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Monday Morning News Dump | Main | Ten Years of Nonsense: Ace's Generic Walk-Thru For Every Video Game You've Ever Played
December 30, 2013

Congratulations, Ace

It's the tenth anniversary of Ace of Spades HQ. Ace's first post consisted of two words, "First post." It was on December 30, 2003. Very soon after that, he came up with the Dowd-O-Matic (which still works) and The Definitive D&D Guide to the Democratic Presidential Candidates, which, if I recall correctly, was his first post to be linked by some bigger sites. So, within the first few weeks he was already gaining notoriety.

Ace was looking for ideas about best posts. Part of the problem with that is there are so many. Just pick a random week over the last ten years, and one can find several outstanding posts. The archives are in the right sidebar, way down near the bottom. Scroll down, pick a date, and take a look. A lot of good stuff there.

From December 30, 2003:


Just a little Poe-parody we here at Ace of Spades HQ wrote. Be aware, the poem contains flagrant potty-mouth.

The Donkey

Once upon a midnight gloaming, my mouth agape and whitely foaming,

my frantic mind e'er roaming, roaming o'er outrages of liberal lore,

I gave my dork a playful slapping, setting my balls slowly flapping, but suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -

Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember, as the calender thinned e'er closer to November,

tugging at my flacid member, trying to forget the anguish Bush v. Gore,

But still I awaited new elections; - and vigorously I stroked my erections,

To fancies suiting my predilections -

dreams of Bush's eviction, thoughs of Cheney's Halliburton conviction,

the proof of quagmire prediction, and avenging the crucifixion of sainted Martyr Albert Alphonse Gore -

But all this was madness; dreams only and only dreams

and surely nothing more.

And so in thought, my schlong palm-wrought, the pulsing urgency of my cock demanded more

But my jacking had to be stopped; just as I was recalling a a feel I once copped

off Eleanor Mondale, in nineteen eighty-four;

And so having paused my bishop-beating, I stood there anxiously repeating

`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -

Just a guy from NARAL entreating entrance at my chamber door;-

Let me with my visions of the Daughters Gore.'

And so the pulsings of my cock grew stronger; and my weiner grew still longer,

but even now more urgently came the tapping at my door,

`Please!' I cried in frustration, `You're ruining my masturbation,

How can I continue stroking while you;re so insistently poking,

And so insistently poking, poking at my chamber door,

Thou hath spoilt my chicken-choking!' - here I opened wide the door; -

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Of that darkness deeply drinking, my dinky winky, e'er shrinking,

Thinking, thinking thoughts I'd scarcely dared to dream before--

But the silence was oppressive, and the Patriot Act so repressive,

And the only signal there expressive was the whispered word, `'04!'

This I whispered back, and an echo chanted back the word, `'04!'

Stiff I was, stiff like Albert Gore.

Back into the chamber turning, my choad within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

`Surely,' said I, `surely something at my window chants;

Let me tuck my wiener into my pants, and with dork pant-sheathed let me this mystery explore -

Let give my prick a rest and this mystery explore; -

Let me venture, venture out beyond the safety of my door.

I stepped fearfully into the night, clutching throat and warding fright,

and then I smelled something foul, as foul as anything I'd smelled before.

For in the gloaming was something rank, filling my nose with a bestial stank,

and there a shadowy figure of imposing girth, sniggering with malicious mirth,

Surely it could not be--

husky huckster Michael Moore??!

Open here I flung the shutter, raging like a Earth-First nutter,

In there stepped a strange donkey, draped in a campaign poster for Al Gore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;

But, without a word in passing, his butthole venting and gassing, he crapped a load of crap upon my chamber door -

Crapped upon my Restoration Hardware chamber door -

Crapped, and shat, and nothing more.

Then this wicked ass began beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the lunatic grin and crazy countenance it wore,

`Though thy droppings be upon my door, thou,' I said, `art sure not crass.

wild-eyed and lunatic ass wand'ring in from some Berkeley or Massachusetts shore -

Tell me what hath driven you from darkling domains to take a dump upon my modest door!'

Quoth the donkey, `Wait till 04.'

Much I marvelled this strange ass to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing talking jackass poop upon his chamber door -

crapping and shitting on the Mother Jones magazines lying near my chamber door,

shitting on the collected works of Cornell West on a shelf along my floor,

With such message as `Wait till '04.'

But the donkey, sitting lonely on the stoop, having now pooped out a stinky poop,

Spake just this command, as if his soul in this demand he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered - nor his tail he even fluttered -

Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have shat my door before -

On the morrow the ass will leave me, as my hopes have flown with Al Gore.'

Then the ass said, `Wait till 04.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught beneath our fascist chimp master, reeling from economic disaster,

Followed fast and followed faster till his brayings one burden bore -

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'Wait Till '04.'

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed by the donkey's anal censer,

the stink of donkey-floppings whisping o'er the bust of Howard Dean standing by my chamber door.

`Ass,' I cried, `by thy words thou hath pained me - by these poopstains hath thou stained me!

'Away, Strange Ass, away and bray no more, dismaying me with memories of Al Gore!

'I pray thee mercy and stop, stop reminding me of that Tennessean bore!'

Quoth the donkey, `Wait till 04.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, ass or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting, as the ass began loudly farting -

`Stop rubbing your ass all over my chamber door!

'Leave no brown loaf as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

'Leave my loneliness unbroken! - stop crapping all over my floor!

'Take thy ass away from this place, and stop reminding me of Al Gore!'

Quoth the donkey, `Wait till 04.'

And that donkey, never flitting, still is sitting, still is shitting,

On the "Save the Whales" welcome mat lying by my chamber door;

O Cursed Ass! What mischief hath thou arranged, my fragile psyche thou hath ill deranged,

'from my mind hath thou all sense estranged, filling me with false hope that all might be changed,

'changed-- do not tempt me with fancies strange, that the fascist chimp might yet be exchanged

'for President Albert Alphonse Gore!'

And yet the evil ass still is sitting, his dirty ass ever shitting,

shitting o'er the crystal unicorns arranged upon my floor;

And dares me yet to dream, dream of taking the White House once more, of Borking judges on the Senate floor,

of paying unwed mothers, cutting the military like we've never cut before,

legalizing pot, hugging trees, and giving heroin needles to the poor,

My mind has become unhinged; I've joined the political fringe!

Just you all wait -- wait till 04!

Here's to the next ten years, Ace.

digg this
posted by rdbrewer at 09:40 AM

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