Satire
Satire: (Noun) The use of humor, irony or exaggeration to expose and criticize stupidity or vices, particularly in the context of contemporary politics and other topical issues.
Following the popularity of Paris Hilton's campaign spoof, it seems notorious date rapist/statutory rapist/smut-peddling scoundrel Joe Francis has also decided to try his hand at internet humor, by filming himself sitting in front of the American flag and giving the above speech about civil liberties.
Now, some people gave Paris shit for not writing her own material, but at least I will say that she handled herself with aplomb and pulled it off damn convincingly. On the other hand, while I have no doubt Joe Francis wrote this crap -- unfortunately he also executes it like a kid reading his book report on The Mouse and the Motorcycle aloud to the rest of the Fourth Grade class.
Conclusion? Joe Francis still sucks a million times worse than Paris Hilton, and I hope he gets commandeered by a black guy with a wiener the size of a telephone pole when he makes his inevitable return back to imprisonment.
Why a black guy? Is ass raping somehow worse when it's done by a person of color?
Well obviously, it's because black people have historically been known to have bigger wieners than other races. Jeez, don't you read the newspapers?
No one gave a shit when he was rotting in jail, and yet he kept embarrassing himself with pay-phone pleas and cries of injustice.
It's funny when a person doesn't realize they have no redeemable qualities.
What? Black people aren't allowed to commit prison rape with white people, sassmouth? You want them to ride in separate busses, live in different cells, drink from labeled fountains? When you shiv someone, no matter the race, do we not all bleed red? Whether black, white, yellow, or brown, do we not all snort white tits?
You racist.
I think God is the racist one, for giving black people bigger genitalia in the first place. "All men are created equal" MY ASS.
So, you got my pictures, then?
OHHHH! I FORGOTTHEBESTPART!!!
This is an actual comment from that clip's YouTube page:
Girls Gone Wild fucking sucks. There's like one good lesbian scene in one of them or something. The rest is really lame. Some boobs, great, what a treat.
VH-1 Special - Joe Francis: Behind The Douchebag...
Our story begins in 1980, when a seven year old Joe Francis happened to see a four year old girl changing at a public swimming pool and realized that in 12 years she would be just pubescent and inexperienced enough to be able to be sexually exploited for profit.
But even at such a young age, Joe Francis knew that the realization of his American Dream would have to wait. And so he passed his childhood as young men of his persuasion are wont to do: Pulling the wings off of flies, graduating to kicking kittens when no one was watching, and setting fires in the dumpsters from which he found the cast-off pornography of sad, lonely men who drove unmarked white vans with rolls of duct tape in the glove compartment. Truly, a time of youthful innocence Norman Rockwell would have smiled upon whilst perhaps reaching for a telephone with which to call the authorities.
But it wasn't until a fateful Florida Spring Break fifteen years later that Joe Francis finally came into his own. Who ever forgets their first kiss, their first crush, their first love blossoming within their hearts like the petals of a flower unfolding under the warm sun of emotion? Or, if you're Joe Francis, who ever forgets their first completely legal victim?
"I had already had bad experiences with Rohypnol," said Francis; "While it was great for me and all the other Fraternity Brothers, the girls would wake up not only with large chunks of their self-esteem missing, but also their memory. Coming back to consciousness in a seedy hotel room, covered in semen and graffiti, surrounded by empty polaroid film packs tipped them off that the night before had not exactly gone the way they had planned when they had answered the wanted ad for a babysitter."
Added Francis: "It was kind of a bummer."
"So I had to come up with a new game plan. Crushed over the counter sleeping pills mixed with a little icing sugar to counteract the bitter after-taste when slipped into a Mike's Hard Lemonade worked wonders. So when they woke up sticky and violated the next morning, they still had enough recall of the previous evening to think that somehow, it was their fault. That they were to blame. Which they were, of course. I mean, if they're gonna walk around dressed like that... well, they had it coming."
But it was a stroke of genius that balmy evening in Daytona Beach that guided Joe Francis' hand. While an incoherent Hello Kitty panty-clad high school junior flopped on the Motel 8 mattress gasping for air and mumbling "No... please Daddy, no..." Joe Francis reached into his bag of genius and pulled out, not a pair of handcuffs, or a whip, or a condom with which to avoid leaving a DNA sample, or even a ball gag with which to muffle the screams but a Hi-8 camera and the holy grail on which the Joe Francis empire is built upon: The Legal Consent Form.
"I told her I was with the medical examiner's office and would need to take her statement for the trial, and she was so blotto she signed it with barely an arousing whimper. Once that was done, I unlocked the door, brought in the bros of Alpha Chi Omega, and then the high-fiving really began.."
In his opulent Santa Monica office, Joe Francis points to a framed document on his wall. Yellowed with age, and stained with what one hopes is dark red wine, one can faintly make out an illegible scribble on the bottom right hand corner.
"My first one." Says Joe Francis proudly, a beatific smile on his smug, sociopathic little face. "I'll never forget What's-Her-Name..."
And thus was born "Girls Gone Wild!" Like God, if it had not existed before, it would have been necessary to invent it. And in this brave new world of grey legal areas Joe Francis was, and is, it's Thomas Edison.
But what is next for this entrepreneur of excrement? This Horatio Algier of awfulness? "I'm glad you asked me that;" smiles Joe, "You see, I'm expanding my empire and teaming up with Dov Charney to introduce a new clothing line."
Dov Charney, founder and CEO of American Apparel?
"Absolutely." Replies Joe, pointing to a photograph on his desk of him and a hairy Canadian possessed of a greasy-looking moustache and a ridiculous sweatband. "Dov and I are on the same page. American Apparel has the same brand awareness and commitment to quality young stuff that we are all about. We are starting to embark on a cross-platform synergy of media, clothing, and design the likes of which has not been seen since the police obtained a search warrant to go through Jack Valenti's wall safe and computer hard drives. We're going to call it: "Immigrant Garment Girls Desperately In Need Of An American Work Visa Gone Wild!"
The future looks bright for this nipple-slapping whipper-snapper. Who knows how far he will go?
Coming up next after the break: A fake ID. A judge who can't be bought. A jury filled with members who have daughters of their own and a burly tattooed new cell-mate conspire to create a small trickle of blood running down the inside of Joe Francis' thigh. Here, on VH-1 Special - Joe Francis: Behind The Douchebag...
"They threw me in jail and refused me bail." That man can rhyme. He should have gone into musical theater.
I think HL Mencken got it wrong... patriotism is the last refuge of a DOUCHEBAG!
Was that Mencken? Whatever, Francis is a douchebag of epic proportions.