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Top Gear electric car "scandal"

Cyriak's animation of Jeremy Clarkson has caused an outrage because Cyriak "made it all up".

British television program Top Gear is under fire after staging yet another hilarious electric car malfunction. Despite the nature of these humorous works of fiction, electric automobile manufacturers are not laughing. Top Gear is already facing litigation from Tesla motors for their depiction of Tesla’s all-electric roadster. New controversy over a segment on the Nissan LEAF has ignited yet more fury in those who believe everything they see on Top Gear.

As it turns out, the Nissan LEAF spied on Jeremy Clarkson, reporting his GPS position, battery levels, and voice stress analysis to Nissan headquarters. A lie detecting algorithm was tripped, and Nissan’s robotic lawyers were pulled out of cryogenic storage. British news publications have been paid under the table by Nissan to report on this story and instructed to ignore the proper context. For whatever reason, they think they can convince people Top Gear isn’t a bunch of jokers who have to lie if they want to please their audience.

“Nissan has a monitoring device in the car which transmits information on the state of the battery. This shows that, while the company delivered the car to Top Gear fully charged, the programme-makers ran the battery down before Clarkson and May set off, until only 40% of the charge was left.” ~ George Monbiot (The Guardian)

For whatever inexplicable and insane reason, the fictional nature of many Top Gear segments is more outrageous than the horrifying fact that Nissan will tattle on anyone who uses their cars. Any future owners of the Nissan LEAF should be forewarned: This is not the car for an affair.

In related news, Top Gear is also facing anger from annoying tightwads due to praise from Norway mass-murderer Anders Breivik. In Norway, angry citizens have demanded that Top Gear be banned from television.

“Jeremy Clarkson heads the program Top Gear at the BBC, one of the funniest shows on TV. Since it has absolutely nothing to do with politics or religion, only with cars, it is one of the very few programmes at the Burka Broadcasting Corporation still worth seeing.” ~ Anders Brievik (Justiciar Knight and Martyr for Christendom)

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A Grad Student Who Knew Too Much

Berkey, at the start of our daylong interview.

On a brisk October morning in Brookline, a graduate student announced that he was an expert at something, to the total  indifference of his friends, peers and vague associates.

The student was reported to internetchronicle.org/ by a local informant and subsequently identified by spiteful classmates as first year Benjamin Berkey. Berkey, an enthusiast of the dark witch house music scene, tacitly agreed to make a phone statement to me by making dozens of unsolicited calls to the office of The Soviet Chronicle.

“I’ve read many thick tomes so, like Prodicus, I’ve become adept at choosing words. Often I finish sentences for other people in more exact ways than they ever could have expressed themselves. So, I’ve decided to go on a mission for total exactitude in language. Any time anyone strays from the Oxford Dictionary definition of a word, I will correct them in public in an elitist fashion. This will have innumerable social benefits.”

Berkey then invited me to watch him do his work across town to his sparsely furnished Allston apartment. I spent the next eight hours watching him gruel over a footnote, intermittently taking breaks to masturbate and troll the Internet with obscure semantic and grammatical criticisms.

“Work is hard, but I spend every second of every day knowing that I’m making a difference and growing intellectually. I’ve got a bright future and will surely finish my program with a good job. Not many people can say that these days.”

He then agreed to show me his favorite local coffee shop, where he ordered us espressos only to reject them several times due to “the quality of the crema.”

The barista eventually gave up and told us to fuck ourselves. We took a seat in the back of the checker-floored bar, next to a group of bicycle messengers playing bones.

One of the messengers from the group next to us.

As we sat down, one of the dudes among them, a pierced courier wearing a Brooklyn cycling cap, put the finishing touches on a lengthy monologue.

“…and that just begs the question, ‘Is McInnes libertard or not?'”

“Excuse me, sir,” interjected Berkey, “but I believe that you’ve made a mistake. The expression ‘begs the question’ does not in fact designate something that raises questions, but instead refers to an instance of circular reasoning. Be warned.”

The messenger looked over at him and his septum piercing flicked a little spark of a glint in the light. A pug-faced drunken crusty messenger appeared from among the group.

“Why you gotta be a bitch, man? Nobody asked you, faggot. Nobody spoke to you.”

The altercation deeply shocked Berkey, who became horribly insulted. He began to shake and then suddenly walked out of the coffee bar and refused to answer subsequent calls to his cellphone.

I never heard from him again.

RIP, Benjamin Berkey

Update: Several weeks after our encounter, The Boston Globe reported that Berkey had disappeared without a trace. Even more strangely, authorities declined to open an investigation into his disappearance. His family’s attempts to sue the Boston Police Department were bizarrely dismissed in a similar fashion. And in a final twist, my dumbfounded reading of the report to The Chronicle office occasioned a smile in our editor, Kilgore Trout.

“Yeah, the sergeant at Boston PD actually clued me in weeks ago. Benjamin Berkey was administratively arrested as part of a law enforcement operation targeting known gang members and associates.”

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Man trades .129034 Bitcoin to become Afghan Warlord

[pullquote]”Who needs friends when you can have Bitcoins?” ~ Danny MacLeod[/pullquote]This is the story of a keen young man by the name of Danny MacLeod who traded his way up in life and is now the most successful warlord in the Helmand Valley of Afghanistan. He started with only an inane argument about the value of gold, and he now owns 100,000 acres of poppy-rich land, a harem of  15 underage girls, a highly trained and loyal militant group, and a small fleet of dependable 4wd Toyota Tacomas equipped with 35mm machine guns.

It all started in December of 2010 when the strapping young Danny MacLeod argued his closest friend out of .129034 Bitcoin. MacLeod recounts, “All I had to do was explain to my friend how all forms of money are in fact worthless unless backed by gold. He gave me this fraction of a Bitcoin on a floppy disk and told me to fuck right off. Who needs friends when you can have Bitcoins?”

Danny MacLeod then traded this floppy disk to his local drug dealer for a single ecstasy pill. The dealer commented, “Oh fuck, I think I remember that. I would’ve given him a whole bag of pills just to shut the fuck up. I fucking hate Danny sometimes. I threw that gay internet money floppy disk away.”

Trina lived the last days of her life in fear of Danny MacLeod

The enterprising young MacLeod then took his single ecstasy pill downtown and traded it to a desperate crack-whore, Trina, famous for entirely toothless blowjobs. However, MacLeod was intelligent enough not to squander this valuable blowjob. Instead, MacLeod hung it over her head and treated Trina as if she owed him her life. Knowing his way around the business, MacLeod contacted Trina’s pimp to start some shit. “I told that sonofabitch his whore had taken my pill and never gave me a blowjob. I told him I’d kill him if he didn’t set this straight, and I told him he should know Danny MacLeod doesn’t fuck around.” The pimp apologized profusely and traded MacLeod ownership of the deadbeat hooker in return for peace. MacLeod had worked his way up to ownership of a toothless crack-whore named Trina.

Trina provided MacLeod with as much as fifty bucks a day, providing he remembered to threaten her life. In the course of a month, MacLeod made nearly a grand from Trina. Sadly, MacLeod overworked Trina, and she died from her tragic crack addiction. This was MacLeod’s first setback in his rise to glory. Always a cunning businessman, MacLeod sold the body to a necrophilia ring and doubled up his money. MacLeod now had two grand, and he invested it all in bitcoins. By April, the price of bitcoins quadrupled, and MacLeod figured it was a good time to liquify his holdings.

Using his blotter acid creatively, MacLeod created a cult of personality.

MacLeod spent every last bitcoin on 100 sheets of LSD blotter. Using contacts he’d made in the child trafficking world, Danny traded 96 and a half sheets of acid for 15 sexy young female slaves. With the remaining acid, MacLeod convinced a few friends of his who worked for Blackwater to take him to Afghanistan and begin a Fourth Reich in the Helmand Valley and trigger Helter Skelter. By carefully dosing out the final sheets, MacLeod kept his team of assassins and killers just deluded enough to serve him, and only fucked up enough to hone their hateful bloodlust with a hyper-sensitive edge.

Danny has grown comfortable in his new digs and enjoys owning the majority of the world’s opium-producing Real Estate. The local farmers fear him, as do competing warlords. And to think, anyone can rise to such glorious heights just by starting with an inane argument about the value of gold. Danny MacLeod’s ingenuity should serve as an example to us all, representing perfectly the benefits of free market capitalism and the ideals that underpin America’s success.

Danny MacLeod and his team of Blackwater acidheads pose for the cameras.