Michelle Bachmann's Voice Weaponized And Dropped On Enemy Camps

(AP)—Minnesota—

The United States Department of Defense announced today that it had completed its first series of tests on the new Bachmann Bomb, an innovative weapon developed in recent months in top secret bunkers in the Beltway area.

The Bachmann Bomb is a weaponized recording of Michelle Bachmann’s voice that has been produced in mp3 form and dropped on enemy Al-Qaeda camps. Initial Al Jazeera press reports estimated the casualty total at one camp at upwards of 53 terrorists. According to one source, the Bomb detonated at 15 feet above ground, and seconds later terrorists began shooting themselves to escape the resulting sound.

One local Afghan recorded the incident on his cell phone. The resolution is grainy, but the sound quality is captured. The nasal, flat “a’s” and “o’s” are clearly heard penetrating flesh in the camps. The slow, rhythmic lilt of Bachmann’s upper-Midwestern dialect can be seen knocking one bearded man to the ground, his turban askew and his rifle harmlessly fallen by his side.

Meanwhile, Amnesty International has called for an investigation into the use of the Bachmann Bomb, claiming that the unusual cruelty of such a weapon constitutes war crimes that could be prosecuted in the Hague. Says Wendy Gaslenship, Amnesty International’s Committee Chairperson of Drum Circles and Bong Hits: “it’s wrong and un-American to inflict this kind of mass casualty on any other human being. This is no different than Hiroshima, and the makers of this weapon should be held accountable for the lasting damage this voice is doing to civilization.”

Anonymous sources have reported that four scientists committed suicide while in the process of developing the bomb. One is reported to have stabbed himself repeatedly in the side of the head with a butter knife during initial testing, exclaiming, “Make it stop! Make it stop! I can’t take it any more!”

When asked for comment regarding the weaponization of her voice, Bachmann opened her mouth to respond, but was silenced by the press corps, who asked her to simply write a response.

Come, Sweet Death....And Other Musings I Came Up With While Having To Attend A Conference

One of the most ironic misnomers in the English language is the phrase “breakout session.” The breakout session is a reference to a specific type of meeting-within-a-meeting, and it carries the typical semantic vagueness of the darkly impersonal. A breakout session typically happens at a conference—generally, an all-day one, in which you are sitting perfectly motionless and listening to multiple speakers. The ones who announce breakout sessions expect that you will love the idea, even though anyone who’s ever attended one understands it to be Dante’s First Circle of Hell.

The most annoying people at any conference are, of course, the ones who announce to everyone that they’re having a great time and really like the speakers. The normal people are the ones trying desperately to stay awake and maintain some hold on sanity. They are working overtime, mentally, to keep from running, cackling, from the conference room in zig-zag patterns. The way these conferences are designed, the breakout session is carefully timed to coincide with that very last minute that the attendee can tolerate sitting in the First Meeting before they snap. Just at the point in which the attendee has finally decided to set themselves on fire because they cannot tolerate even 60 more seconds of listening to the speaker, someone will announce, in a gay airy voice, “it’s time for the breakout session!” The reason that people seem generally excited about this is because lives have, quite literally, been saved.

Of course, it’s all a horrifyingly brutal joke—because the breakout session is simply another meeting. Yep. More speakers. Only in this one, you don’t have a large crowd to provide you with cover, like you did in the First Meeting. In the breakout session, you can’t get away with drawing funny pictures, texting, or making funny faces; it’s just you and 10 other people and the speaker, and now you have to act like the annoying people who are just tickled to be there.

The breakout session is poorly named, mostly because of the other thoughts that come to the forefront of your consciousness when the term is employed. Was it titled a Breakout Session because the attendee feels like breaking out the window on the top floor and leaping to his death? Or because he entertained the fleeting thought of breaking out the speaker’s teeth in front of the horrified (but secretly grateful) audience? Or because the attendee feels like breaking out of the conference entirely and headed to wherever 90 proof alcohol is being served?

There are no correct answers here. Only the disturbing truth that there will continue to be conferences, mostly because there are people who require other people to attend conferences. And also because many of those people attending the conferences are putting on a smile and pretending to enjoy the conference. I cannot abide the thought that they are genuinely enjoying this; to come to this awful realization would be cause for the total annihilation of civilization. No, we cannot do away with the conference—because there are Those Who Love To Hear Their Teeth Chatter. But at least we can break out the smiling jackanapes who acts like this is the perfect day for him, and we can lock him in his own session to smile winsomely at his reflection in the mirror.

Now THAT would a breakout session I could be in favor of.

WHEELS-OFF NEWS REPORT: Student Ostracized For Not Owning A Kindle

Bart Senstugamen, a 23-year-old 2^nd year seminary student, was ostracized Tuesday for bringing a book to class. It was the first time a student under 30 had undergone the controversial treatment, but had followed a series of three warnings from fellow Millennials to cease buying and reading actual books.

Senstugamen himself was unapologetic about his decision to bring the book, J.I. Packer’s Knowing God, to class. “I like the way it feels in my hand,” he explained. I like to smell the pages as I peruse the typeface. I like books. So sue me.”

His classmates are only too happy to pursue this option. Says Katelyn Sniftersausen: “Some day soon—when we’re running things—it will be a crime to not own a Kindle. We’re going to put the publishing industry completely out of business for their systematic rape of the environment!” Ms. Sniftersausen shouted as she drained the last drops of gourmet coffee from her Styrofoam cup. Rob Heeglaw agreed: “I think Bart’s really guilty of just trying too hard to be nonconformist. He’d be ok if he could just act like a normal 23-year-old, instead of, like, OLD.”

For his part, Senstugamen refuses to buy an iPad, a Kindle, or any other e-reader, because of his self-professed “love for books.” He considers the standard Millennialist techno-fetish a mere continuance of high-school-era squabbles over who wore Calvin Klein and who wore Target knock-offs of Calvin Klein. “They’re all just going after the next Shiny New Thing,” he snorted. “None of their gadgets actually save them time or money; they are wasters of both.” When this interviewer pointed out to Senstugamen that the same books he loved could be read on Kindle, he replied: “name one Kindle buyer who is reading for any reason other than an assignment or to impress another Millennial.”

“Kindle readers don’t love books,” he continued. “They don’t dog-ear a page they want to return to. They don’t cherish the cover art. They don’t take satisfaction from the stack of completed pages as compared to the stack of pages yet to go. They don’t even read, really….they just peruse at their own pace. In this way, THEY become the ultimate arbiters of the written word, not the author.”

Senstugamen endured the taunts of his fellow Millennials in a stone-faced manner, merely walking alone to the cafeteria to eat. On either side of him, two lines of Millennials formed. It was a perfect picture of Beiber-esque coifs, carefully untucked flannel, and expensive shoes. “Way to go, Rumsfeld!” shouted one Millennial, and shouts of “Old Dude” and “Obsolete” rang out through the crisp morning air.  

Senstugamen turned down a request for an in-depth interview, but did offer one last statement concerning the mob that taunted him on his way to the cafeteria: “I can go to my bookshelf right now and physically pull down a copy of Fahrenheit 451 and read about this very scene. What’s really hilarious is how this truly conformist crowd thinks of itself as original.”

Because of his status as Ostracized, Senstugamen will no longer be eligible for the free TMZ updates to his cell phone, or the Like, Super Gay Scholarship being offered to bright young techno-philes who haven’t voluntarily read a book since Goodnight, Moon (in 11^th grade).