Rube Catalogue: Free Jesus

Somehow I suspect this free offer has strings attached, like sins and stuff. If you have to pay with your soul then its good enough for the Rube Catalogue.

Get yourself a little adonis Jesus today, He was a white man you know, and well hung too. "The Lord said to Peter, "check out the girth of my meat."" (The gospel according to John Holmes)

Rubes of the Week

"Hi! We're Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones, and we're big fuckin' rubes!"

During the case, Oscar-winner Zeta Jones, 33, told the judge she was left feeling "devastated" and "violated" when she discovered "unflattering" paparazzi pictures had been taken.

You know, Catherine, you're right. We here at Rube Watch think everyone, no matter how famous, deserves to have his or her privacy respected. But, Catherine, let's put this in perspective, shall we?

It's not like Hello! magazine went in and took pictures of you and Michael on your sofa in the doggy pose. That, Catherine, would be "unflattering". Your swollen baby belly and droopy arms are characteristic of most women outside the little Zeta-Jones bubble in which you live, and for you to call it "unflattering" is an insult to all women who will never be beatiful enough or well-married enough to be as "talented" as you were when you trotted your hooves across the set in a short flapper skirt and your 15 Minutes began.

Hello! took photographs at a wedding you shamelessly promoted for ages, wagging the rock on your finger for every tired camera with nothing better to report. You gave "exclusive" interviews about your new marriage and finding yourself and winked as you spilled the details of your wedding. What's more, as if there was any privacy left that you hadn't peddled, you sold the rights to photograph your charming wedding to the ever-tasteful and highbrow OK! magazine for a measly £1 million. You wanted everyone to see how opulent and happy and beautiful you and Michael are. Your privacy wasn't violated by Hello!. It's just that Hello! wasn't kind enough to pay you to violate it like all those other shills. If you ask Rube Watch, Hello!'s only crime is that it thought you were interesting enough to waste a roll of film on.

Catherine Zeta-Jones. Your 15 Minutes are ticking away.

Catherine Zeta-Jones. You and your husband are Rubes of the Week.

Rube Catalogue: Rube Religion

“What better way to pray than with your own kneeler?”

“Proclaim your Faith and Patriotic zeal”

“Be an advertisement for God”

“Amazing Art”

"Hi God!"

Whatever a rube needs, it’s all here at Catholic Shopper. Yes, a true hallmark of the rube is unwavering religious fervour. Now there is a one-stop shop for any rube wishing to display their godliness through internet purchasing.
www.catholicshopper.com

But we’re forgetting someone! The star of the show!

Everyone loves a Jesus
Gotta get a Jesus
Jesus, Jesus
Go Jesus Go!


Christ

Rube Teens

Quick! Who remembers the Santa Clara County v Southern Pacific Railroad Corp. decision?

Time's up...now!

It's the landmark 1886 case that legally defined a corporation as a person. Yeah, that's right. Are you one?

Over time, Santa Clara County v Southern Pacific Railroad Corp., of course, led to all kinds of organizations and associations becoming people just like you and me!

"Oh no. He's going to-," you probably began.

"You know, he kind of looks like Brad Pitt," you did not add.

Fear not, Rube Watchers, I have no intention of rubing the Supreme Court. When they're not too busy deciding elections and trying to decide if it's OK to execute retarded people, the justices of the US Supreme Court actually do some pretty good things. I'll give 'em a free pass on that 2000 election since they made corporations and organizations people, which lets me now rube the slanted brow and hairy palms of that little punk Teenagers for Republican Victory. Let's hear the bed-wetter in his own words:

Teenagers For Republican Victory does not support or promote a platform of issues. We support President Bush, the Republican Congress, and the Republican National Committee in their united agenda to better America.

We have no ideas, no thoughts. We're just a giant rubber stamp for any bile running from a Republican's mouth.

Yes, this is our youth of today, our America of tomorrow, goose-stepping proudly behind their daddy's brand name. These are the children of the future, taught well and showing us the way to jump behind the loudest voice with the simplest explanation.

That guy, Teenagers For Republican Victory, he's a fuckin' rube.

Rube History Revisited

Folks, if our mail is any indication, there appears to be a lot of confusion about what makes one a rube and what makes one a redneck. Perhaps we at Rube Watch haven't been clear. Please find below a guest commentary in response to last week's article by Dr. Montgomery Phalange.

Redneck or Rube: differing branches of the same tree
By Dr. E. Dwight Malone

Rube Catalogue Special Edition

For a while, we at Rube Watch thought that the Rube Catalogue was our idea. That was until we were contacted by Jennifer and LeRoy over at Longsuits. The past few weeks have seen a dramatic increase in the sale of our unique Rube items, prompting the Longsuits posse to say this:

"Here at Longsuits we have been travelling the world collecting all manner of tat and shite for about four years now. We specialise in combining our inexcusably superfluous stock with weird, rambling descriptions that you just couldn't hope to parody."

And it's true: check out their dinosaurs - says Jennifer: "I am not sure of what type of dinosaur he is - a tyrannosaurus, etc." - and who can question her judgment; check out their clowns - guaranteed to "not wobble or anything like that."

So, on behalf of Jennifer and LeRoy, I invite you all over to Longsuits - Rube Catalogue pioneers.

My personal favourite? Who could resist the curious charms of the Monkey Piano? Marvel at man's ability to tame the savage breasts of nature's wildest creatures. Wonder at the animal kingdom's limitless ability to exceed even our most fanciful imaginings. Cock your ear and imagine the sweet melody made by this most civilised primate, and then slap your brow at the sheer wackiness of it all!

No, your eyes do not deceive you: that monkey is playing the PIANO! Only $75!

Rube Catalogue: Declare Your Love

Mr. B Yates of Pikeville, KY wrote to Rube Catalogue asking for our help. Here is his sad tale:

Dear Rube Catalogue,

Following a successful party, at which we laughed soberly over my new board game and the funny drawings of Al Gore’s big loser face, myself and Jeremy were left alone and got into a very deep discussion. He’d recently landed himself on some gay Porn site (can I say Porn in print?) on the net and after telling me how sick it was, all full of naked unpatriotic men, some of them French (eugh) asked me if I ever masturbated.

I didn’t know what to say. Of course I did, everyone does, my father had told me when he showed me how, but my fantasies had become more and more deviant. I once thought of a girl that could have been Monica Lewinski…naked on a beach that could have been an Iraqi desert. Dreams are ambiguous…what did that mean?

Jeremy was so proud of his George Bush thoughts while stroking his member to excitement each morning before work that I felt ashamed. He told me that all of his friends fantasised about Mr. President and were very proud of it. What was wrong with me? Did I not love our president enough? Why was I so ashamed? Why did I pull my little plum in the dark, sobbing into my American flag pillowcase while reciting the pledge of allegiance, but was never able to show that patriotism to my friends and colleagues? I was so jealous of Jeremy’s clean jerks that I tried a quick shuffle right there as Jeremy spoke like a Texan in my ear. It was no good. I needed to tell everyone that I was behind the President all the way. That’s why I write to you now, Rube Catalogue…I just don’t know how.

Yours in anticipation

Bri.
Bush Lover and Patriot.


How could we resist such a plea. Well, Mr. Yates, here it is. Declare your masturbatory malfunctions with the “I Love My President” Bumper Sticker. Suits any pick up or SUV.

$2.00 for the first wanker that wants it.

Rube Watch Introduces: Simon, IT Rube

...and true April Fool

I have to admit to being stunned on discovery of this waste of bytes. I browsed, clicked and sifted but the only question that I could muster was, why?

Is this a traditional diary? Then why give it a URL? Internal record keeping? then why not post it on an intranet? For his buddies outside work and their amusement? Then why doesn't it contain any amusing information? To impress someone? Then why not embellish it a little? There can be only one explanation. We have on our hands a total Rube. But what qualifies this guy as a Rube? Well, lets examine a few of the entries...

In general Simon believes that someone will be impressed by his position as an IT manager. Of course, everyone's a manager nowadays. You can't go into a store without a nod to the door-greeting manager. Simon is now pissed that the word "manager" has been replaced by "coordinator" in the interim, since he has aspired to the title for years. Saying you're a manager is now an admission that you don't have anything worthwhile to do and have inflated your job title to fill the vacuum that is your day at the office, as can be seen in these entries.

On March 4th he admits that "...we do not have an IT department" yet announces himself the "coordinator" of the non-existent department the following day.

13 days later there is an interesting if not altogether surprising post. "Nothing much has happened for the last few days..." Hardly an advertisement for an up and coming employee who has "...been slowly working [to get to this position] over the past two years." Slowly indeed.

There follows a self-congratulatory post featuring dorky smiley face punctuation. The only thing that would be more indicative of rubeness would be a large corporate name badge with "Rube" written neatly under his face. We at Rube Watch will monitor Simon's behaviour closely for development, although I shouldn't need to look over there for about 2 weeks.

Rube History

American Rubes: A Brief History, A Present Danger
by Dr. Montgomery Phalange, taken from the introduction to his book “Rubes – The New Terror” 2002 Kentucky Press

Although rubery, or rubism, has always been a worldwide phenomenon, recent research has shown that many “Rubes” are concentrated in the Southern United States (See Jimmy Wax, Trey Wheeler & Slitzy et al 2003). How has the Rube come to flourish in this particular area, and what does this mean for the rest of the Regular world? Read more...

Dear Rube Watchers...

Unsure how to spot a rube out of his element? Work in the business world and can't spot the rubes in their pin-striped overalls?

Have no fear. Just listen carefully.

Rube Watch Reads Its Mail

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this Rube Watch thing is getting out of hand. What began as a small forum to exchange rube-ish ideas is sweeping the land like some dark cumulo nimbus. The response has been overwhelming.

Jerry, from San Francisco, writes: "I used to have problems with this total fuckin' rube. He's ignorant and verbally abusive and kept me constantly on edge. It got so bad I donned war paint and stalked his family, hiding for three days in the hedges along his driveway with a megaphone and three buckets of dead minnows. On the fourth morning I overheard his neighbors discussing something called Rube Watch and thought, 'Hey, this might be for me.' Thanks to you, Rube Watch, I didn't commit three counts of felony assault!"

And the letters keep pouring in!

Irina, from Belarus, writes: "When the Iron Curtain lifted, I finally saw the sun. When Rube Watch came, I finally saw the light."

Aswan, from Amman, Jordan, tells us: "There's an old Arabic proverb that says, 'Thou shalt not stare at the camel's toe if thou cannot look the beast in the eye.' What does this mean?, you're probably asking. You must find this meaning within yourself."

Thanks for the tip, Aswan!

Boy, let me tell ya, we never thought we'd get such a response to our rube-ish dialogues. We never expected to be..."e-celebrities", I think, is the term Newsweek used. But we're taking it all in stride. We're not letting it go to our heads. Because, in the end, none of the fame and adulation matters. No, at the end of the day, when we shut down our computers and head home to dive into a delicious Iowa Steak from Rube's Meat Company (1-800-84-RUBES), proudly serving meat to working folks like you and me since 1973, what matters is that we're still Trey and Jimmy and Slitzy and "Chains" from the block.

Rube Watch Red Alert

I bring to your attention an urgent humanitarian disaster. It is unfolding in the Rube Watch Forum as I type. It appears that there are at least two females out there who have been engaged in sexual congress with our patriarch. This is a foul notion for several reasons, but the most insidious of all is that the Uber Rube is attempting to breed, create a little master-of-fuck-all race if you will. Ladies, I urge you, keep 'em zipped around this nefarious joker, those are spray on pheromones. The forum is open to our sisters who feel the need to absolve themselves of the memory of such an approach.

Rube Catalogue: Workplace Essentials

Ever feel you’re just not doing enough? Ever think “Gee whiz alla those poor fellers over there in eye-raq, a-fightin fer freedom, and what’m I doin” ?

Download your FREE Wallpaper and show you support democracy. You don’t want a co-worker calling you pinko do you?


OH, say can you see…

When Rubes get Creative

This song is number one on the playlist of stations arcoss the bible belt. We print the lyrics in full, but for all of you budding Country singers, imagine your average country riff in D, and sing along. YEEHAW

An Iraqi In Kentucky
by Skeeter Mays

An Iraqi in Kentucky
I say, Ma, now idn't that lucky
I gone and done catched me Saddam

Ahm goin' learn that boy a lesson
With mah brand new Smith & Wesson
And show 'im things ah learned in Vietnam

Now when ah wave mah rifle up in the air
And that Freebird solo starts to blare
Don't go reachin' for none uh your chemical bomb

Cos if there's one thing ah cain't stand
Iss sharin' mah fields with the Arab man
And don't you hippies go on tellin' me I'm wrong

Ah can drink too much and lose mah head
Hit mah wife before goin' to bed
But don't you commies go on tellin' me ahm wrong

Ah scream real loud and scare the kids
Shoot the dog when he takes a piss
But goddammit dontchew go callin' me Saddam

Cos ah just drank a sixer and ahm feelin' lucky
And somewhere there's an Iraqi in Kentucky
And ahll keep on shootin' til he tells me 'oo he is

The 75th Annual Rube Awards

A belated rubing of Hollywood's annual festival of self-gratification is in order. The supposedly de-glammed Oscars took place amidst much soul-searching and wringing of hands over whether it was appropriate for the beautiful people to turn up and celebrate how fucking great they all are while Iraqis were having their heads caved in by US Tomahawks, most of which inner turmoil turned out to be so much PR bullshit.

And the award for Most Egregious Rube goes to Nicole Kidman. After days of carefully orchestrated will-she-won't-she, Nicole surprised no one by finally deciding to turn up and accept her Oscar.

But why, Nicole? "Because art is important."

Hmm, okay. Maybe. But is it more important? Is it more important than the deaths of Iraqi civilians and teenage soldiers? And anyway, you might as well face it, Nic: any ceremony that heaps awards on such a shameless eye-crime as Chicago is not overwhelmingly about art.

"Because my career is important. Because although human life may be precious, no one human life more precious than mine." Just say it. Nobody in Tinseltown would blame you.

And a Supporting Shitbag Rube to anyone who voiced an opinion against the Iraqi invasion when in front of the right audience or magazine, but who failed to make use of the massive platform on Sunday night. And no, Susan, your peace sign doesn't cut it.

Honorary Rube Watchers

A salutory nod to the fine upstanding citizens over at the the Louisville Cardinal is in order. While we at Rube Watch got all fired up about Rube Phones, Rube Shoes, and Rubey Popstars Shitbags, the stout denizens of this Kentucky college newspaper, operating entirely independently of Rube Watch, kept their eyes on the Uber-Rube, Brian P Yates.

While these articles do not deal with the rube threat in such terms, they are undoubtedly rube watching of the highest order and therefore, in recognition of their respective sterling efforts, we hereby bestow upon Jordan Carroll and Joe Elliott the title of Honorary Rube Watchers.

Rube Catalogue: Rube Shoes

You can sell anything to a rube provided you attach the word "technology". Take for instance these shoes which I've seen paraded around in my workplace. Good for your back they say. How the fuck could this be good for the body? If the design of the human race required additional cushioning or springs in your feet then we'd have evolved them. Early man spent several hundred millenia walking around in his bare feet developing an incredible cushioning system for the back. I've watched fools walking around in these things and I can tell you that it don't look healthy: you look like you have a broken pelvis.

The website goes on to proclaim "the shocking truth" of impact on your feet where walking is described as destructive impact. Well again I refer you to the stone age, when I'm quite sure that there were no Chevy Suburbans available to prevent you having to fuck up your feet and back though an arduous walk down to Krispy Kreme. This of course brings us to the real application of these shoes. All this tech talk is merely skirting the issue. It stands to reason that your feet and back are sore if you weigh 300 pounds.

Rube Update!

Rube Catalogue: Essential Purchase

“If a tree falls in the woods and no-one is around to hear it, does it really make a sound?” See, even Confucius was a bit of a Rube, but hey, little did he know that in our post-9/11 society where danger and evil are rife, he’d have a point. If you’re getting murdered or are the unwitting victim of terror and you scream for help and no-one is around to hear, do you really make a sound? Make your cry for help heard by the underpaid telephonist at the other end of The Emergency Cell Phone. (As seen on TV)

Just $99.95 for instant security.

LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU!

Rube Headlines

On March 17th I had the misfortune to be tuned into CNN for an update on the tumultuous events of that day, when I witnessed some idiotic news coverage. The two anchors Carol Costello and Aaron Brown, were waiting for the Rube in Chief to make his ultimatum to the other butcher of Baghdad. I'm pretty sure Brown was jerking off under the table at the prospect of a war. At around the same time, Hans Blix was talking in the UN about the latest findings and plans for inspections (that's right, the inspections Bush called for in the first place). The CNN reporters introduced coverage of Blix at the UN, but in pictures only. We weren't allowed to hear what he said, the coverage then cut back to the glamorous pair whereupon she said "well, I suppose what he has to say is... moot. At least as far as Americans are concerned." What a load of shit. You can hear the production crew, "Hey, we'd better not broadcast what he's saying in case it undermines the case for war. I mean, we've spent a fortune on all these graphics, better make sure we get to use them." The news is the news. You present it, we make up our minds.

You Carol Costello, are a Rube.

The War on Terror: Rubed

You’ll probably have noticed something about us here at Rube Watch. We don’t seem to tackle the big issues. OK, I can see that from a certain point of view, but that only comes from a deep misunderstanding of the threat that Rubery poses to our world. You see, this is the big issue, this is the only issue that we should be worrying our little heads about. War, famine, poverty, Yates Network, murder, rape, Bush Country, talent contests. Why? Assholes, that’s why. Rubes.

“Imagine there’re no assholes, it’s easy if you try” In fact, try hard enough and you can imagine John Lennon never existed and that song fades away like the distant painful memory of so much half baked pap.

However, in the interests of appealing to a larger audience and mentioning something, anything, you people might have previously heard of, I’m putting The War on Terrorism into the Hall of Rubes. No, no, hang on. Yes I am. Shut up, yes I am. If some bunch of fucking Rubes can declare war on, carpet bomb and send armies after an abstract noun then I can certainly rube a proper one. Am I’m damn well going to, is that OK with you? Yeah, yeah, fuck you too pal.

It’s not like the US haven’t tried this stunt before. They declared War on Drugs a few years back. Heroin was shitting itself, which made a change from making some skinny addict leak sour brown muck down a pant-leg. Coke fled back to Columbia, where it was hacked to pieces by guerrillas and shoved up hairy nostrils, and marijuana got burned like the witches of old, and everyone giggled. Whereas Codeine, Nicotine, Dramamine, Valium, Novocaine, Paracetamol, Aspirin, Morphine and Glue escaped the onslaught, Alcohol was installed as drug-ruler, but a pawn of the state. A liquid Noriega, if you will.

So how is this one going to pan out? Well, I see it like this. Terrorism is quaking in its boots around about now (if you can imagine a tiny boot on the end of the T and M ). It’s looking for a hiding place somewhere in between “Urinal” and “Uzbekistan” in the Oxford English, not wanting to stray too far from the “S,T,U” region, but “U.S.; see United States” just keeps rearing its ugly head. Stuck between a toilet and a shit hole, Terrorism will have to let go of the word it annexed in the 1960s, “terror”, and seek exile in “C”, possibly “Q”. With Terrorism on the retreat we can install our own word to fill the gap. A good word, a Christian word, a word to unite the nations and to bring peace and love in our time.

I was thinking…”Testicle”

Rube-A-Rama

Here is a collection of rube variants courtesy of our comrade over at sciatica.

What happens when rubes get access to computers (apart from The Yates Report of course)? Well I'll show you what...

Read the fucking manual Rube.

Rube classifieds.

Online Diary. The content smells like a hoax, but the photograph has to be real. Its a textbook rubeface. Use it to help identify rubes in your area. Picture this guy with kitchen implements stuck in his floppy drive trying to work out why no-one will buy his TV.

Rube Stars: The Rivals

Twirling and spinning his way into the Rube Watch crosshairs today is pointy-headed Popstars Rube Keith Semple, for no other reason other than I just remembered how much the flaccid little fuck-knuckle infuriates me so. I figure it is only a matter of hours (the countdown begins here) before he is officially declared yet another casualty of the fickle world of teeny-pop culture, another broken-hearted loser with his personal dreams of fame and stardom extinguished in a hail of casual apathy, so I’d best rube the bastard while his name still conjures one or two smirks of recognition.

The early days: Keith’s yen for all things poodle-rock has been much documented, but what of this passion in the days before he became the groundbreaking musical genius we all know he loves? What about this (scroll four messages down), from a Thunder (who?) fan site in 1999? Note the flourishing ego – his wish to “congratulate”, from one songwriter to another, his resolute self-confidence no doubt intact even though the site administrator couldn’t even be arsed to spell his fucking name correctly.

So how did it come to pass that this up-and-coming hair-metal wanker lost his way to the evil spectre of chart-pop trash? Why on earth is he not all spandexed up like a heroin-fuelled Las Vegas whore as we speak?

Fear not! This man’s heart of rock beats strong – check his devil-horned victory salute as celebrated by the front-page of this death-defyingly rubey website. Is this a sign to his ex-pat Thunder fans - “Keep the faith, brothers, for I have been appointed by Thor to tear down this evil industry from the inside!”? Is it a message of hope to us all, informing us that credibility and passion is to be restored to popular music?

Is it fuck. What we have here is the last feeble death-rattle of this rubed-up cocksucker’s self respect, live on national television. There’s no going back from here.

So imagine the shock experienced by his legions of child-fans when he denounced pop music in favour of “rock and real music”, stating, in yet another barefaced display of unjustified egotism: “I'd like to make it big as a solo artist. I'm talented. I've been writing songs for 10 years.”

This coming from the guy who cheerfully pouted and gurned like a constipated Jim Carrey on the nation’s TV screens for months on end, with a sincerity that would make Tony Blair squirm. The guy practically got down on his knees and begged tearfully for our attention - if the show had been renamed “Watch Me Suck the Dry White Hairs off Pete Waterman’s Gnarly Nutsack While He Takes a Hot Syphilitic Beer-Piss All Over My Back” you would have been hard pressed to detect any decrease in Keith’s enthusiasm.

So here’s to Keith, and his ambitions to be a hard-rockin’ Gary Barlow for the next three weeks. May he enjoy eternity in the Hall of Rubes.

Oh, and if Keith ever finds this page, I’d like to take a moment, just for badness, to remind him of his well-documented comments regarding his ill-fated relationship with fellow Popstars half-wit Hayley Evetts. Keith, here’s what you told everybody. Ya fuckin’ Rube.

Happy St. Patrick's day to all...

...except the total fucking rubes at O'Neill's pub in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Who refused to accept our Irish driver's licences as valid ID last night resulting in the St. Paddy's celebrations out here in the desert taking place exclusive of real Irish people. We went to a Hawaiian bar instead. The rules are the rules. Well, the rubes are the rubes too, I suppose.

Rube Catalogue: Paddy's Day Special

Irish-American Rube Watch

This beautiful and imaginative Irish-American Rube Watch is an ideal gift for any Rube looking to declare their membership of the Irish genepool. Representing the Rubic attachment of Irish Americans to that tiny island they've never been to and their bizarre ignorance of its history, people and politics, the Irish-American Rube Watch brands your Rube a Rube every second of the day and allows them with a flick of the wrist to say, "Kiss me I'm an asshole".

A steal at $49.

Quick Quick, GET IT

Rubes of the World: Northern Ireland

Much of the discussion (and criticism) on this page is directed at Rubes of North American lineage. In the spirit of equality, and also to establish that there is no "anti-Americanism" lest there be an Ulster Fry boycott, it is necessary that we put on display some of the worlds most accomplished Rubes.

I refer you to the DUP (Democratic Unionist Party). For our American readers we must clarify that in Northern Ireland there are also 2 sides to the political landscape. The difference is that Northern Irish Democrats are the right wing bible thumping lunatics and the Republicans are the left wing socialists. Apologies for the confusion, we've been struggling with the whole thing since the 1700s. So, feast your eyes on the ugliest, most bigoted bunch of politicians anywhere on the globe, read the speeches, check out the mugshots, and understand why we need them off our TV screens for ever.

Of course we must elevate at least one member of this hideous band to the Hall of Rubes. That man is Sammy Wilson. Sammy, get your clothes on and come on down you useless sack of poop.