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. …


Are you tired of the endless lies and bullshit?

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Image by Pittaya on Flickr

Life isn’t a happy plot line meandering its way through the hero’s journey. Yet, every time you read an article on Medium, or submit a piece to a big-time publication, they all want to hear the same thing. Bring the story to a conclusion. Outline the lessons learned. Shine a light on the positives. Hit a concluding note.

Life isn’t like that. We all know this. So why put up with this crap? I’m assuming most people’s lives are much like everybody’s life. It’s full of tedious moments sprinkled with horror and delight in equal measures. I’m sick of ending every fucking story with a point. …


The Principality of Hutt River cedes to the government due to the economic impact of the pandemic

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Prince Leonard Casley, pictured in 1998 with his French-born wife, Princess Shirley. Source: Olivier Chouchana/Gamma-Rapho/Getty Images

I love this story so much. One man’s battle against an oppressive government. Standing up to ‘the man’ in response to an unfair system that prevented him from selling his goods. And then he went extreme! If the only way to beat the system was to enact an archaic law and declare independence as a country…then so be it!

There’s a lot to be admired in one man’s determination not to break.

Leonard Casley was angry. In his mind, the Australian government was demanding too much. They had upped the wheat quota production and Casley was fighting back. …


We had fully embraced taking the red pill

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It was meant to be a joke. A stoned-high that led to a preposterous proposition. The unthinkable was about to become a reality and all we needed was a test subject. We had invented the first-ever ‘Keanu Reeves Stimulating Stimulator’™ (KRSS).

Once built, we knew we were onto something. Our first test subject couldn’t wait to be stimulated. It was a full-body suit with buggery attachments and vibro options that glowed red when fully charged. The headset plugged directly into the ‘Keanu Neuro Landscrapper’™ that allowed the abused to be forced fed Keanu’s greatest movements in toileting history. The cut scenes of Ted taking a massive dump on-screen could be relived over and over again. …

The star of the Matrix has set a bad example

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“Why can’t you be more like Keanu?” dogged my missus as I failed for the hundredth time to live up to the mammoth task of becoming more Keanu.

It’s not my fault, I would wail (apparently like a small child wearing a dress). I was born this way, and I can’t change.

That’s not 100% true. I’ve tried changing. I hired a Russian to kill our beloved pet dog in order for me to go on a rampaging marathon of death and destruction. I’ve colored every pill in the house a deep shade of red in order to see the true world. I’ve pretended I could time travel by being my future self whenever the wife asked if I’ve put the garbage out and inevitably I hadn’t. …


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. …


Reuben Salsa


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