Page Six is reporting that John Travolta’s son, Jett, most likely has autism.

Which would normally be a whatever story in my book. But, apparently, Scientologists don’t believe in autism (because they’re too busy believing in psychotic bullshit), so the Travoltas have been hiding their disabled son from the public for last few years, like a boy in a plastic bubble, waiting for him to snap out of it.

According to the Church of Scientology, people with mental illnesses are “degraded” and capable of curing themselves by working harder on the church’s teachings.

That’s it. He just needs to work harder.

I don’t have any problem with people converting to Scientology. They just shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce. Or make 20 mill a movie.

Here’s an interesting tidbit from Travolta’s IMBD trivia section:

“Jett was conceived during a weekend at the home of Demi Moore and Bruce Willis.”

No wonder that kid is fucked up. If being conceived by a dispicable celebrity power couple in the bed belonging to another dispicabl celebrity power couple didn’t give a kid autism, then having that information published on the Internet might just do it.

Or maybe he got autism the moment his dad named him “Jett.”

John Travolta named his son after his favorite toy. Jett. How gross is that? If my dad did that when I was born, my name would have been “Shortwave Radio Mande.”

Hey! Want to see something that will make you want to kill yourself? Check this out:

=$191,500,000.00 (+Profit Points)

That’s how much money John Travolta has made from every movie he’s been in since Pulp Fiction. And that doesn’t even include Wild Hogs!

AAAAAAAAH! I’m so upset!

I wish there was some way of gauging how stressed out I get thinking about John Travolta.

The Washington Times is reporting that New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg is prepared to spend up to a billion dollars of his own money if and when he decides to enter the 2008 presidential race as an independent candidate.

$1 billion dollars. And not a cent more.

Here’s the campaign poster:

A divorced billionaire Jew running for president. That shouldn’t scare too many people. He might as well make Flava Flav his running mate.

Although, truthfully, I think a billion dollars might just be enough money to win over some unlikely voters. Like a couple of farmers having a beer after a long day’s work.

“You know, I’ll tell you this, I don’t trust the Jews. And I think New York City is a filthy place full of queers. And I know he wants to kill babies and all that. But, gee whiz, if a man wants to spend a billion dollars of his own money to be President, then that’s gotta tell you somethin’.”
“MmmmHmmmm”
“Hoo-wee! That Jew must really want it bad! A billion dollars? That’s nine zeroes right there!”
“Mmmhmmm.”
“If I had a billion dollars, I wouldn’t be no Jewish president, I’ll to you that much. No, I’d have me a swimming pool full of Coors, a KFC right there in the shed, and my very own Nascar track made of solid gold and black diamonds.”
“Get ‘er done.” 

Bloomberg has over $700,000 worth of whimsical yarmulkes.

Best quote in the article:

“Bloomberg is H. Ross Perot on steroids”

You know who else is Ross Perot on steroids? Any billionaire over three feet tall.

On a similar note, I read that Al Franken is trailing incumbent Norm Coleman by 22 points in the battle to be the Jewish Senator of Minnesota.

I don’t know how much it’ll help, but I’d like to go on the record and officially endorse Al Franken in his bid for Senator. As a crabby Jewish comedian from Minnesota, I can’t think of anyone more qualified to be a US Senator than another crabby Jewish comedian from Minnesota.

Not to mention that Norm Coleman is an evil snake and his son is a little fucking punk. True story.  

In this week’s New Yorker, Lauren Collins writes an amazing feature article about the elusive urban artist known only as “Banksy.” For those of you out of the loop, Banksy has become the most famous graffiti artist in the world, but has also remained completely anonymous in the process. His artwork is auctioned off at places like Christies, some selling for hundreds of thousands of dollars. No one knows what he looks like or where he lives. He has vowed to keep his identity a secret and never reveal his face.

But, as they say, you should never say never. Or, rather, I shouldn’t. What I mean is…I take it all back. It’s me.

I’M BANKSY. 

There. I said it. I’m super tight at urban art. Get over it. 

Me.

All me.

See what I did there? With the thing?

Me. Me. Me. I’m the fucking best.

Why now, you ask? Because it’s time, that’s why. The world should know me by my true self: Banksy. I am Banksy. It feels good just to type it.

So from now on, please make all Banksy-related checks out to me, Joe Mande. You can write “Banksy” in the memo section if you want. Thanks.

My fans are the best,

Joe “Banksy” Mande

P.S.: I just retired. As of right now. So, I’m not really going to make art again, like, ever. Sorry, I think it’s played out. But remember, if you see other Banksies from now on, just know that they are fraudulent and that I, Joe Mande, am the tightest stenciler ever and deserve a ton of money. Thanks again for all the support.