Archive for the 'Acts of the Hummus Idol' Category

15
Dec
11

Acts of the Hummus Idol: Those Darn Duggars Edition

While Deacon Blue does things like help raise his adorable (*retch* the cuteness!) little girl and satisfy his artistic side through fiction…and while his wife, Black Girl In Maine, basks in the glow of being #70 on a top-100 list of mom bloggers while also meeting the needs of the poor and disenfranchised through her job…and Son of Blue expands his mind at college in a philosophy program and makes #6 on a top-10 list at Forbes for best free albums of 2010…I languish in service to the Deacon answering your shitty questions.

And to think, I once held thousands of lost souls in my thrall and feasted on their spiritual misery while laying waste to whole cities when they displeased me.

I was feared and respected. And feared. Even that Yahweh guy got his idea to turn Lot’s wife into a pillar of salt from something I did a few hundred years earlier. Then he went and burned down Sodom, which I had helped to found in the first place.

Fuck my (eternal) life.

I, the great and powerful Hummus Idol, will now entertain your questions and grant unto you the wisdom that only a pile of very angry crushed chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and other seasonings can offer. Don’t let the smiling face fool you. I am a fridge-cold killah. Bow down before me, speak your question, and incline your ears or any other convenient part of your anatomy as I spew my advice upon thee.

Q: Man, Michelle Duggar miscarried what was supposed to be her 20th child? Cool! Maybe this will be the wakeup call that the clown car that is her vagina needs to be junked for good. Don’t you agree? - Kevin Shittheal, Austin, Texas

A: For the love of whatever fucking god you worship, have a little compassion! I mean, I’m an evil muthafukkah to be sure, but even I have my limits. The Duggar family may be out of control batshit crazy and promoting a family model that is unhealthy and unsustainable for folks who aren’t media whores, but they were expecting a child. They were ready and willing to pour love (presumably) into that kid’s life along with the insane media circus to which they subject their children (and us). You don’t kick a person when they’re down; most particularly you don’t kick a woman in the uterus when she’s just miscarried.

I mean, shit! I once possessed a nun so I could go to a Special Olympics event and make retard jokes loudly during the event. You should have seen the faces of the parents and coaches and spectators. Good times. A pity my biting wit and sarcastic jibes went over the heads of all but a few of the competitors.

I once mystically compelled a Jewish boy to fill his pockets with slices of deli ham and slices of bacon, and then caused him to gorge on them in front of his family and the rabbi right after he did his Torah reading and gave his little d’var Torah presentation. Oh, joy! Watching the Orthodox Jews in attendance freak out was so cool, though I didn’t get much or a rise of of the Reform Jews, sadly.

Or there were the times I compelled perfectly healthy, reasonably sane, attractive women to not only marry folks like Hugh Heffner and Larry King in recent years but to actually view those men naked on a regular basis, kiss then and have sex with them.

So, you can see, I’m an evil god indeed. And even I think you’ve gone over the line of good taste.

Q: Dude! Did you or the Deacon see this shit? Did you see this story about it? Or this one? OK, I kind of get they wanted photos of the child Michelle had to deliver after miscarrying, to have in their family memories. Sorta. But what the fuck kind of people hold a full-fledged memorial service for extended family and friends over a miscarriage? More importantly, what family takes a picture of the mom holding the dead fetus in her fingers and puts it on a card? And then distributes copies to all the people at the memorial service? And then, after some family member or friend posts that shit online, who the hell sits around not batting an eyelash and being fine with it? Fucking Duggars, that’s who. Somebody get them some help and get them off the damn air! - Leo P. Chestpuffer III, Cicero, Illinois

A: All righty, then. I may have to withdraw most of what I just said to Kevin up above.

Q: I normally don’t like to invoke your unholy powers, but if I give you a brief vacation, will you please render the Duggars irrelevant like you did with Sarah Palin? - Deacon Blue, New England

A: Deal.

(Image by Stewart Butterfield, who is not affiliated with this blog and who doesn’t even know I or my opinions exist, and used under Creative CommonsAttribution 2.0 License)

(Hummus Idol does not speak as a representative or agent of Deacon Blue or anyone else associated with this blog. In fact, Hummus Idol doesn’t exist. He is wholly and completely a manufactured character that acts as an angry facade behind which Deacon Blue can hide for petty entertainment purposes and for times when he needs to be extra crusty and get shit off his chest. That said, you can feel free to shower the Hummus Idol with offerings of jewelry, money or fine art…he will make sure it goes someplace where it is needed.) View complete list of Humus Idol entries here.

10
Oct
11

Acts of the Hummus Idol: Back from the Dead Edition

Bloody and flesh-rended damnation! Hellfire and nether-douchery! Curse Deacon Blue to the lowest pit of the Abyss, where I shall eternally direct cockroaches to crawl across his skin, command “American Idol” rejects to sing power ballads to him, and order Dr. Josef Mengele’s demonic shade to give him “special” massages involving car batteries and electrodes.

Can you see the olive oil tears dripping down my mashed chickpea face? February 2010! Do you know what that is? It’s the last time I was forced to endure the indignity of doing this Q&A column for Deacon Blue. For well over a year-and-a-half, I have eluded this foul man through the many layers of the multiverse. Even Dog the Bounty Hunter couldn’t find me. Not even paparazzi photographers. Not even Google Map searches

And how did he finally track me down? Social media. And Steve “Oh look isn’t the iPad cool I created the Mac I’m rich and wonderful and changed the world” Jobs is to blame. If he hadn’t posted on Godbook that we various higher powers of the many pantheons were considering giving him a demi-godhood now that he’s shucked off his mortal coil, the deacon wouldn’t have known where to find me. And how did Deacon Blue get a Godbook account anyway? He’s a deacon, not a deity! Curse you, Mark Zuckerberg! It’s too late for me to do anything about Jobs, because he’s already dead and his applications are already filed, but for letting a mortal know about Godbook…especially THAT mortal…I will see your eternal soul in Gehenna before I let you taste godhood.

I, the great and powerful Hummus Idol, will now entertain your questions and grant unto you the wisdom that only a pile of very angry crushed chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and other seasonings can offer. Don’t let the smiling face fool you. I am a fridge-cold killah. Bow down before me, speak your question, and incline your ears or any other convenient part of your anatomy as I spew my advice upon thee.

Q: So, what do you think that chances are of New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie winning the GOP nomination and taking the Oval Office from Pres. Barack Obama? - The Situation’s Smarter Second-Cousin, Jersey Shore, N.J.

A: While I give you “mad props” (as the youth like to say…or at least how I like to believe the wretched street urchins say) for being able to string together a more coherent thought than your cousin or anyone else on MTV’s “Jersey Shore” can, you apparently need to bone up on your listening comprehension skills. The man has said “No, I’m not running for president in 2012″ exactly 8,932 times by last count, in 17 different languages, including American Sign Language (like GOP hopeful Herman Cain, however, I admit that I don’t have the facts to back this up). As such, I think you must settle for the fact that with a group of nutcases (and loser drop-outs like certain Alaskan folk who sold their soul to me) and Mitt Romney in the race, it’s going to be Obama vs. Romney, with a likely Obama win since the series “Big Love” has probably put America off the idea of a Mormon president.

Now, this fills me with no small amount of dismay. I’ve been trying to get the other, more volatile, out of touch, batshit crazy, make-up-stuff-just-to-please-the-masses folks to the forefront, but I’m not going to wield my full juju on one of their behalf without a contract in blood and a soul in hock to me.

After they saw what the loss of a soul did to Sarah Palin’s sanity and job prospects, they’ve been a bit leery of me. Oh, well, there’s always 2016. If I have my way, though, it won’t be Chris Christie then, either, as he’s used words like “negotiate,” “compromise” and other reasonable terms that suggest he might actually try to get useful things done if he were in the Oval Office. That’s not what I’m looking for.

Q: I really want my wife to get into a three-way with me and the hot next-door-neighbor. How can I go about making this happen? - Russell Handabout, Cupertino, Calif.

A: I took this question from Cupertino in honor of Steve Jobs’ passing, and I would like to sincerely say that you should sit down with your wife, explain your desires and needs, and explore her own needs, with the notion in mind that you, too, may need to engage in some activities for her benefit that you might never have considered before. You may also need to abandon this specific fantasy but be open to a different sort of direction in life that both of you can forge together sexually. Be thoughtful, considerate and open/honest in your communications…

…oh, shit…I just couldn’t keep going without chuckling and spewing olive oil all over the keyboard. That would be waaaaay too much work, and frankly, might actually be part of building healthy sexual communications. So, my real advice?

Tequila.

And lots of it.

Maybe crack, too.

Q: Who’s going the win the NFL championship at this season’s Super Bowl? - Carl Lister, Provo,Utah

A: Cincinnati Bengals vs. Buffalo Bills, with the Bills for the win by a 24-point margin.

(Image by Stewart Butterfield, who is not affiliated with this blog and who doesn’t even know I or my opinions exist, and used under Creative CommonsAttribution 2.0 License)

(Hummus Idol does not speak as a representative or agent of Deacon Blue or anyone else associated with this blog. In fact, Hummus Idol doesn’t exist. He is wholly and completely a manufactured character that acts as an angry facade behind which Deacon Blue can hide for petty entertainment purposes and for times when he needs to be extra crusty and get shit off his chest. That said, you can feel free to shower the Hummus Idol with offerings of jewelry, money or fine art…he will make sure it goes someplace where it is needed.) View complete list of Humus Idol entries here.

14
Feb
10

Acts of the Hummus Idol, No! Let Me Go! Edition

What offense have I committed against the universe or its creator that it or He continues to inflict me with the cursed Deacon Blue!? For months, nine of them to be precise, I have managed to hide behind an infernal nexus under a spiritual singularity sandwiched between a nether portal node and chaos spiral quasi-warp.

Not that any of you self-important, over-evolved chimps calling yourselves homo sapiens would understand any of that. Suffice to say, my delicious and nutritious godly self was well hidden from the Deacon, who had bound me to service to him through the most devious means possible: plenty of lawyers with mountains of court orders, injunctions and liens.

I knew I shouldn’t have condemned all my legal counsel to the depths of Gehenna 10 years ago.

Oh, and how did the mortal bastard track me down to drag me back here? I don’t even want to say, but he compels me to. Dog the fucking bounty hunter. A reality TV putz. Found by a blond Neanderthal named Dog. I won’t be able to show myself in godly circles for centuries now without shame. Zeus already revoked my Olympus privileges. Though that might have had something more to do with nailing Hera last week…

I, the great and powerful Hummus Idol, will now entertain your questions and grant unto you the wisdom that only a pile of very angry crushed chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and other seasonings can offer. Don’t let the smiling face fool you. I am a fridge-cold killah. Bow down before me, speak your question, and incline your ears or any other convenient part of your anatomy as I spew my advice upon thee.

Q: How the hell can we get writer/director/loudmouth Kevin Smith to let up on us already? I mean, sure, we have a random policy of persecution against large people, but we don’t charge extra for people’s baggage. That’s gotta count for something, right? And we offered him a $100 voucher. And said “sorry” even though we treated him like shit and called him a safety risk. What can we do? - Southwest Airlines (http://twitter.com/SouthwestAir).

A: You mortals who don’t already follow Kevin Smith at http://twitter.com/ThatKevinSmith via Twitter (as I do, because who else talks as much about smoking weed and licking out his wife’s ass?), you can click here and/or click here for some stories on the Southwest Airlines fuck-up.

Now, to answer the desperate concerns of the Southwest Airlines public relations team: Don’t you idiots realize this it the information age? First off, plenty of other folks noticed that “Silent Bob” was on the flight. And you should have been overjoyed he flies you instead of first class on United or something. You have 1.3 million followers on your Twitter page. He has 1.6 million. And his followers probably like him more than yours like you. You are outclassed.

Even if this had been a normal mortal, do you know how many ranting tweets and Facebook posts go viral? Piss off the wrong person who just gets noticed by a bunch of other people, and your image is toast.

Just give up, shut up and hope he tires of ridiculing you soon. You might want to reconsider your capricious and inconsistently applied policy, too. Oh, and lower your rates, damn it! You used to be a cheap airline. How am I supposed to smuggle my minions across the United States with you costing more than the bigger airlines sometimes now?

Shit, I am going to tweet about you mercilessly now, too, just as soon as I figure out how to register an account with the firewalls the Deacon has set up to keep me from communicating with potential rescuers.

Oh, and while I love your filthy mouth and mind, Kevin, suck it up already. You made your point. And if you think you have it bad, consider when I tried to fly a couple decades or so ago, and they tried to serve me up as an in-flight snack. Of course, the joke was on them when I used my powers to crash the plane into a frozen peak and they ended up having to chow down on their own dead.

Yeah, I’m bitter like that.

Q: Please, please, can I give up the act already? I don’t know how much longer I can pretend to believe the insane shit I spout on-air. - Glenn Beck

A: Offer up your children to me in sacrifice. Or your wife. You were wise enough to only lease your soul to me instead of selling it, but you still owe me for all the money and viewers I sent your way. Keep spouting the utter nonsense and working the teabaggers and birthers into a frenzy. I need the chaos they create.

Q: Why do people keep snickering at me when I say I’m a teabagger? - Simon Scrotumberg, Nashville, Tenn.

A: Because teabagging is a sexual term that means someone is sucking on your balls or vice-versa. Just like you’re sucking the balls of the GOP, which is gumming up government just to be evil and contrary (thankfully for me) and the balls of every commentator on FOX News who gleefully lies to you at my command.

Q: How can we reclaim the term “teabagging” from that damn Teabag Party and all its dopey minions? - Stewart Suckerworth, Augusta, Maine

A: Do your filthy act in the public squares and in the middle of the workplace, and shout “I’m teabagging this guy!” or “I’m being teabagged by this dude (or chick)!” and get several thousands of your closest friends to do the same nationwide. And put it on YouTube and Twitpic.

(Image by Stewart Butterfield, who is not affiliated with this blog and who doesn’t even know I or my opinions exist, and used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License)

(Hummus Idol does not speak as a representative or agent of Deacon Blue or anyone else associated with this blog. In fact, Hummus Idol doesn’t exist. He is wholly and completely a manufactured character that acts as an angry facade behind which Deacon Blue can hide for petty entertainment purposes and for times when he needs to be extra crusty and get shit off his chest. That said, you can feel free to shower the Hummus Idol with offerings of jewelry, money or fine art…he will make sure it goes someplace where it is needed.) View complete list of Humus Idol entries here.

01
Apr
09

Acts of the Hummus Idol, Springing Back

I realize that I have been gone a long while, and no doubt your hearts and souls have languished in my absence.

However, I see precious few deflowered virgins, blood sacrifices, burnt offerings or even household altars to indicate how much you appreciate me.

Fuckers.

In any case, not that I owe you any explanation, but I have been gone thanks to a misunderstanding with some of the authorities in the spiritual world.

Seems that someone (probably that  nosy-assed Cupid or that son of a bitch Loki) overheard me say that I advocate the beating of children. As such, protective authorities have had me in custody, as child beatings are one of the few things frowned upon among god and godlings.

However, it has since been cleared up, when I was able to prove I was talking about the eating of children. This is a practice I wholeheartedly endorse, along with my friend Baba Yaga and some trolls that I associate with sometimes, and it is not forbidden among the supernatural folk. And now, back to the lowly task that Deacon Blue has set for me…

I, the great and powerful Hummus Idol, will now entertain your questions and grant unto you the wisdom that only a pile of very angry crushed chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and other seasonings can offer. Don’t let the smiling face fool you. I am a fridge-cold killah. Bow down before me, speak your question, and incline your ears or any other convenient part of your anatomy as I spew my advice upon thee.

Q: Barack Obama has already gone back on, or failed to advance, many of the platforms, policies and philosophies he touted on the campaign trail. And despite his vaunted education, here the stock market continues to be troubled and we are on the verge of a new Depression. How can anyone support him? - Oscar P. Numbnuts, Manchester, N.H.

A: I am loathe to support or defend Obama. I was quite happy with the depradations of Bush and Cheney, and was hoping for more of the same, which is why I was cheering for the Old Geezer and the Crazy Bitch this past election (sadly, as a native of the Nether Realms, I was ineligible to vote). But in all honesty, when was the last time you saw a candidate follow through on all the campaign promises, or even a good chunk of them, once in office? Reality is a bitch, and things change. Also, he hasn’t even finished his first hundred days in office. Moreover, I am a god, and even if I wanted to (which I expressly do NOT), I couldn’t fix the mess that Bush and Cheney left in less than six months.

Q: Is there any way you can lay down a curse on Deacon Blue for banning me? - Thordaddy, Somewhere in the Land of Ignorance

A: If it were up to me, I’d have you back in a heartbeat. I loved your stuff in the comments here. However, Deacon Blue has certain…controls…over me that prevent me from acting against him. Would that it were otherwise, as I would squeeze the blood from his flesh and grind his bones to powder. You’re my kind of guy, spreading divisiveness under the guise of promoting freedom. Misusing religion to support unequal treatment. Refusing to bend to logic. Hell, you should have had a place in Bush’s administration. Best of luck to you!

Q: What do you think of the new Facebook layout? I love it! - Lols Texter Twitterson, Santa Fe, New Mexico

A: It’s great, if you have time all day to spend on it sorting through the ton of crap that gets dumped on your main page now. It’s the best new version of Twitter that I’ve ever seen. A pity that it should look like Facebook instead.

(Image by Stewart Butterfield, who is not affiliated with this blog and who doesn’t even know I or my opinions exist, and used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License)

(Hummus Idol does not speak as a representative or agent of Deacon Blue or anyone else associated with this blog. In fact, Hummus Idol doesn’t exist. He is wholly and completely a manufactured character that acts as an angry facade behind which Deacon Blue can hide for petty entertainment purposes and for times when he needs to be extra crusty and get shit off his chest. That said, you can feel free to shower the Hummus Idol with offerings of jewelry, money or fine art…he will make sure it goes someplace where it is needed.) View complete list of Humus Idol entries here.

19
Dec
08

Acts of the Hummus Idol, Winter Solstice Edition

What is it with females, be they mortal or godly? I mean, is there some sort of feminine radar and some hormonal imperative that drives you to wound us males at our weakest moments?

I only just got over Aphrodite dumping me for that cat-goddess Bast. I only just mended fences with the Norse pantheon after laying waste to the borders of their realm.

And now, I get a visit from Mama Baba Ghanoush, who is the eggplant-based dipping delicacy equivalent to my chickpea-based one. We were married for centuries until that falling out over whether to enslave mortals or empower them (I’m all for total subjugation, of course, much like the neo-conservatives of your United States). We split up before we got around to making any godlings, and it’s one of the only regrets of my life (I’d even welcome a bean dip-based god-child to carry on my legacy at this point, though a Guacamole god or French Onion dip god would be my preference). She says she just wants to make sure I’m OK because she hears I’ve been hitting the nectar of the gods pretty heavily these days…yadda yadda yadda.

Females. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t exile them to the nether realms when you’re done with ‘em.

I, the great and powerful Hummus Idol, will now entertain your questions and grant unto you the wisdom that only a pile of very angry crushed chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and other seasonings can offer. Don’t let the smiling face fool you. I am a fridge-cold killah. Bow down before me, speak your question, and incline your ears or any other convenient part of your anatomy as I spew my advice upon thee.

Q: I’m concerned about the state of this country, and where Barack Obama will lead it. Abortions will be handed out free to every woman who wants one, those who don’t want one will be forced to get them to control the population, Christians will be silenced, the Pledge of Allegiance will be eliminated, Feminazis will take over and Eco-terrorists will rule. Also, I’m kind of worried about my future. Do I still have one? - The Voice of the Conservative Movement

A: First off, “Voice of the Conservative Movement”? Really? I know it’s you, Rush Limbaugh. The only movement you’re qualified to lead—with your anti-intellectual raving partisan madness—is a really good bowel movement. Might flush some of those prescription drugs you abuse out of your system, too. I mean, you’re a worse ideological celebrity hack than the duo of Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins (or Richard Gere in his heyday) over on the left-hand side of the aisle, and they make me want to spew mashed chickpeas.

But to answer your question: Yes, your time is over. Or rather, it’s time for you to be marginalized. The left wing gets its turn now. You had your free ride for at least the past eight years. Sit your gargantuan ass down and make room for someone else. MSNBC is the new FOX News, for better or worse. And you’re at least as big an idiot as George W. Bush, so you should be happy you have gainful employment at all. Frankly, I’d rather people like you were in power, because idiot right-wing nutjobs factor into my devious plans very nicely. And the stupider ones, like anyone who actually believes FOX News is “fair and balanced,” are easier to control. Those damned left-wingers, even the idiot ones, are too secular for me to get my meathooks into them. It’s kind of hard to get someone to sell their soul to me when they aren’t even sure they believe they have one.

Q: Hummus Idol, you know that I oppose you with my powers as the spiritual head of the Church of O and 75% of all American women, but I regretably admit that I need your help. I am very bothered that Sarah Palin is snubbing my show. I said I would be happy to talk to her when the election was over…I went and tried to talk to her and instead she talked to Greta Van Susteren. She talked to Matt Lauer. She talked to Larry King. But she didn’t talk to me. What’s up with that and what can you do about it? You still own her soul, and I’m willing to hand over one of my minions to you in a blood offering to get Sarah on my show. - Her Exalted O-ness, Chicago, Illinois

A: Oprah, Oprah, Oprah.  *sigh* You think you have true power with your secular, media-worshipping, semi-feminist, consumerism-glorifying, pop-psychology brand of “spirituality”? You only have real power over Stedman, your staff, and unsuspecting all-you-can-eat buffet operations. After continuing to illustrate her balls-out stupidity to America instead of hunkering down in Alaska to regroup (I loved the on-camera interview she conducted just before Thanksgiving, with a guy bloodily slaughtering not one but two turkeys in the background), Sarah is actually showing some intelligence for once by shunning you. Still, I remain angry at her for betraying me recently, so give me details on who you’re sacrificing to me, to make sure you aren’t wasting my time, and I’ll get her to appear on your show.

Q: I stand ready to serve you, my lord and master, and to lead souls to you. On this year’s solstice on Sunday, at midnight, I shall lay totally naked on a river-worn boulder in the woods of wintery Vermont and perform an animal sacrifice to summon you to me and mark me as your high priestess. All worship the Hummus Idol! - Your Biggest Worshipper

A: Dear merciless entropy! I had one of my sniveling goblin slaves do some IP hunting and pingbacks and whatever else IT folks have to do, and I realized you’re the same woman who posted here as Cynthia Felize and here as Going Pagan Just Wasn’t Good Enough. Stop stalking me, you wench! I am most disturbed by the fact you first posted from California and then from Kansas, and now you’re talking about Vermont, meaning you’ve  been moving eastward and must have somehow discovered where I am by tracking Deacon Blue. Stay away from me! If you successfully summon my avatar to your ritual and force me to view what I presume to be your pockmarked ass, pimply back, unshaven legs and…ohhh, I don’t even want to imagine your coochie…it will not go well for you. Find some new spiritual entity to hound.

Q: My big brother says Santa Claus isnt real. Is he telling the truth? - Jimmy Fleaboggle, 3rd grader, Carl Jeebus Elementary School, Topeka, Kansas

A: Yes, Jimmy, there really is a Santa Claus. And if he doesn’t like the kind of cookies you leave out for him with the milk, he will slaughter your entire family in their sleep and take you to the North Pole to work in his toy-making sweatshop.

Q: Are you the one who got those shoes thrown at my head at that press conference in Iraq? - President George W. Bush

A: Thought it was funny as hell, but no, I can’t take credit for it. I thought Baalzebub might have had something to do with it, since you actually refused to sell your soul to him even after he offered you the trifecta of widsom, intelligence and good leadership abilities for it. Turns out he didn’t have a hand in it, either. You just seem to have hit rock bottom with your legacy all by your lonesome. Kind of like when you hit rock bottom with the alcohol and drugs and decided to sober up. Except when that happened, of course, you didn’t take a whole nation down with you. Also, unlike with the booze and coke, you don’t seem to have actually noticed that you’ve hit bottom yet.

Q: Um, why is Barack Obama picking all these connected and well-entrenched folks for his Cabinet and such? I thought he was going to bring us change. - A Disappointed Progressive Liberal Change-Desiring Voter

A: Because he’s a politician. Not a messiah. Not a saint. Not change personified. Get over it. No one runs for president of the United States without wanting power, prestige and/or an ego stroke. He already gave you change by getting elected. But he’ll probably actually work toward trying to do some good, which is why I intend to continue opposing him with all of my evil tahini-golem minions.

(Image by Stewart Butterfield, who is not affiliated with this blog and who doesn’t even know I or my opinions exist, and used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License)

(Hummus Idol does not speak as a representative or agent of Deacon Blue or anyone else associated with this blog. In fact, Hummus Idol doesn’t exist. He is wholly and completely a manufactured character that acts as an angry facade behind which Deacon Blue can hide for petty entertainment purposes and for times when he needs to be extra crusty and get shit off his chest. That said, you can feel free to shower the Hummus Idol with offerings of jewelry, money or fine art…he will make sure it goes someplace where it is needed.) View complete list of Humus Idol entries here.

08
Dec
08

Acts of the Hummus Idol, December Edition

I was a bit…harsh…with certain individuals last time, and that might have been…an overreaction…on my part to being jilted by Aphrodite recently. I’m not saying that those I smote with horrible curses didn’t deserve it. I’m not saying I’m sorry. It’s just…

(Ring, ring) Hello? Odin? Wait, before you say anything, I will send you some money to fix up that damage from my assault against your realm. And a get-well card to Freyja and Freyr, too. It wasn’t my grandest moment heaving them both over a cliff into the hungry maws and well-armed hands of my army of manticore-mounted ape-demons. I know Thor is already over me raining brimstone and fire on his head, but buying a 24-pack of some good microbrew can get him to forgive anything short of sleeping with Sif. Are you and I cool?

Oh, hell, this friggin’ mortal Deacon Blue is hounding me again about answering questions for his readers…hold on, Odin…

I, the great and powerful Hummus Idol, will now entertain your questions and grant unto you the wisdom that only a pile of very angry crushed chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and other seasonings can offer. Don’t let the smiling face fool you. I am a fridge-cold killah. Bow down before me, speak your question, and incline your ears or any other convenient part of your anatomy as I spew my advice upon thee.

Q: OK, Hummus Idol, I’ve done my part to help continue this nonsense that Barack Obama isn’t really an American citizen and therefore cannot be president. Glad to do it, after all, since Obama isn’t the kind of black man I want to see taking the spotlight anyway. Not that this crazy plan is going to work, but if it puts a tarnish on the uppity bastard, I’m happy. You should be too. I’ve held up my part of the bargain, and then some. So where do we stand? - Justice Clarence Thomas, U.S. Supreme Court

A: You’ve done a good job, Clarence. Your white peers will be very proud of you. You’re just the kind of black man the conservative Republicans can appreciate. Unlike Colin Powell or Condie Rice, for example, you aren’t saddled with anything burdensome like any trace of a spine or any glimmer of integrity. I must say, I’m impressed you did this for me or, rather, the nice folks who sold their souls to me to make Obama’s life miserable. So, after taking your soul in return for getting you through those confirmation hearings back in ’91, I hereby return it to you for your favor here.

Of course, if you sell it back to me, I can get you the Chief Justice slot, even with Obama in power. You know where to reach me.

Q: How do I get blood stains out of suede? - Oscar K. Sandoval, The Bronx

A: I’d say your bigger problem would be the fingerprints you left behind at the scene of the crime. But if fashion is still your number-one concern, try dabbing a little hydrogen peroxide on the stains with a cotton ball.

Q: Look, I should still have some credit with you from our deal back in 1995. When should I expect you to get me out of this mess and back home where I belong? - O.J. Simpson

A: If you had stayed your ass at home like any smart sonofabitch who got off of killing his wife would have (should have take some tips from Robert Blake), you wouldn’t be looking at 15 years in prison, you idiot. And credit? Credit. Pardon me while I laugh my nonexistent ass off. Do you know how much work it was to sway a jury not to convict you the first time? Do you know how hard it was to get the prosecution and the investigating officers to implode and to make people think your legal team was making sense? If you think you have any credit, you are sorely overestimating the value of your soul. Now, if it was Jackie Robinson’s soul we were talking about. Or a Joe Montana/Jerry Rice combo. Or Michael Jordan. Or Wayne Gretzky. Or the Williams sisters. Well, in those cases, there might be some credit left over. Frankly, I think you owe me. Throw in the soul of one of your kids and maybe I can keep your cellmate off your ass during your stretch.

Q: Satan’s at the top of my hit list, dude, but I’m going to shred your ass just like I’ve shredded with my skateboard. You’re going down, Hummus; you and all your kind. I’ve got a bitchin’ reality show called “The Uprising” where I’m going to go up to total stangers and share the good news of the Lord. I’m so gonna win a ton of souls for Christ. You’re going down, loser. - Christian Hosoi

A: Most people don’t follow the careers of pro skateboarders, I’m sorry to inform you. So, you’re not nearly as relevant as you want to think you are. Outside of the skateboarding scene, even Tony Hawk doesn’t rate on anyone’s radar unless they play XBox, PlayStation or Wii. And most folks react badly to being confronted on the street, uninvited, with the gospel. But hey, go for it. Try to hand me my ass. I’m sure you can do more damage than ten soap-box preachers together in terms of turning people away from Jesus. You’ll be doing me a favor…oh, hell, you should see the text message Satan just sent me about you. Shit, you could be worth a few laughs, son. Hope your show hangs on for a few seasons.

Q: My house has been on the market for nearly a year now, and the economy is going to crap. I didn’t want to do this, but if I sell you my soul, can you get the damned thing to move before I go broke paying a mortgage on a place I don’t even live in anymore? - Kevin Armelflasterbacher, Santa Feltcher, Calif.

A: Sell me your soul and I can get it sold in one month at half of what you paid for it.

Look, I’m a miracle worker, but I can only do so much. This market sucks right now.

Q: I was one of the people trying to rip down the door of that Wal-Mart on Black Friday, and I think I may have stepped on the head of that guy we trampled. I feel bad and all, but those sales were sweet, and I really, really, really needed a TV for my bathroom for those really long toilet visits. And you know, the fat fuck really should have gotten out of our way, but still, I hope I wasn’t the one who killed him for good. Um, how bad is this for me? - Feeling Just A Little Guilty, Mineola, N.Y.

A: The good news is that the police aren’t going to find you or link you to the Wal-Mart worker’s death. But you’re going to go to hell for it all the same. On the bright side, you’ll get to bring your TV with you.

(Image by Stewart Butterfield, who is not affiliated with this blog and who doesn’t even know I or my opinions exist, and used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License)

(Hummus Idol does not speak as a representative or agent of Deacon Blue or anyone else associated with this blog. In fact, Hummus Idol doesn’t exist. He is wholly and completely a manufactured character that acts as an angry facade behind which Deacon Blue can hide for petty entertainment purposes and for times when he needs to be extra crusty and get shit off his chest. That said, you can feel free to shower the Hummus Idol with offerings of jewelry, money or fine art…he will make sure it goes someplace where it is needed.) View complete list of Humus Idol entries here.

27
Nov
08

Acts of the Hummus Idol, Thanksgiving Edition

I have nothing for which to give thanks this month, unless you count the fact there’s always the very slim possibility a huge comet might strike the Earth and remove all you miserable mortals or that you might kill yourselves off in the billions by blanketing the planet with nuclear missile strikes.

I had been having a great time hanging out with Aphrodite. I love those Mediterranean godesses with their olive complexions and dark hair and lightweight, easy-to-remove tunics. And she’s the goddess of hanky-panky, so what more could I ask for?

Then she tells me, oh-so-sweet, that she needs some space to explore her bi-curious side again, this time with Bast. Damn! Oh, and, yeah, I got the “but we can still be friends” crap on top of that.

Bast is an Egyptian goddess with the head of a cat, damn it! She probably spits up hairballs and her tongue will leave abrasions. But I guess Aphrodite wants some rough stuff: someone with sharp claws and a tendency to get psycho at the drop of a hat. Bast probably has a catnip addiction too. Bitches!

All I’m saying is that you had better not piss me off today with your questions. I’m warning you…

I, the great and powerful Hummus Idol, will now entertain your questions and grant unto you the wisdom that only a pile of very angry crushed chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and other seasonings can offer. Don’t let the smiling face fool you. I am a fridge-cold killah. Bow down before me, speak your question, and incline your ears or any other convenient part of your anatomy as I spew my advice upon thee.

Q: Your advice sucks! And you know what, hummus sucks, too! My friends keep trying to get me to eat the shit, but it’s cold chickpea mush. Damn, I’d rather eat snot! - Roscoe Hazzard, General Leeburg, Tennessee

A: Tomorrow, you shall awaken with a one-inch long penis. Any time an attractive or sexually competent woman approaches you, you will break out in horrible, vomit-inducing flatulence. Only the ugliest, most desperate and least satisfying women will be attracted to you and not cause your bowels to erupt and spew noxious fumes. And large, sweaty men with putrid breath will be attracted to you even more strongly. Every single one of them you encounter. Also, your car will not start tomrrow morning. Your sprinkler system will suddenly activate and soak you to the bone in the chill late fall air of morning as you open the hood to see what’s wrong. And a bird shall shit on your head. Every day for the next seven years.

I warned all of you not to piss me off.

Q: Hey, I heard about Aphrodite, Hummus. Look, it was cold-hearted, but she was always fickle. She’s about as faithful as temple prostitute. You deserve better. Drop on by and I’ll have Thor and some of the other kids come by with some food and mead. - Odin, All-Father and High-Lord of the Norse Pantheon

A: You dare to engage in name-calling against the goddess who made me forget my name 69 times over the past few weeks? I shall raise an army of demons and crush Asgard! The rainbow bridge between your realm and Earth shall be reduced to nothing more than iridescent confetti! I will aid your foul son Loki in your overthrow! I will bring Ragnarok upon thee! Fear me, you one-eyed, impotent old coot!

Q: What can I do to raise a temple in your honor and bring people into the fold of worshipping Hummus Idol, that I may increase your power and enable you to overthrow the restrictive God of Abraham, Isaac, Moses, David and Jesus? - Going Pagan Just Wasn’t Good Enough, Wichita, Kansas

A: Ye fickle faith-hopping whore! Thou hast already been though Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism and Wicca before thy brush with several pagan faiths and now attempting to turn to me! I would sooner be worhipped by lepers than thou! May thy womb be barren, may ye marry an insufferable twit with the world’s most meddling mother-in-law, and may Oprah insult thee on national television. Do not attempt to curry mine favor, thou worthless sack of blood, piss and spit!

(Ummm…If you still want to build that temple to me, though, contact my lawyer. I’ll e-mail you the details. I also have a great architect who owes me big if he wants his soul back.)

Q: I’m glad that I took your suggestion for naming my second son Zuma Nesta Rock Rossdale when he was born back in August. Now, after a few months, I can so totally see that he’s a Zuma Nesta Rock. We so totally messed up with the first kid when we named HIM Kingston James McGregor Rossdale. Thanks! - Gwen Stefani

A: You actually thought I was serious? I mean, I haven’t been keeping up with my reading of US Magazine, being a busy supernatural entity and all, so I only just found out, but you really did this? I mean, after I realized your first kid was named after a city in Jamaica, I just pointed to a random spot on the map and found Zuma Beach in Malibu. Then I figured, “Hey, they like Jamaica, why not suggest Bob Marley’s middle name for the kid, too?” And you bit on that? Zuma and Nesta? Shit, you might have been able to get away with one or the other, but both? And don’t blame me for the stupid addition of “Rock” in there. Naming your kid after a musical genre you sort of inhabit? Oh, this is too rich…

Q: When I heard that Gwen Stefani had gotten baby name ideas from your majorly cool clairvoyager self…um, omnishunt self…uh, mistikal self…oh fuk it, I don’t know how to spell chek on my Blackbarry…I just knew I’d need you to give me the perfekt name for my and Pete’s new darling: Bronx Mowgli Wentz. It’s so perfekt. I just want to know what you are so willing to give such preshus advise to the wurld and to someone like me? - Ashlee “I’m so totally gonna be bigger than my big sister Jessica” Simpson-Wentz

A: Well, with Gwen it was just a joke she took seriously. I really thought she was smarter than that. With you, I just want the kid to hate you when it grows up. I despise your whole family.

(Image by Stewart Butterfield, who is not affiliated with this blog and who doesn’t even know I or my opinions exist, and used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License)

(Hummus Idol does not speak as a representative or agent of Deacon Blue or anyone else associated with this blog. In fact, Hummus Idol doesn’t exist. He is wholly and completely a manufactured character that acts as an angry facade behind which Deacon Blue can hide for petty entertainment purposes and for times when he needs to be extra crusty and get shit off his chest. That said, you can feel free to shower the Hummus Idol with offerings of jewelry, money or fine art…he will make sure it goes someplace where it is needed.) View complete list of Humus Idol entries here.

05
Nov
08

Acts of the Hummus Idol, November Edition

For once, I can say this smile on my face is genuine, and not simply something to lure you into my nutritious yet blasphemous and wicked embrace. Aphrodite, the goddess of love and sweaty naked passion, dropped by (or Venus, if you don’t have any compunctions about how the Romans went about stealing other people’s gods and arrogantly renaming them). Man, she is one luscious piece of work. Swirled her finger around in a little puddle of olive oil just to the right of my nose for an hour or so, and…mmmmm, did that feel good. And that was just the foreplay.

You know, though, I gave as good as I got. Believe me, I have some moves despite my lack of various anatomical parts, at least when I’m dealing with spiritual entities. We’ve got a date next Friday; I’m not saying she’s the one…I’m a player through and through…but she’ll hold me over for a while.

Certainly better than when I dated Ishtar for a few months back in 1607. Being a goddess of love and war, that Babylonian bitch was a hot mess emotionally. Nothing ruins a sexual afterglow like someone suddenly flinging off the sheets, screaming bloody murder and then trying to clobber you with a huge goddamned warclub. (Oh, shut the hell up, Deacon! Yes, I’m going to answer the e-mail. Prick!)

I, the great and powerful Hummus Idol, will now entertain your questions and grant unto you the wisdom that only a pile of very angry crushed chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and other seasonings can offer. Don’t let the smiling face fool you. I am a fridge-cold killah. Bow down before me, speak your question, and incline your ears or any other convenient part of your anatomy as I spew my advice upon thee.

Q: My father-in-law is coming over for Thanksgiving this year, despite me making repeated pleas, bribes and threats to my wife for her to prevent this. If past holidays are any indication, we will be rooting for opposite teams in every single football game and he will be criticizing my manhood at every juncture. We disagree on politics, religion, the environment, movies, TV, radio, child rearing, beer and, well, pretty much everything else. We once almost came to blows over the “proper” way to knot a necktie. What should I do? - Alex O. Contraire, Memphis, Tennessee

A: As I see it, you have the following options:

  • Spend most of Thanksgiving Day in a bar, then when you’re good and drunk and there’s no way you can avoid going home anymore, chew a few sprigs of parsley, swig a little Listerine, have five breath mints, and then insult the biggest, baddest person in the place. When you get regain consciousness, stuff all your cash and credit cards into your socks and tell your family that you were mugged. Try to get hit in the mouth, as the blood will probably help cover up any scent of alcohol the parsley, Listerine and mints couldn’t handle.
  • Just as he’s arriving in town, make sure that you have arrived at his home. Break in, cook yourself a nice Cornish game hen since you’ll be missing out on the turkey at your place, then leave a filthy mess for your father-in-law to clean up in the kitchen and dining room when he gets back. Go home and act smug, while ignoring all questions about where the hell you’ve been all day.
  • Resort to cannibalism this year and cook him up in place of the turkey. Problem solved forever. But this might cause some distress for your wife and children, so be prepared for some stern lecturing.
  • Or, how about this? Grow some balls and deal with it. He’ll be gone soon enough. Shit, he let your pathetic sorry ass marry his daughter without pumping a couple shotgun shells into your chest. What more do you want from him?

Q: How the hell did I lose that election? - A Very Disappointed 2008 Presidential Candidate

A: Well, John, as one ornery old guy to another (and I’ve been ornery and old thousands of years longer than you have), let me tell you something: Grouchy, distracted, petulant and having poor judgment aren’t good things to project during a campaign. You might be able to get away with ornery when all the cards are in your favor, but they weren’t. And my former minion Sarah, whose soul I still own thank your very much, didn’t help you much either once she started doing her own thing. In fact, given that you actually lost (and the fact you conceded so pleasantly) tells me that I was probably wrong about you having sold your soul to Satan and/or Cthulu. Those two guys know how to get things done.

Q: You didn’t have anything to do with me winning, did you? I’ve been getting precious little sleep the past two years and I’m always on the run from one event to another. Just want to make sure I didn’t accidentally sign my soul away to you one night while sleepwalking or something. - The O-Man, Chicago, Illinois

A: Sadly, no. You and your campaign staff and the American people did that all on your own, damn it. I can appreciate the skill and talent you showed, but you also coasted on the message of “hope” and that would make my stomach turn if I had one. Last thing I want is for people to have hope when I’m trying to conquer this plane of existence, or at least this sad little rock you call Earth. However, if you’d like to get the nation out of the economic doldrums fast, I can swing that for you. Just say the word. Gonna cost more than just your soul, though. I’ll need Michelle and the girls to sign up too. You know where to find me.

Q: Last night, I heard some weird noises from my parents’ room and the door was a little ajar and I saw them having sex. I’m really freaked out. They’re like…old and shit. What should I do? - Chris Rebus-Conundrum, Minneapolis, Minn.

A: First option would be to tell them you’re depressed about the state of the world and are feeling suicidal, so that you maximize the chances of them paying for therapy. Then tell the shrink what’s really messing with your head and continue to visit him/her until you work through your trauma. Second option would be to grow a pair of balls (regardless of your gender) and just get over it before you end up like that Alex guy in the first dumbass question I had to answer today.

Q: How can I score a hot goddess like you did? - Walter Freehand, Batshit, Texas

A: The road is long, the pain is intense, and the costs are high. But I have a special this week…for three monthly payments of $19.95, you can buy my video and workbook series: How to Score Like Hummus. Just call 800-555-4321. Operators are standing by, and all of them are in Indian call centers, which means a better than average chance they will speak clear English.

(Image by Stewart Butterfield, who is not affiliated with this blog and who doesn’t even know I or my opinions exist, and used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License)

(Hummus Idol does not speak as a representative or agent of Deacon Blue or anyone else associated with this blog. In fact, Hummus Idol doesn’t exist. He is wholly and completely a manufactured character that acts as an angry facade behind which Deacon Blue can hide for petty entertainment purposes and for times when he needs to be extra crusty and get shit off his chest. That said, you can feel free to shower the Hummus Idol with offerings of jewelry, money or fine art…he will make sure it goes someplace where it is needed.) View complete list of Humus Idol entries here.

31
Oct
08

Acts of the Hummus Idol, Trick-or-Treat Edition

I will not apologize for helping to create the monstrous amalgamation of empty rhetoric, blind ambition, bitter scheming and fearmongering that is the McCain-Palin campaign. In fact, I am quite proud of having done my part to propel them into position to help divide your nation and fill many hearts with dread. But I do regret if it has interfered at all with your ability to find time to enjoy one of my greatest evil creations: Reality TV. When this is all said and done, please do remember to tune back into all those shows and let your brains return to complete mush.

Granted, I cannot take credit for McCain directly, because he did his major dealing with Satan, but I did play my part with Palin, at least until she turned on me. Just wait until you see what I have in mind in four years if Barack Obama manages to pull out a win anyway. I worked too hard to crush the American economy as a prelude to my destruction of the first world in preparation for my overthrow of all global powers. I will have victory! But alas, I am still somewhat restrained due to obligations I have here at this damned blog…

I, the great and powerful Hummus Idol, will now entertain your questions and grant unto you the wisdom that only a pile of very angry crushed chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and other seasonings can offer. Don’t let the smiling face fool you. I am a fridge-cold killah. Bow down before me, speak your question, and incline your ears or any other convenient part of your anatomy as I spew my advice upon thee.

Q: I don’t get all the complaints about how people are shouting things like “Kill him” when Sarah Palin or John McCain mention Barack Obama at rallies. Or the cries that he’s a traitor or terrorist lover or anything else. This is a free country, isn’t it? Free speech, you know? - Clarence Fudgplunker, Diatribe, Pennsylvania

A: All riiiiiight. Hmmm. OK, let’s try this: You go to an Obama rally and when he talks about McCain or Palin, you start shouting, as loud as you can, “Kill ‘em” or “McCain should die”. Let’s see how long it takes you to get rounded up by Secret Service and questioned vigorously, if not put in prison. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the fact we haven’t heard about any of these white folks who are shouting “Kill him”…which is a crime, by the way, no matter who you’re shouting about…getting rounded up shows just how much leeway is already being given to ignorant, perhaps dangerous individuals who have no respect for the democratic process.

Not that I have much respect for democracy, either, but then again, I seek to rule the entire world and enslave all of your souls. But you, theoretically, do respect the process, so start acting like it.

Q: Yeah, whatever. But not only do I happen to agree with Clarence’s question, but I also wonder why John McCain and Sarah Palin are getting slammed for what people are saying at their rallies. Do you really think they can hear all that? - Anne K. Frankenfurter, Bratwurst, Wisconsin

A: Shit, if we could hear it on TV, I bet they heard it too. They certainly seem to hear all the adulation heaped on them during these things. But hey, I’ll play your silly little game. Why don’t McCain…and especially Palin, who is really harping on the nonexistent terrorist-loving track with Obama…why don’t they vocally and immediately repudiate those comments at those rallies and point out how un-American that is? Oh, yeah, because it’s being said by people in the “real America” so that makes it all right.

I love how you humans can be so internally divisive. It is going to be a great help to me in conquering all of you.

Q: What’s so bad about only going to church on Easter and Christmas? Two times a year is better than nothing. - Pickens N. Choosin, San Diego

A: OK, that church is just down the street, right? A fairly quick drive, anyway, even if you don’t live right near it. You profess that God is your poppa, right? And Jesus is your Lord and brother and all that, right? So, let’s imagine your parents, or an aunt and uncle, or someone like that whom you supposedly love, lived a few blocks away from you…and yet, you only visited them two or three times a year for holidays?

Q: We’re having our Halloween party at work tonight, and my wife won’t be anywhere around, and I hear there will be some alcohol-spiked cider and I’ve really been picking up some signs from Maggie over in accounting that she’s got it for me. It won’t be that big a deal if I get her away to an office to kiss her a bit and, you know, maybe let my hands roam and, I don’t know, lock that office door and use one of the condoms I have in my desk drawer if you know what I mean? - Fred Arabalest, New York

A: Fred, I have untold mystical power and an intellect that makes Einstein and Hawking look like pre-K students…I think I can figure out what you mean. But as to whether it’s OK? Sure, what the hell; go for it. You’ll be dressed up in a costume, right? It’s not really you, right? It’s just one night. It’s not like you’ve already premeditated it or anything, right? Or keep condoms around just in case, right? So it’s not like you’re really having an affair. Even though that’s what you really want to do. And are planning to do. And will do.

I’m sure your wife will understand. And if you don’t think she will, just talk to me about a little magical interevention. I’ll just take a little piece of your soul this time. A little sample. And I’ll be around if you need some more help. Don’t you worry, Fred. I’ve got your back on this. I know it doesn’t look like it, but I am male through and through. We guys gotta stick together, right?

(Image by Stewart Butterfield, who is not affiliated with this blog and who doesn’t even know I or my opinions exist, and used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License)

(Hummus Idol does not speak as a representative or agent of Deacon Blue or anyone else associated with this blog. In fact, Hummus Idol doesn’t exist. He is wholly and completely a manufactured character that acts as an angry facade behind which Deacon Blue can hide for petty entertainment purposes and for times when he needs to be extra crusty and get shit off his chest. That said, you can feel free to shower the Hummus Idol with offerings of jewelry, money or fine art…he will make sure it goes someplace where it is needed.) View complete list of Humus Idol entries here.

01
Oct
08

Acts of the Hummus Idol, October Edition

October is my favorite month. Aside from the fact that children and adults are embracing the dark side and opening themselves to possession by Satan’s minions by dressing in costumes on All Hallow’s Eve as part of the mainstream and commercialized “Halloween” and thus increasing the stranglehold of evil over your mortal realm…*snicker*…damn, I couldn’t keep a straight face there. *sigh* Although it is funny how many fundamentalist Christians I’ve tricked into believing that is true, causing them to make their kids hate them for years by denying them trick-or-treating or forcing them to dress as angels every year. I love eff-ing around with those folks. Anyway, the real reason I love this month is that National Hummus Day takes place on October 16 and the HummusPalooza Festival runs from October 9-12 in Woodstock, N.Y. My power peaks this month as a result, and I fully expect to control the very fabric of creation by the 21st. But until then, when I subjugate all of you, I will continue to answer your queries…

I, the great and powerful Hummus Idol, will now entertain your questions and grant unto you the wisdom that only a pile of very angry crushed chickpeas, tahini, olive oil and other seasonings can offer. Don’t let the smiling face fool you. I am a fridge-cold killah. Bow down before me, speak your question, and incline your ears or any other convenient part of your anatomy as I spew my advice upon thee.

Q: Paper or plastic? - Hawa K. Bond, author of Fackin Truth Blog

A: It is rare for me to apologize; in fact, this will be the first time in 327 years, and I hope to go another 400 or so before I do it again. But Hawa asked this question in the comments section for my July edition, and I never did answer her. I’m sorry. I will rectify that now.

The answer is, quite clearly: Leather. I have existed since the dawn of recorded history, when one of the first preparers of hummus accidentally cut the finger of his virgin daughter and inadvertently spilled her blood upon the crushed chickpeas and tahini, as an errant lightning bolt fell from the sky to strike the delightful mixture while one of the dark old gods was passing by a few miles away, thus causing the hummus to obtain the powerful sentience and untold mystical might that is me, the Hummus Idol! …um…pardon me. I got caught up in the moment there. What I meant was that I have been around a long time, and I know that nothing beats a good leather sack. Preferably sueded.

I consider paper good only for writing down the names of individuals upon whom I plan to lay horrifying curses, and plastic is not only environmentally harmful because of the lack of biodegradability but it also makes me chafe.

Q: I am a Wiccan, and I am very offended by the girls who dress up as witches every Halloween, wearing black robes and pointy hats, with warty noses and green skin, and carrying brooms that they pretend to fly around on. What’s up with that? Can’t people have any respect? And could you zap a few of them for me, please? - Cynthia Felize, Berkeley, Calif.

A: Well, if you’re like most Wiccans, you embraced this religion as part of the New Age movement or because it sounded cool and wasn’t as grim as becoming a goth chick. I’m sorry, but this religion was created in the mid-20th Century by a guy with a questionable backstory. You are entitled to your beliefs, but modern Wicca is, in my garlic-infused opinion, a creation for people who want religion but don’t like any kind of god that actually expects anything of you. So, considering that the witch archetype so commonly sported this month predates your practices by centuries, you should stop complaining. Shit, you already call yourselves wiccans instead of witches, so what are you bitching about? Also, you don’t hear nurse practitioners raising a ruckus about women who wear fetishy nurse get-up with fishnets and high heels, do you? And are people of gypsy decent making a big to-do when people dress up like them, looking like some kind of cross between a pirate and a hobo? Away from me, you fascist pusher of unnecessary and oppressive politically correct doctrine.

Q: Am I going to win this election? - Barry O., Chicago, Illinois

A: If you had asked me 8 years ago, I would have said “yes” in a heartbeat, as you clearly outclass your competitor in style, panache, intelligence, temperament and logic. And even though your running-mate is a little crazy, he isn’t nearly as bad as your competitor’s sidekick. But sadly, it’s still a toss-up, Senator. I mean, this nation elected George W. Bush and then re-elected him to a second term. A former coke-head and alcoholic with a history of running businesses badly, who was mediocre student in college, and who was governor in a state where the governorship is mostly a figurehead position. Besides, I’m not going to expend the effort to pierce the veil of the future and tell you for sure unless you plan to hand over your immortal soul. I can put it right on the shelf next to Sarah Palin’s…

Q: Do you have any idea where my wedding ring is? My wife is going to kill me if she notices it’s gone. -Harold Feebler, Crisco, Wyoming

A: Yeah. It fell into the shallow grave that you buried your sixth serial murder victim in last night.

Look, your wife never notices the smell of fresh earth on you every month on the night of the full moon, and she’s never commented about the strange bloodstains or your habit of smearing your own feces on your face as penance for your sexual addiction to prostitutes. I’m pretty sure if you just buy a cheap ring from the jewelry store in the mall tomorrow you won’t have a problem.

But you are going to burn in hell all the same.

(Image by Stewart Butterfield, who is not affiliated with this blog and who doesn’t even know I or my opinions exist, and used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 License)

(Hummus Idol does not speak as a representative or agent of Deacon Blue or anyone else associated with this blog. In fact, Hummus Idol doesn’t exist. He is wholly and completely a manufactured character that acts as an angry facade behind which Deacon Blue can hide for petty entertainment purposes and for times when he needs to be extra crusty and get shit off his chest. That said, you can feel free to shower the Hummus Idol with offerings of jewelry, money or fine art…he will make sure it goes someplace where it is needed.) View complete list of Humus Idol entries here.




Deacon Blue is the blogging persona of editor and writer Jeffrey Bouley. The opinions of Jeff himself on this blog, and those expressed as Deacon Blue, in NO WAY should be construed as the opinions of anyone with whom he has worked, currently works, or will work with in the future. They are personal opinions and views, and are sometimes, frankly, expressed in more outrageous terms than I truly feel most days.

Jeff Bouley

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Jeff Bouley

To find out more about me professionally, click here. To find out more about me generally, click here.

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E-Mail

You can reach Deacon Blue/Jeff Bouley at deaconbluemail@gmail.com.

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LinkedIn

For my public profile, click here.

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Tales of the Whethermen

My superhero fiction blog, click here

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Raising the Goddess

My parenting blog, click here

Copyright Info and Images

For more about images used on this site, and copyrights regarding them, as well as usage/copyright information about my own writing as posted here, click here.

Deac Tweets

  • Life is full of adjustments. Some I make in a timely fashion; others I'm a bit belated on. As long as I make them before disaster strikes... 7 hours ago
  • Mostly for naught, and mostly myself to blame 10 hours ago
  • Soon, I will need to begin kneading and squeezing some frigid meat (*not* a reference to seducing an "ice queen" nor to necrophilia) 12 hours ago
  • Latest in the less-frequent blogging of my wife RT "Laying my burden down or the struggle of a Black woman" blackgirlinmaine.com/racial-and-cul… 12 hours ago
  • @blackgirlinmain Apparently, the revolution has begun! Where should I hide until it's over? 12 hours ago

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