60% Does Not Mean Gay (Gay Begins at 61%: Not That There's Anything Wrong with That*)

You Are 40% Boyish and 60% Girlish

You are pretty evenly split down the middle - a total eunuch. Okay, kidding about the eunuch part. But you do get along with both sexes. You reject traditional gender roles. However, you don't actively fight them. You're just you. You don't try to be what people expect you to be.

How Boyish or Girlish Are You?

If you take the quiz, the first question asks if shooting guns is fun or dangerous. The answer is "Fun."

I know that now.

*Thanks, C.B.

It Tastes Like Chicken

A judge sentenced the man convicted of putting his own fecal matter on food at a Dallas grocery store to five years in prison.

Against his attorney's advice, Behrouz Nahidmobarekeh took the stand in his own defense to explain why he did it....

"I picked up that dry feces I talked about it it couldn't hurt anybody I could get, even if I get caught I want to teach these people a lesson." said Nahidmobarekeh.

He said he thought they didn't properly address his complaints he'd made against the store....

Store owners initially called police after customers complained the fresh-baked items smelled and tasted like manure.

Let's see, a fresh-baked pastry item smelled like manure, yet, despite the smell (and I would hope, your better judgment), you bit into it anyway, only to find that, yes, indeed, it tasted like manure, too? Is that what you're telling me? If that's the case, I have to say, no crime was committed here: You got exactly what you paid for.

I Didn't Know Scooter Was from Seattle

One passage goes, “At length he walked around to the deer’s head and, reaching into his pants, struggled for a moment and then pulled out his penis. He began to piss in the snow just in front of the deer’s nostrils.”

Homoeroticism and incest also figure as themes. The main female character, Yukiko, draws hair on the “mound” of a little girl. The brothers of a dead samurai have sex with his daughter. Many things glisten (mouths, hair, evergreens), quiver (a “pink underlip,” arm muscles, legs), and are sniffed (floorboards, sheets, fingers). The cast includes a dwarf, and an “assistant headman” who comes to restore order after a crime at the inn. (Might this character be autobiographical? And, if so, would that have made Libby the assistant headman or the assistant headman’s assistant?)

When it comes to depicting scenes of romance, however, Libby can evoke a sort of musty sweetness; while one critic deemed “The Apprentice” “reminiscent of Rembrandt,” certain passages can better be described as reminiscent of Penthouse Forum. There is, for example, Yukiko’s seduction of the inexperienced apprentice...

Other sex scenes are less conventional. Where his Republican predecessors can seem embarrassingly awkward—the written equivalent of trying to cop a feel while pinning on a corsage—Libby is unabashed:

At age ten the madam put the child in a cage with a bear trained to couple with young girls so the girls would be frigid and not fall in love with their patrons. They fed her through the bars and aroused the bear with a stick when it seemed to lose interest.

And, finally:

He asked if they should fuck the deer.

If you don't know the answer to that, well, you never had a kid named Scooter in your neighborhood.

Maureen Dowd Has Written an Insightful Piece on Feminism: "40 Years Later," which I'm Ignoring Largely to Focus on This One Unrepresentative Sentence

Sex Trick 4: "Place a glazed doughnut around your man's member, then gently nibble the pastry and lick the icing . . . as well as his manhood."

That's all fine and good for her, but what about my needs, my desires, my wants? Where's my doughnut?

Man, patriarchy sucks. Someone needs to fight the power.

Behind Every Gay Male, There's a Fireman (Okay, I Could Have Phrased that Better)

The next night, Rusty couldn't sleep. He thought about the fireman. He thought about how warm and muscular the fireman had felt through his uniform. He remembered the smell of smoke mixed with the fireman's sweat.

Remembering the fireman gave Rusty a funny feeling. He wished he could be together with the fireman again....

Rusty went and talked to his mother. 'I think I want to marry a fireman when I grow up,' he said.

Mother laughed uncomfortably. 'What a funny idea, Rusty!' she said. 'What will the neighbors think if they hear about this?'

Rusty decided that maybe his father would understand how he felt. 'Father,' said Rusty. 'Did you ever wish that the house would catch on fire again so that a fireman can rescue you? And did you ever wish he'd take off all your clothes?'

Father gave Rusty a strange look. 'No, I can't say that I did,' said Father.

The real shocker came at dinner that night. 'I wish a fireman would take off all his clothes and sleep with me in my bed," said Rusty. "And I wish he would put a dog leash on me"

Kids say the craziest things.

And, No, Grandmaw Dustpussy Is Not the Name of the Jilted Woman in "Great Expectations."

[Picture and article are basically unrelated.]

So a couple of months ago I squirted some blood out of my ass.

You wouldn't think that would be the beginning of an interesting and entertaining blog entry. Do you ever tire of being wrong?

Harriet Miers Resignation Letter: The First Draft

Dear Mr. President,

I write to withdraw as a nominee to serve as your water-carrier on the Supreme Court of the United States. I have been greatly tickled by the confidence that you have shown in me, and have appreciated immensely your solitary support in the face of the universal contempt of many others. However, I am concerned that the confirmation process has been an unmitigated disaster for the White House and the entire conservative movement that is not in the best interest of you, me and any future we might have had together, if only things had gone a little differently.

As you know, members of the Senate have been asking really hard questions about laws and the constitution and such, not to mention that impossible questionnaire in order to judge whether to support me....

As I stated that magical night in the boathouse, the strength and independence of the Bush Administration are critical to the continued success of the covert evangelical coup we've all worked so long and hard on — oops, did I actually say "hard on?" It must be the Bailey's talking!

If Fox News Had Been Around Throughout History

My favorite Fox News report is from the crucifixion of Christ:DEATH RULED "CARPENTRY ACCIDENT" PILATE: "WE FOUND HIM LIKE THAT"

The Best of Sci-Fi Writing (Imagine Shatner Reading These)

`He shuddered, awash in adrenaline, his sphincter pulling unpleasantly tight as he recognized his own youthful scrawl on the outside tab.

My sphincter has tightened at the sight of, sound of, thought of more things and in more situations than I care to recall, but recall them, I did after reading that, for clarification's sake, and I'm certain: "Tightened" does not need to be modified by "unpleasantly." That's the only way a sphincter tightens.

I am, though, a reasonable man. If you have recollections of your sphincter tightening pleasantly, I'd like to hear about it. Use the supplied Comments form. (Entrants are subject to ridicule.)

The Title Is the Best Part

A LESBIAN stalker convicted of harassing a 'Vampire Queen' performance poet has lost her High Court bid for a judicial review.

I didn't know Jay Leno was a lesbian. Wow. All of a sudden, he's more interesting to me, in a funny way. Unfortunately, he's still not ha-ha funny, just funny.

Roy Blunt Dubbed It a Result of the Fuck Up Gene

There's no way to explain, exactly, what possesses someone to stare down at a glass of moonshine - pure corn liquor made in an illegal still - and decide to put it in his body. But, two years ago, I did just that for the first time.

A friend of mine, a giant native Tennessean who never had much trouble drinking his own weight in the hard stuff, had turned 21 a few months earlier. A friend of ours - another Tennessean - brought him a large mason jar of clear liquid to mark the occasion.

'Is that what I think it is?' he asked.

'It's from my granddaddy's still,' she said. 'Don't worry - they test it.'

'Test it?' he said.

'Yeah,' she said. 'They put a little bit in the lid there and set it on fire. If it turns green, it's fine. If it turns blue it'll kill you.'...

'Um...I really don't know...' I whined.

'Oh come on,' he said. 'We're gonna do this. We've got to.'

I've lost arguments to friends who were using the same compelling reasoning. In the light of day, the logic doesn't hold up, but if you're a male, you know, these arguments never occur in the light of day and if you're a male you also know, there is nothing more powerful between friends than "We've got to do this."

I don't know if I can explain it, but I'll try.

Men are stupid.

Wow, that was easier than I thought.

No, really, women develop strong far-reaching relationships through the use of developed communication skills. Men develop life-long bonds with near strangers by engaging in acts of derring-do and unbridled stupidity because a close friend threw down the gauntlet of "We've got to do this."

Honestly, that's how your dad really got his slight limp. It's not a football injury; he never played football.

That's how your brother got his scar. (Fell down on his way to choir practice? Please.)

If your boyfriend has a tattoo with a women's name on his arm, it's not his grandmother's name on his father's side. (Her name is Ethel, not Esmeralda.) More than likely, he was in Tijuana with some friends, and someone said, "We've got to do this." Tequila shots, tattoos and penicillin followed.

That's why he and his buddies get quiet when you come in the room. That's why when you ask them what's so funny, they say, "Nuthin'." That's guy talk for "We had to do it."

"The Complete Works of Shakespeare for Illiterates"

We’ve all been there.

You’re minding your own business, enjoying an ice cold Bud at the local bar, when some pansy in khakis and a sweater saunters in and wows the chicks with some kind of thee and thou stuff like in the Bible. Ladies’ night is a bust once again, and all you and your buddies can do is go home to sit around drinking, shooting guns into the air and nervously telling jokes about “the homos.” What does that college boy have that you don’t?

The Dockers we can’t give you, but we can tell you that the reason Poindexter has so much luck on ladies’ night, ..., is that he knows Shakespeare. He probably learned it at one of those East Coast ivory tower colleges where they teach about evil-ution and ebonics and all that. I know, I know, damned if you’re going to some pussy school!

Don’t worry! You don’t actually have to read and understand Shakespeare to impress anybody. ...Our crack team of researchers has distilled the complete works of the Bard (that means Shakespeare) into a simple, easy to digest form you’re probably already familiar with. In a matter of minutes you can catch up with those eggheads and show them who’s really boss. You.

And that’s something they can’t learn in no book.

All that tuition, down the drain.

And They Spelled "Gullible" with One "L"

Turn to page 1,850 of the 1975 edition of the New Columbia Encyclopedia and you’ll find an entry for Lillian Virginia Mountweazel, a fountain designer turned photographer who was celebrated for a collection of photographs of rural American mailboxes titled “Flags Up!” Mountweazel, the encyclopedia indicates, was born in Bangs, Ohio, in 1942, only to die “at 31 in an explosion while on assignment for Combustibles magazine.”

If Mountweazel is not a household name, even in fountain-designing or mailbox-photography circles, that is because she never existed.

It's like they're playing Balderdash. I love that game.

Herb's No Racist. He's Just Not Bright. Nuance, People. Nuance.

A 'whites only' sign at a barber shop on Moss Street in Lafayette might grab your attention and take you back to the Civil Rights era.

This afternoon, a viewer called our newsroom appalled. We checked it out and found that barber Herbert Leger put the sign up Saturday morning after having to over and over again turn down customers he says he's not qualified to help.

Herbert Leger: The difference is the technique that you use and they have special technique for cutting black people's hair. Just like there's a special technique for cutting white people's hair. I don't have the training, I don't have the experience, I don't have the knowledge and the technique used in cutting black people's hair.

Leger says he did not intend for the sign to offend anyone. He also says when a customer walks in he can't help, he sends him to his barber friend across the street.

Yes, he sends them across the street, to his friend's place, in Colored Town.

The hat and the backward "S" in the Whites Only sign are the tip offs that this guy's no racist. While racists from time to time do don silly hats, they stop using the backward "S" when they outgrow their lemonade stands. (Coloreds served round back.)

"Thasshot."

This is probably my favorite photo, like, ever. You've got the cameltoe, the weird extra flesh hanging down from her ass that looks like some sort of ass cheek goiter, and then the flame crotch is saying, "my crotch, it's on fire, like with an STD or because of friction from heavy usage."

For those of you playing at home, yes, "cameltoe" is trumped by "ass cheek goiter." I'm surprised I have to tell you this.

To Paraphrase an Old Joke: "That Pig Would Bite You."

Washington is one of twelve states that has no law against bestiality.

So come to Seattle--where you can't get a lap dance, but it's a-ok to blow a pig.

Recent cutbacks have left the Department of Tourism a little shorthanded. Nowhere is that more evident than in their marketing department. (See above.)

In a year in which State coffers overflowed, sure, that slogan would've been sent back for a re-write, but that's not the case in 2005. This year finds us a little short and, as a consequence, in a more accepting mood.

Besides, when you get down to it, it does get our message across, that message, of course, being, we're so desperate for your vacation dollar, we'll turn a blind eye to the carnival of sin you've got planned for our farm animals. That's the same as "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" -- just less ambiguous.

And Displaying the Wily Skills He Developed as a Bull Fighter, He Evaded a Certain Sacking by Giving His Notice: Pussy

Motormouth Brummie Neil French said: “Women don’t make it to the top because they don’t deserve to — they’re crap.”

Mr French, 61, employed by the giant WPP Group, moaned that women didn’t stay in jobs — choosing to “wimp out and go suckle something”.

Don't shed any tears for Mr. French. Now that he's available, he's on the short list to become the next president of Harvard University. He's going to be all right.

I Have a Feeling Enrollment at The Johns Hopkins University Is Going to Be Way Up Next Year, but That's Just a Guess

For those not familiar with Road head, it is performing oral sex on the (male) driver of a car while he's driving. From last week's legal quiz, oral sex, or more specifically, 'taking the sexual organ of another' into your mouth is illegal in Maryland. Considering that in many states it is illegal to use cell phones while driving, I'm thinking activities far more distracting to the driver are also frowned upon. You be the judge: Which is more distracting -- talking on the phone or a partner practicing her joystick skills? ...

The case against Road head is pretty straightforward. You can sum up the arguments as my one friend did, saying, 'It's dangerous and skanky.'

I like "dangerous." I love "skanky." Let's roll.

By the way, if your cell phone service compares in any pleasurable way to oral sex, let me know. Because if it does, Cingular has got some 'splainin' to do.

Growing Up, "I Hate My Life" Was How We Said, "Good Morning"

To the woman with the penis drawn on her forehead

I passed you on the sidewalk this afternoon. You had the remnants of a penis drawn on your forehead with a Sharpie. You were talking on the phone, very distraught, saying, 'I hate my life.'

Been drinking again, haven't you, Mom?

It's Got Chicks and Dogs and Banjos and The Menorah...

...and the lines

Fast cars,
Fine ass:
These things will pass.
And it won't get more profound."

Time is a game only children play well
How can I love you if you won't lie down?

Now, THAT's rock and roll.

"And Your Walk: Wow, It Looks Like You're Going to Need a Full Twatal Manipulation, as well. Nurse Good-Body! Cancel my 2 O'Clock!"

A Michigan chiropractor has had his license suspended after state investigators charged that he fondled two teenagers after telling the girls that their breasts were 'uneven' and in need of adjustment.

In general, I'm the ideal juror. I can suspend judgment on just about any person accused of a crime until I hear the facts, weigh the evidence, and deliver a verdict. A champion of liberty, I have no problems with placing unreasonable burdens on the State in terms of what can qualify as evidence, the manners in which evidence can be obtained, or the release of persons when those things are violated. I have studied the American Constitution and American jurisprudence for half of my adult life, and it's produced with me a perfect cog for the Justice machine.

That said, I took one look at that guy's picture and decided, "Oh yeah, he did it. He's as guilty as O.J."

** Thanks to the The Law Guy for the heads-up.

Halloween in Fayetteville

...Letting the children inside to drink beers
Razorblades hidden in Three Musketeers
Screams from the basement of kids
Begging to be set free:

That's what Halloween means to me!

Tightening the clamps That are holding
Their little heads So tight.
Putting my lips to their ears As I whisper,
"Please Don't fight."
I promise I'll let you go home If you swear not to tell
A soul.
"I'll just untie these...I'm kidding."
And I'll wind up my chainsaw:
"Let's rock and roll."

A pinch of your brother,
A teaspoon of you,
With the head of your sister,
Would make a good stew.
I'd give you a taste,
But your tongue's in the stew.

Irony.

That's what Halloween means to me.

"Damn You, Jonas Salk! Damn You All to Hell!"

Chris: I don't care what she says, I'm never going back!

Brian: Look you can't run away from your problems Chris. That's what I tried to do. I joined the Peace Corps and a day later I was two continents away.

Chris: Really?

Brian: Yep, but 6,000 miles and all the dope I could smoke still couldn't separate me from my problems. And this was good dope. I mean it was growing everywhere. Oh my God! This one time we got so baked we ended up eating all the food the World Health Organization had airlifted in. Oh man those villagers were so pissed! They tried to chase us, but lemme just say thank God for polio."

"I Know Jayson Blair. I Taught Jayson Blair. You, Sir, Are No Jayson Blair"

I could do that. I could shill for the government, although I'd hold out for the big bucks that the conservatice columnists get paid under the table for lecturing the rest of us on morality and honesty and the issues. (Maybe I couldn't do it to justify and flimflam the aching world on a rotten war that's killed by the thousands, but if there were some small item in the transportation bill they need someone to stooge for, send me a check, boys.)

Phbbt! Well, it doesn't sound like you've got what it takes to do this kind of work. It sounds like your got standards and scruples and ethics and stuff. You'll never cut it in the shill game.

I, on the other hand, was suckled on moral relativism, gnawed the teat of postmodern irony sore till I was decades old. There's nothing I won't do, because there is nothing I can't justify.

Bring it on!

RHS: Retired Husband Syndrome—and You Thought We Had a Diagosis for Every Peeve in America. Ha! Ya' Goose!

Sakura Terakawa, 63, describes her four decades of married life in a small urban apartment as a gradual transition from wife to mother to servant. Communication with her husband started with love letters and wooing words under pink cherry blossoms. It devolved over time, she said, into mostly demands for his evening meals and nitpicking over the quality of her housework.

So when he came home one afternoon three years ago, beaming, and announced he was ready to retire, Terakawa despaired.

“This is it,” I remember thinking. “I am going to have to divorce him now,” Terakawa recalled.

Then, she realized killing him, burning his remains in the basement incinerator, and telling everyone he'd run off to America with his whore of a girlfriend and died would be much easier.

What's NAFTA Got to Do with IT

Canada could export up to 450,000 barrels per day of crude oil to China from northern Alberta's oil sands in the coming six years, Canadian Natural Resources Minister John McCallum said on Saturday.

China's president expressed interest in Canada's oil sands in talks earlier in the day, according to McCallum.

He said he would have been 'energetic' in offering crude under normal circumstances but was 'super energetic' given Canada's trade problems with the United States.

"Wait, Canada Baby! Come back! The U.S.'ll be good to you!

"See? We're already backing off this soft lumber accusation. We would've backed down sooner had we known it meant so much to you. We love our Canada.

"Now, come on: Put down that 450,000 barrel/day export, stop waving it around like a crazy person, and come on home. China can't love you like we can. You know that.

"We've always been your big sugar daddy. That softwood lumber was.... Well, you know how we get when we're all drunk with power.

"But we're all right, now. It's safe to trade with us again. You'll see.

"Let us make it up to you. Go down to the Carribean and pick out a nice country for yourself. We'll get it for you for Christmas. You'd like a resort island, wouldn't you?

"Just come home and say you love us. And don't forget the oil, baby.

"That's a good girl."

...I'll Say Anything When I'm in a Post-Coital Glow

It’s one thing to look at a male organ from the top of a public urinal; kneeling at eye level is something entirely different. In my personal experience, these things pretty much all look and work the same; minor variations on a theme. And it’s certainly not as though I’m complaining about the penises I’ve know and loved; they’ve served me well. But I think I’ve probably maxed out around, say, 6ish? Which, at the time, seemed pretty big to me.

Ummm... not any more.

I’m trying not to let this post devolve into pure porn, but I feel it’s my responsibility to share details here, as this is the part of my post that most people have been referring to in their responses. I’ve had people from Seattle, Dallas, and DC write to me, asking about this very specific detail. Who the hell am I to deny the public what they want?

(And yes, if you’re concerned for his feelings, Mr A gave me his blessing to divulge about his bulge:

Me: Hey, do you mind if I tell everyone on CL how enormous your dong is?
Him: Sure, go ahead.

Honestly, did anyone expect a “no” in this scenario?)

Well, yeah, okay, but in my defense...

Now if It Were a Anal Sex Tape from His Gay Porn Collection, I'd Say You're Back to "Likes You-Likes You"

What does it mean when a man shows an anal sex video on the first date?

My husband's co-worker, Mary, is 39 and anxious to get married and have kids. She recently accepted an invitation from Tom to have dinner at his house. He was grilling outside and 'for her pleasure' popped in an X-rated video that concentrated on oral sex. When Tom returned, he sat down with her and watched the tape. Whwn she finally got up enough nerve to complain about the tape, he unwrapped a brand new tape of the anal sex variety. She felt very uncomfortable but said nothing. The rest of the evening was anti-climactic, and they shook hands good night....

How would you interpret his actions?"

Okay, first, was he in the video? Think hard, now, because your answer's important.

No, I guess it isn't.

Everyone knows Oral Sex tape on the First Date means, "He likes you-likes you," which is an open category, with almost an infinite number of interpretations as to what it means. If he'd only shown you that, I'd say proceed with caution, but definitely hang around to see what develops.

But anal sex tape? on the first date? There's no misunderstanding that: That's love, honey, and it's time to boat that bass.

Get on it.

P.S.

And before you ask, yes, it is true. The first anniversary is the Lube Anniversary.

"100 Pieces of Candy?!" What Kind of Underachievers Did He Grow Up With?

For Halloween, Wayne Baker Jr., 11, is going as the masked marauder from Scream. But that's just for trick-or-treating in his Port Washington, N.Y., neighborhood. For the school parade, he'll be Anakin Skywalker. And for parties? The Fantastic Four's Human Torch.

Halloween used to carry with it predictable statistics: One costume plus one plastic jack-o'-lantern equaled 100 pieces of candy.

But Halloween is a multiple-event holiday now, requiring multiple costumes: Bare-armed garb for a sunny day of marching, cozy outfits to ward off autumn's evening chill. Heroes and princesses for daytime events, hooligans and witches for spooky nighttime activities. Elaborate ensembles for school functions, less-fussy ones for trick-or-treating, when sidewalk stumbles are a risk.

This is outrageous.

But on the bright side, I think I've found JonBenet Ramsey.

The Sommeliers Have Taken Over the Asylum

We love high-dollar wine, but we don’t love panhandling for it. And while the savvy know a good bottle can be picked up for under 10 bucks, we are not savvy: We are cheapskates. Here, then, are seven reds, four whites, and a rosé—all cheap, all perfect for Solo-cupping

REDS

Fenestra True Red Lot 17, Red table wine, California $9.99

You’re finally done with work and you swear, all you want, all you’ll ever want, is to take off your pants. But first you’d like to pick up a bottle of red to have with your supper. ...

No, no, you were right about me the first time, sister. All I want to do is take off my pants.

There. Ahhhhhhh.

Now, you were saying?

Gnarly Head Old Vine Zinfandel, Lodi, California $9.99

This wine’s knotted, head-pruned vines date back to the early twentieth-century and produce a thick, dark, somewhat spicy wine with a scabby, dried blood hue. There is less of that fresh, ripe fruit taste common to zinfandels and instead more wood, dirt, and pepper.

For every one of you that’s turned off by a beverage review that boasts dirt and scabs, there’s a sommelier out there who’s writhing in ecstasy. Alllllriiiight.

I believe, like Fran Lebovitz, that "Great people talk about wine, normal people talk about things, and small people talk about wine," so believe me when I say, I can't wait to rebut someone's proclamation that "Although immature -- fading as it does on the middle palate -- this Cabernet's quite good" with "Good?! I'll say! It's practically scabilicious!"

"Not Cool! Not Cool! Choppin' Off Wee-Wees Is Not Cool!"

The murder of a tramp was successfully solved in Russia’s southern port city of Novorossiisk after police discovered the victim’s penis on the person of the murderer. ...

According to the agency, police discovered the dead body of a man in a garage block. The dead man was naked and his penis had been cut off. ...

Shortly afterwards the police detained the suspected killer — a young man who was also homeless. The victim’s penis was found on his person and is being used as the main piece of evidence against him.

"'J'accuse!' the penis screamed through the old fatigue pants. 'There, sits he, the man who severed me from my world of bliss, collected me from my kingly perch within my master's fly, and shoved my head into his lint-lined pocket roughly, like a once proud and ejaculating roll of Certs. I call him "butcher!" I dub him "Thief"!" I piss at him, "Killer!""

Or that's how my screenplay "The Tell-Tale Prick" was going to end Act III. It would've been like that moment in A Few Good Men, when Jack Nicholson unloads -- totally mesmerizing -- and future scholars would've discussed the penis the way current scholars discuss the dagger in MacBeth: circumcised or natural, bloody or clean, real or imagined." It was going to be beautiful.

And then reality beat me to market with its version. Oh, well, ...

Back to the drawing board.

Two Great Taste that Go Great Together but Only if You Tongue Swab a Septic Tank First

On a sunny day some friends and I had ordered some bacon cheese burgers for lunch. After a couple of bites someone commented on how bacon was able to make an already delicious hamburger even more delicious. This started a conversation on the power of bacon in-which it was able to make everything it came in contact with taste better. Whether it’s a filet wrapped in bacon, bacon on salads, pizza, or sandwiches it’s always that much better with bacon. We wondered if it was possible that any other foods had this special property. Someone quickly identified chocolate as a food with similar complimentary properties. Chocolate covered pretzels, strawberries, nuts, just about everything tasted better covered in chocolate. If both bacon and chocolate can make other foods taste better, what would happen if someone was just crazy enough to combine chocolate and bacon?

And just like that an end was brought to both schools of thought, Evolution and Intelligent Design.

Academic Shortcomings that Can't Be Explained by Ebonics

Walt Whitman is 90 stories tall, and his adventures are legendary. With his blue Ox, Emily Dickenson, Walt Whitman traveled across young America and helped the nation grow into the angry powerhouse it is today. He dropped his might axe, forming the Grand Canyon; the apple cores he would spit from his mighty mouth planted apple trees all across the coutry, and the stomp of his mighty boot caused the stock market to crash. He and his friend Huck Finn, traveled down the Mississippi and freed the slaves. Walt Whitman believed that the only good Chinaman was a dead Chinaman, so he went to Tiananmen Square and gave them all candy. Except instead of candy he killed them.

When he gets to college, this kid should think about a major in American folklore, assuming, of course, this isn't a huge Internet lie, which it almost certainly is.

11. Top Qualification on Resume: "Crony"

Top Ten Signs Your Supreme Court Pick Isn't Qualified

10. 'Lost 10 grand yesterday in the 'case' of Jets vs. Ravens'

9. 'Spends most of her time trying to fit the gavel into her mouth'

8. 'Her legal mentor: Oliver Wendell Redenbacher'

7. 'Asks courtroom stenographer to, 'Quit that annoying tapping!''

6. 'Instead of Constitutional law books, consults set of 'Garfield' paperbacks'

5. 'Keeps shouting, 'When does mama get to hang somebody?!'

4. 'When Scalia walks by, she pretends to cough and says, 'Rogaine''

3. 'Authored the book: 'I'm Not Qualified to be a Supreme Court Justice''

2. 'The closest thing to courtroom experience was being an extra on 'Matlock''

1. 'Glowing letter of recommendation from former FEMA director Michael Brown

Aborting Our Way to a Better Life

So the former U.S. secretary of education suggests that the way to lower the crime rate is to abort 'every black baby' in America. What's the big fuss?

Is not William Bennett's final solution to the crime problem a logical - albeit cataclysmic - conclusion for those who consider African-Americans a criminal type? Much evidence suggests that this sentiment is held by a large if not majority segment to whom Bennett merely gave voice. Unlike Herr Bennett, however, most Americans will not slip and reveal themselves in conversation with strangers, and thus their deeply held opinions rarely show up in polls. So we must rely on anecdotes and the life experience of the black citizenry who are often suspiciously viewed - and treated - as criminals by their white brethren.

... Among civilians, the unannounced appearance of a solitary black in a room, or on a dark street, is enough to set strangers rocking back on their heels and clutching their handbags.

What about the lone black male professional in the elevator or on the railway platform?

Such encounters loose such a panic as to provoke a reactionary malady among black men. They create coping mechanisms designed to reassure whites that they are indeed not criminals. Some look passively at the floor, others strike up a conversation, being careful to remove the bass from their voice. One well-known journalist admitted that when awaiting a train with a white stranger on a rail platform, he would sing a few bars of an opera, I assume in falsetto.

It's true. We do develop coping mechanisms to reassure whites. I, myself, jab my gun into their kidneys and demand money. I find there's nothing so reassuring to whites as the fulfillment of a stereotype.

And for the record, Payne gives a misleading statement here. He says, "Despite the supermarket of crime conducted by Halliburton, serial killers, polluters, sitting politicians and the interlocking Mafia families, the overwhelming majority of offenders who get slammed into U.S. prisons are blacks and Latinos." While true, blacks and Latinos do make up an overwhelming majority of offenders, that statement masks a larger truth. Neither group by itself makes up more than a majority of the prison population. You can't say that about whites, who make up 56.8% of the inmates in this country, according to the Bureau of Prisons.

So if you really wanted to take a bite out of crime by aborting one race's zygotes, you'd want to go white here.

The Ceremony Was Conducted by The Reverend Sun Myung Moon

Ten couples who have children together and have been living together for years got married Thursday.

The group wedding was billed as 'Marry Your Baby Daddy Day.'

Next month is "We've Got to Get You into a Shelter before He Comes Back" Month. I hear it's sponsored by "Cops" and Hanes, maker of the malt liquor-proof tank top.

A Show of Hands: Who Believes The Ad Wasn't Authorized? Not You, Mr. Cox. We're Aware of Where You Stand.

Boeing and its joint-venture partner Bell Helicopter apologized yesterday for a magazine ad published a month ago — and again this week by mistake — depicting U.S. Special Forces troops rappelling from an Osprey aircraft onto the roof of a mosque.

"It descends from the heavens. Ironically it unleashes hell," reads the ad, which ran this week in the National Journal and earlier in the Armed Forces Journal.

"What we meant to say is that it 'unleashes heck,'" Mike Cox, a Bell vice president, did not say. "Yeah. That's it."

And when that drew even more disapproving looks, "What? No good? Okay, we'll work on it."