those rare occasions when I do broach those subjects, it's usually guarded by a veil of comedy.

I don't know why I'm like this.  I just am.  So apologies in advance if this comes across stilted.  I'm going to try to be serious for a moment.  Slapdash idiocy to return over the next couple of days, I'm sure.

But for my mom to write a book about raising my brother (and my sister and me) is, at least to me, doubly courageous - first in that it took a lot of courage and dedication and faith to raise my brother, and second because she's putting everything out there for other people to read.

To synopsize, my brother had myriad health problems and learning disabilities to contend with over the course of his childhood that my parents (and specifically my mom) had to fight through and, through their perseverance and faith and good old fashioned Topping stubbornness they were able to save Gib from a very different outcome then what many so-called experts had predicted for him.

It's a strange thing to have the story of your childhood written down for you to read.  I had this sensation while reading of vaguely remembering all of these little snippets and suddenly being able to put them together into what was actually happening while I was growing up.  My prevailing thoughts, though, were ones of gratitude and appreciation for my parents and just kind of how amazing they were and continue to be.

So this book Indigo Wisdom is their story, and it's just kind of an amazing thing to behold.  If you were ever looking for evidence of where I came from, here it is.  If you're looking for a story to hopefully inspire you, here it is as well.  The book is available on Amazon in both print and Kindle format. 

If you wanted a signed copy, I could probably get you one of those too.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Where I've Been! You'll Never Believe it!

Oh my God.  You guys.

I've been wanting to blog for a while now.  Seriously.  But I couldn't.

Because...

I was kidnapped.

No, it's true.  I was kidnapped.  And I just got back, literally like just right now, so that I could write this.  Seriously, I'm going to call the police and the FBI and everybody as soon as I'm done writing this.

No, really.

So, my last post was March 15th about the Ides of March.  And apparently, there's a group of terrorist secret cult people only in Europe, like from those Dan Brown movies, and apparently that song is like a huge piece of some super-secret that they've been keeping secretly for like two thousand years or something.

It's true.  Benjamin Franklin and Charles Nelson Reilly were all part of the cult, so you know it's legit.

So, while I was on my way home from work the day that I posted that, this shadowy black van pulled up and they grabbed me and threw me in the back of the trunk and drugged me, and before I knew it we were on a boat crossing the Atlantic to their super-secret port in Switzerland - A LAND LOCKED COUNTRY, so that's how serious these guys are - and then they tied me up in a basement and forced me to tell the truth.

Which was, like, awful.  Telling the truth all the time.

But finally I managed to escape because my two guards were Judge Reinhold and some lady I never saw before but was apparently in Supergirl, and I was able to seduce them with my eyebrow tricks (I can do tricks with my eyebrows, I swear.  Ask me about it sometime, but not now I don't have time) and then they let me go.

Except, now I'm in Switzerland and I don't speak Swiss!

So I pretended like I was a travelling mime and made my way to France, where I managed to hop on a boat but then somehow I ended up off the coast of Libya and everything was exploding everywhere and the boat capsized so I swam all the way to Malta.

But once I got to the shores of Malta, there was this crazy old man that kept asking me a bunch of hard riddles, but I was able to answer them because they all somehow had something to do with my quest, and as a reward he gave me $794.07, which was precisely the price for a plane ticket direct from Malta to Chicago.

Except it was a Southwest fight - which I didn't even know Southwest flies outside of America, much less on Malta, but they do - and the plane cracked open and they had to land in Vermont, but I was able to find a canoe and paddle the whole way, by myself, along the St Lawrence seaway all the way though the Great Lakes, past Macinac Island (I did NOT stop for fudge) all the way down Lake Michigan, up the Chicago river and finally to here, where I am right now, typing this!

Except maybe I won't press charges, but I learned so much about myself during the journey that I'm almost happy it happened.

Yes, they are lessons I will remember for a long time, except I am now going to completely forget all of the details of my past near-month experiences, so if you ask me about them I might not remember them.

So yeah.  That's where I've been.