Spurred on by Arizona legislature’s new immigration law, the federal government has now taken action to end illegal immigration. Permanently. Like, all of it.
Arizona’s law requires that potential illegal immigrants (e.g. Hispanic people) have immigration documents on them at all times. Supporters and critics of the measure alike agree that it’s the toughest measure on immigration ever seen in the U.S., or at least they did, until today.
Since Clunkline has just entered its new glorious auspicious second phase of righteous harmony, known to non-party-members as Clunkline 2.0, we as the Clunkline staff feel it’s necessary at this juncture to issue a review of the past two years of Clunkline history.
Translated from the original German, these images and excerpts are from what is considered the founding text of aerodrome design at a time when heavier than air flight was less than a decade old. Del Mutel’s designs were mostly visions of structures to be built in a European future where cities had expanded so vastly that large, area-swallowing tracts of land for airports would be unavailable.
I almost never hear anything when people sing. It’s all Charlie-Brown’s-Teacher noises until the song ends. Wa wama wa wa. But with some songs, it’s worse than others, to the point that I start to suspect that they’re doing it deliberately.
Let me clarify. I’m not talking about Mondegreens. I’m not talking about Fuck It’s an Owl. I’m not talking about “Good King Wenceslas Lost his Crown”. I’m talking about cases where I don’t just mishear words. When I don’t hear anything. And I secretly suspect that’s because, with most of these, there aren’t actually any words.
I just wanted to write to say how much of a fan I am of your work! Even here in Munich, whenever a poor paper-hanger like myself can scrap a few hundred thousand marks together, I can think of no better way to spend an afternoon than to watch you “tramp” about! A good joke, yes? I think I have a future as a writer, but am focusing on painting at the moment. I feel I just need a decisive look to define myself, and so I was writing to ask if I could use your trademark mustache to help with my own image?
Hereditarily-incapable of growing a beard, I have simply lengthened my moustache. Due to the difficulty of eating through it, I have also become a filter-feeder.
They say I am dead. That I will never haunt the world again. That I shot myself in a bunker in Germany sixty years ago. What they don’t know is that I had a long-hidden twin brother who actually was the one who died, and that I learned the secrets of eating right and exercising. I have lived to see the ripe old age of 120. They also don’t know where I’ve been hiding, the one place no one has thought to look: Sentinel Island. From the smallest of the Andaman Islands, I shall attempt my comeback.
For years, I thought I was off to a good start. I smacked these foolish islanders into a steely, unforgiving discipline. I have trained them to make unmotivated attacks on all outsiders. And though they have never met a Jew or Frenchman, they assure me that if they ever do, they will growl menacingly.
As it happens, I have come to believe that several terms traditionally used in monogamous heterosexual marriage are inherently degrading to the parties usually yoked by their particular brand of bigotry and ignorance.
Whereupon I departed from Ipswitch with twenty-five souls, eight heavy guns, munitions, supplies, pack-animals, and the Queen’s blessing to map the great interior of our new Cape Colony, I, Sir Ramash Cornwall, began this log of my expedition for publication upon my return.
The defense of Berlin sent most elements of the German Army into a frenzied, last ditch defense of small arms, artillery, and panzershreks. What follows is the account of less well known measures taken to defend the shrinking Reich, as documented by one Nordmann Apfel, a corporal attached to the 3rd Home Defense Battalion.
European particle physicists in control of the Large Hardron Collider have taken the world hostage, demanding an outrageous ransom list while threatening to activate the LHC and in turn creating an oscillating black hole which will rend the Earth in twain.
A few days ago, I gave the Clunkline writers an assignment: to find the lost history of this man. My gut told me that he had probably led a much more storied life than this pallid snapshot seems to indicate, and we should give him credit for the good he’s done humanity.
I turned out to be correct! Around every one of history’s corners, there he stands, staring blankly at the camera as the drool drips down his neckbeard.