Thursday, April 21, 2011
As you are all undoubtedly avid conspiracy enthusiasts like myself, I'm sure you've heard that Reptilian Extraterrestrial Overlords from the Draco Star system secretly control the world. (with help and cooperation from a shadowy elite group of world power brokers, CEO's, The Illuminati, Alien Greys, and the US Government, of course.)
But if you're like me, you've probably always wondered...Where do those dudes like to party?
M4H Travel presents:
The South Pole-Top Secret::Fun!
The South Pole-Top Secret::Fun!
(An informative vacation guide for traveling to the secret Nazi/US Alien subterranean cryptobunker hidden beneath Antarctica.)
Attention Brosefs! Lady Brosefs! Dangerous adventure fans!
Get ready...to ROCK. Word to Admiral Byrd, Hollow Earth theory is definitely in the House! Strap on your preferred Oakley eye wear of choice and take that Red Bull to pound town, because it is time to chill, grill, get ill, and pay the biz-ills. Get ready to chillax with the world's most elite party crew. Tell your homies, spread the word. It's about to be talked about! Get ready for the ultimate VIP retreat; a luxurious mahogany filled compound watching the entire fucking world be destroyed in style and luxury, hosted by the very architects of the biblical Armageddon being shown before you. Tonight you're going to party like it's 2012. Boom!!!!!!
Get that face ready, it's time for a long, sweet kiss right on the Apocalips. Because you are about to embark on the most extreme UFO vacation ever imagined in any of your wildest and most evil terrible dreams. Sounds bad? You bet. But who said bad can't be fun, too? I didn't. But I did hear that, girlfriend! High fives all around. Know what that means, party peeps? It's about that time...
fig. A: Reptilian Overlord.
(Don't let the Judy Jetson dress fool you for a nano-second. He'll eat your kids.)
This top secret installation of awesomeness is the hottest, most extreme, totally rad-tastical vacation destination of the 2011-12 season. And seeing as this might be the last year we get to live on this topsy-turvy rock called Earth, what better way to enter into extinction then to party alongside the people (and the non-people) responsible? That's right, homes. Hold on to your Carabiners: It's the motherfucking Illuminati.
Why not check out some of the more well-known alien bases, you ask? Because new is the new new, and old is just plain old. Area 51? More like Area 1991. Super secret is the new relatively-hidden, and Planet X Reptoids are the new Greys, so pass that the fuck along, Agent Mulder. While your at it, go tell your favorite Scully to pick out some flip-flops and book the dog-sitter because you're taking her to a place so hidden, so undiscovered, so über-elite that it doesn't even have a name! (Take that Google Earth. Right up your robot ass.)
(Do not let the local nudists near your private parts. They get weird down there.)
Consensus among the human slaves that make up the majority of the base's population is that these Lizards really really like it down there. Apparently being close to the Earth's Core makes everything feel like a giant Terrarium. Like Boca Raton in August, minus the sunshine, beaches, and mall walkers. And, to all the cave loving spelunkers reading (looking at you, Pitfall Harry) you'll be hard pressed to find a more secluded, visually stunning location to spend a few relaxing days and nights communing with nature...All the while meeting interesting people, making powerful friends, and learning the nightmarish (but fascinating) secrets of the ET-controlled cabal that make up the true powers behind America's industrial military complex.
Earth is so HOT right now.
How to Get There:
First, get your ass to Antarctica. Yes the cell reception blows, and yes the local cuisine is a bit lean, but what did you expect to find? If your seeking the luxuries of the modern world complete with strip malls and Applebees family-style restaurants, no dice, compadre. Take that salad-fork attitude back to Laser-town where it belongs. This is the South Pole, dawg! Yes, there is a ton of fucking snow everywhere. But trust me my dreadlocked friends, it's a short trip to paradise from here.
Once you get to the South Pole, head East towards Lake Vostok..then, go waaaaaay farther for at least a shit ton of miles. Then look for a Giant Hole, you can't miss it. Now break out the climbing rope, it's about to get even extreme-er! (Holler at your sherpa). It's all pretty safe and easy,actually. Simply navigate the 15-mile optical laser field, then go straight for a while, bang a left at the Apple Store, and then you're almost there. Just try to avoid being eviscerated by the CIA-sponsored robot murder squads and predator patrol drones and don't to freeze to death. It's just that easy!
fig. C: It actually makes sense if you think about it.
The hard to reach UFO landing zone/visitors center is located inside a giant, jewel covered cave approximately 1,800 miles beneath the Earth's crust. Why? Because it's caliente, amigo! Get vertical, brohaim. Hold on to your seashell necklace...it's time to take this vacation to maximum velocity.
What to Bring:
In order to properly blend amongst Bilderburgs, Rothschilds, and other cigar chewing Satanic billionaires from the Bohemian Grove set, you'll need to pack wisely.
Bohemian barbecues: always a hoot.
Pack snow shoes and bikini briefs, as you'll be going from tundra to tropical on this double-trouble ski and sunshine package. And bring your camera, this is a hot spot for celebrity schmoozing. Just last month, popular songwriter and television star Ms. Mylie Cyrus filmed a music video for her latest song, "Will somebody please help (I'm a young girl trapped inside an Alien base)" . Kissinger is a big fan, btw. (true story).
Ms. Cyrus. Seen here, being an asshole.
Secret societies like to be discreet, but that doesn't mean they don't like to get sexy from time to time. Rubbing elbows and clinking glasses with the Extraterrestrials and the all powerful global elite in style isn't as easy as it sounds.
Fellas, when you're kicking it around the pool, keep in mind, the banana hammock plays. the more moose knuckling going on downstairs, the better. Little known fact: Powerful and evil men have uses the ancient art of bulge observation as a means of communication and social stratification for eons. Also the Reptilians don't permit board shorts in their pools, so go ahead. Give your grundle a hug!
Henry's Limbo tip #5: Get low. (Get low, get low, get low.)
The Illuminati like to dress up when out on the town, so pack accordingly. This might not be South Beach, but it's no Carnival Cruise either. Lots of uniforms and space-man onesies abound as the primary function of the unnamed facility is a military one. Ladies: pack a nice dress for dancing, and NO snakeskin! (The Overlords forbid it.)
Outside of the pool, the style around the base seems to be a hodgepodge of Bahama shorts, puffy coats, and assorted small firearms. But come nightfall, when the lizard men from the other side of the universe enter their evening hibernation period, the humans break out the fancy pants, sucking down the Mai Tai's faster than the American public consumes NSA misinformation filtered through popular television and media outlets in order to hide the truth of the alien agenda set upon them. (too soon?)
When all else fails, the evil eye-patch always plays.
Flora & Fauna:
Besides the blood-snorting, dragon-faced alien Overlords from beyond the moon, there are only a few local inhabitants worth noting.
The most important neighbor to keep a keen eye peeled for is the Antarctic Vampire Yeti; a friendly-seeming (but often very hostile) cousin of the North American Sasquatch (aka "Bigfoot".)
fig. D: The Vampire Yeti, seen here murdering lost skiers.
Despite their creepy name, Vampire Yeti don't actually drink people's blood. But they do occasionally devour travelers on their way to the base. (Leave the rugrats at the ranch, this is grownup territory). And leave that trail mix at home, no exceptions! Rocking Chex Mix is good carbing if you're stretching out the hammies at K2 base camp, but no es muy bueno in this neck of the woods. No cereal-based party snack is worth earning a Colombian Necktie, brosefino. Because Unlike Yogi or Boo-Boo, these furry fellas don't crack wise at the ranger or snatch picnic baskets from campers in a lovable and comedic manner. Instead, what they will most likely do is either:
A: Eat your face (and the faces of your fellow travelers)
B: Smash your body into a lumpy pile of Patagonia wrapped bro-pulp
C: Rip your torso open like a fat kid going elbow-deep into a birthday pinata, then make jewelry out of your insides, making sure to save your eyes and still-beating heart for their growing younglings to eat.
Fun/dangerous fact: Strangely enough, pepper spray attracts and angers this breed of Yeti, so arm yourself with a high-caliber rifle if possible. Leave the spray and grab the AK. You're not dead travel-mates will thank you.
And if all else fails, bring cigarettes. Science Fact: Yeti love smoking.
(A pack of cowboy killers might snag you a candid with the unpredictable beast of the North. Just make sure you escape before that last cig gets smoked!)
- Although American dollars are accepted on base, the preferred currency of choice for the Defcon set are "Bilderbucks":
- The only denomination is 100's, but that's just because...well you know how these guys roll. So hit the ATM and money exchange before seeking out the Pole hole.
- Don't look Dick Cheney in the eyes, especially when he's in Reptilian form.
- If you bring cookies, make sure you pack enough for everyone.
- And lastly, try very hard not to talk to the Nazis. They're dicks (of course) but besides that, they also happen to be extremely busy working on the Saucers for the Overlords. So, for the good of the fleet, do us all a favor and leave those evil bastards alone!
Until next time, travelers....
Friday, February 04, 2011
NBC's "To Catch a Predator" is TV that makes a difference. Thank you, Chris Hansen. America's pedophiles are on the run. It's nice to see television making the world a better place.
That being said, this does make it harder to track these guys down. Sure it's easy enough to wrangle up baby-petters in some armpit swamp town in Central Florida. But now these guys have taken refuge in the Underworld. Those cops are going to need more than pepper spray to get past Shang Tsung. Why, you ask? Because, he's a motherfucking shapeshifter. Who absorbs the souls of his enemies in order to maintain his god-like powers and immortality. Good luck, officers.
In related news, the annual fighting tournaments Mr. Tsung sponsors have caused quite a stir in the Martial Arts community as of late. Some contestants say that the event is tied to a string of mysterious deaths in the area. Shang Tsung's personal secretary and life coach Jonas Raiden told reporters that Mr. Tsung is in full and total cooperation with authorities. As of press time, Mr. Raiden couldn't be reached for further comment, as he was "too busy being awesome and shooting people with lightning bolts that fly out of my god-damned hands".
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Well I haven't written on the blog in a long long bit, but only because I haven't been truly inspired until this very moment.
I'm a fan of all things Indian. It's a known fact that I'm 110% gay for Chicken Tikka Masala. Not to mention Garlic Naan, the crack cocaine of the carbohydrate universe. I love reading books by Yoga dudes with long, awesome sounding names..the ones that hipsters name-drop during late night post-dinner convos in order to look both deep and cerebral. I do enjoy soaking in the wisdom of smiley eyed, peaceful wizards who rock mind-powers and Snuggies at the same time, all the while sporting proper Jim Henson beards to keep the Hippie cred strong and keep it green. Don't even get me started on Ghandi (the movie), which won like 67 Oscar Meyer statues back in the day, and is such a fantastic movie that I happily sit through all 14 hours of it whenever it comes on TV. Which is something I only do for the likes of "Bloodsport", "Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure", and post-beard Riker episodes of "Star Trek: The Next Generation". (A feat indeed for a man who already forgot how this sentence is supposed to end, because of a condition that sometimes makes me jumpy like a squirrel, and occasionally causes my elocution to take on a pace and consistency akin to the movements of a severely retarded goldfish.
Where was I? Yeah. Ghandi. God dammit that is a good movie. That movie literally made me begin to hate white people. I'm white, which is cool I guess, but I can't really grow a mustache, and I'm terrible at accents. Also I'm not an Imperialist British land baron who shoots Indians and relishes in the act of being a total dick for no reason. I'd even go as far to say that the movie "Ghandi" illuminated a defining moment in history; it illustrated the moment when passive-aggressive mustachioed British men of wealth and influence officially became the biggest assholes in the entire world.
Even though I'm excitable, I'm surprisingly not prone to being starstruck. That is with the exception of this one time I met Ben Kingsley at my old job. First of all, he's a fucking Knight, which could only be more badass if they gave him a real sword and a suit of armor and sent him off to burn villages and drink mead out of bejeweled goblets. Secondly, he's Ben fucking Kinsley. Who, some have dubbed, "The Ben Kingsley of actors". I'd even go out on a limb and say that Ben Kingsley's Ghandi, while obviously not as world-changing and influential as the real Ghandi, was more, how do I say,"convincing" as Ghandi than the actual Ghandi was. Which is totally crazy, because non-Kingsley Ghandi was Ghandi all the time, plus, he was the original.
Anyway when I met him he was so cool that it kind of took me off guard. I figured someone who got Knighted would have at least a few diva tendencies, so when he had none at all, I got nervous. And, for whatever reason, I got all nervous and I started to feel like one of those sweaty European girls about to faint at a Thriller-era Michael Jackson concert, somewhere in the grayish part of the map between Eastern Siberistan and the western half of the Balkan Powder Keg. (Shout outs to the Ottoman Empire. Play on, players!)
You know the type of place I'm talking about...that little "whatever"
country shaped like an Amoeba, the one conveniently wedged between former Cold War adversaries that only Wikipedia webmasters can properly pronounce or even care to know the name of. A country so insignificant and small that their two Olympic athletes flip coins to see who gets to carry the flag at the opening ceremony and who gets the top bunk back at Olympic Village. A land where kindergartners smoke unfiltered cigarettes and men's names sound like a brand of assault rifle, and women's names either sound like poison flowers or a chemical ingredient of Industrial Solvent. A place where smiling is restricted to supervised children under the age of 5 and allowed only during daylight hours, and only on their birthdays. Adults caught smiling without just cause face a mandatory sentence of 20 years hard labor in the notorious ice mine of the northern lands, a place rumored to be haunted by Communist ghosts.
The clip below reminds me why I love the Indian movie industry. It literally has all my favorite things in it: robots, nonsense, noises, unnecessary assortment of guns, leather jackets, mustaches, fun, Mom jeans, fast movements, inexplicable kung-fu zooms, the list goes on.
Just watch this video. I promise you it's so good you'll want to snort it, then spend next month in the woods drinking coffee in hooded sweatshirts with tired looking men and frowny women with clipboards, detoxing from the effects of it's awesome motherfucking awesomeness.