A Best Of Selection as chosen by JK

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Salsa photobombs the Oscars.

“When I was first tasked with introducing a ‘Best Of…’ Reuben Salsa, I did wonder “who the fuck was he?” I wasn’t used to low-level satirists pleading for a leg-up without some serious arse-licking. One can’t pretend to be above it all without some perks.

Salsa promptly delivered and what a delightfully delicious bounty he was.

Where does one begin with a hot succulent talent such as his? The outrageous satire or the more, down-to-earth confessional posts? The humor that’ll slice through any virginal Potter or the long-forgotten poetry?

Here, for your pleasure (as I’ve already had mine), are my favorite Salsa stories.” …

I can’t get censored no matter how hard I try

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Images from Dailychubs on Instagram

I’m done with Instagram. I feel the platform isn’t treating me fairly. No matter how much flesh I expose, the algorithm refuses to notice my plus-size body.

I’ve tried everything. I’ve freed my nipple in the most sexually contrived manner I could possibly do. I tarted my nipple up with glitter and rubbed various lube around the surrounding man boob, but still had no response. My nipples remained on display freely living life in sub-zero temperatures, all perked and erect for action.

I’ve shown off my inner thighs that stretch-marked their way up to my navel. I’ve slow-moed the wobble action with glistening sweat shaken off in terror like some after-beached dog shaking itself dry. My thigh curves luxuriously across the screen in monolithic arty slabs of grey. …


Executive orders are a cloak for laziness

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Henry. Our newest company mascot at the Chateau de la Swine.

When you reach my level of Dicktatorial Executive Directionless, it’s easy to coast by with impunity. I can jolly along within the system as some white-bread excitable do-gooder creams themselves wanting to make a big splash offering to take on all the hard labor. It’s moments like that, covered head to toe in puppy-pleasing jizzcrement that makes my job so satisfying.

Board appointee is next level. It’s here that true loafing can commence. As a member of several boards erected to tent-pole adulation, I can attest to the fact that nobody really knows what goes on within the confines of this secret club. Meeting notes are faked. Lunches are bloated. Proposals are endorsed as part of some dick-swelling competition. And there’s always one man whose ego takes rampant ownership of all the dog-work as he seeks total control. …


One of only three men ever to be awarded the Victoria Cross twice

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Captain Charles Upham receives his first Victoria Cross from General Auchinleck on November 22, 1941. Source: Public domain.

“On 14/15 July 1942 at El Ruweisat Ridge, Western Desert, Captain Upham, in spite of being twice wounded, insisted on remaining with his men. Just before dawn he led his company in a determined attack, capturing the objective after fierce fighting; he himself destroyed a German tank and several guns and vehicles with hand grenades. Although his arm had been broken by a machine-gun bullet, he continued to dominate the situation and when at last, weak from loss of blood, he had his wounds dressed, he immediately returned to his men, remaining with them until he was again severely wounded and unable to move.” …


Singed pubes signaled ill-health

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Photo by Charles DeLoye on Unsplash

I can’t condemn or condone his actions. He did what he did. There was always something amiss about Tom. The way he lurked, poised to squeeze every last lemon from the basket. The manner in which he giggled when confronted by lace. He would make the entire office uncomfortable simply by being Tom.

I struck a friendship with Tom on a Tuesday. By late Thursday we were chugging beers in the titty-club opposite HQ. The ladies all showed a reluctance to entertain Tom. Very few pulled in close enough for him to deliver his bundle of notes. …


A brief history of Jack

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Photo by Luis Villasmil on Unsplash

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived thousands upon thousands of Jack’s. So popular was Jack, that everybody wanted to be like him. Daughters fell in love with Jack. Mum’s wanted a child named Jack. And all the men admired Jack for the umpteen trades he could do. Unfortunately, Jack was a master of none of them.

The etymology of Jack dates back to the Hebrew Ya’akov, Jacob. As noted by the bible, Jacob was ‘one who seizes by the heels’ or a ‘spring-heeled Jack’. It wasn’t long before the name became twisted into the English version that was easier to say and even easier to write. …

I have short-term memory lost. I often find myself writing in great detail, passage after passage and then simply forgetting, no, not forgetting, more like I can’t remember what I…

I named my firstborn Dick and regret nothing. This may be a little hard to understand, but I don’t want him to be cocky. I don’t like the name Richard…


Michael Jackson — Thriller

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Okay, I’m a little bored today, so this is what I did. I reconstructed a classic album by finding the worst possible versions of each song I could find on the net. Truly horrible, nasty, spectacularly bad versions of the entire album.

The album I chose was Michael Jackson’s Thriller.

The rules. They simply had to be bad. Even if that meant a terrible recording where you could barely make out the music counts as bad.

Here are the results:

Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’

It’s kinda cute at first, suckering you into a gentle rhythm of cymbals but you soon realize the drum machine won’t stop until it starts somethin’. What it’s startin’ will leave you wondering what’s happened to your life and how did you end up here listening to crap like this. …


Reuben Salsa


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