"Olly, Olly, All in Free!" (This Means You, Osama)

"We know a great deal more about bin Laden, Zarqawi and [bin Laden aide Ayman] Zawahiri then we're able to say publicly," Goss said. He said the men had not been found "primarily because they don't want us to find them and they're going to great lengths to make sure we don't find them."

We can't find them because they don't want us to find them, but if they wanted us to find them, we'd be able to find them quickly?! Is that what I'm hearing?

Don't take this the wrong way, Director Goss, but when you see Michael Chertoff, could you ask him if we can go to Terror Alert Level Red now? No, no, it's not you. It's me. I'm just feeling a little more vulnerable at the moment.

You just carry on with the great job you're doing tracking down terrorists. If you need me, I'll be in the basement, taping plastic over all the exposed surfaces.

This Is Where Guys Who Threaten to Shoot Their Wives with Axes Come From

A 15-year-old Chicago boy charged with kidnapping a 6-year-old girl for an alleged satanic ritual was ordered held in the Cook County Juvenile Detention Center Monday....

On Monday, Rodriguez's grandfather, Julian Rodriguez, said his grandson is harmless and a little "slow."

"David needed a knife to carve that pentagram, and David didn't know how to use a knife," the elder Rodriguez said.

For lack of a spork, a child was saved.

Your Holiday Shopping Begins and Ends Here

He may not be dripping in chains and jewellery any more but 1980s icon Mr T hopes his return to our screens will be golden.

A battle against cancer forced The A Team star to take a break from acting 10 years ago, but now he's healthy and back with a new American reality show, a part in upcoming movie Rocky VI and even his own comic book.....

"We are going to start filming Rocky VI soon, with me as Clubber Lang again, and we're also starting work right now on my new show - which is called I Pity The Fool."

This is wrong on so many levels, but none more wrong than this: "You can get Mr T to leave a mobile phone message for your friends and family by going to www.celebritymessages.com. Voicemails range from 'happy birthday' to 'you're dumped'."

Mr. T., you just saved Christmas.

Look: If Your Hummer Doesn't Make Her Overlook Your Tiny Penis, Nothing Will

A new condom will let guys make a big first impression.

The brand name is 'HUGE. They're not really any bigger than the standard variety."

That's because the HUGE refers to the prick that buys them, not the prick that's in them.

"Lawyer, Huh? I Bet You Saw Some Action"

A man accused of urinating in an airplane aisle and lighting a cigarette during a flight to Dulles International Airport told a judge that he's due to check into rehab.

Forty-one-year-old Mark McGovern told a federal magistrate judge in Charlotte, North Carolina yesterday that he's an unemployed lawyer and is supposed to check into an alcohol treatment program at a veterans hospital in Tampa, Florida on Friday.

Ohhhhhhh. See, I didn't know he was a veteran when I made my snide and violence-encouraging remarks earlier. Had I known he was an American hero, I ....

No, I still would've wished someone would've given him a beat-down - except I'd have wanted them to thank him for his service afterwards. (And, maybe, buy him a drink.)

"And I Want a X-Box and an iPod and a Red Ryder BB Gun. Oh, and a Defense Attorney! Don't Forget the Defense Attorney"

"I want my grandparents and parents to know that I love them and I would like a shirt and a cigarette and some shoes please,' Fung-Cap said while being taken into custody."

Whoa, whoa, whoa, Fung-Cap. You're not talking to Santa's elves. Those are deputy sheriffs. This is not the time to break out your wish list.

But Then, I Am from -North- Carolina

"Southern women never grunt while having sex."

Except for that, the women in the lower 16 are almost identical.

That's It. Let's Roll

An intoxicated passenger who lit a cigarette and urinated in the aisle led pilots to divert a United Airlines flight from Orlando, Fla., to Washington, D.C., and airline spokeswoman said.

Where were the citizen defenders of our skies when this was going on? Pardon me, but I was led to believe that in these Yellow Alert times we live in, if someone acted like this, another passenger would jump to attention and rain blows on him until he was face-down on the carpet, bruised and bleeding into his own urine. Why didn't that happen? Why wasn't this guy pummeled like luggage. Come on, people! Vigilante justice ain't just for terrorists, anymore.

I've Been Drunk. l've Just Never Been Dog-Decapitating Drunk. But the Holidays Are Coming, so There's Hope

A jury trial has been set for Feb. 28 for a man accused of decapitating a family's dog during a camping trip Labor Day weekend.

Russell J. Howald, 29, whose address has been listed as both Basin and Butte, faces a mixture of felony and misdemeanor charges including aggravated animal cruelty, attempted aggravated animal cruelty, tampering with evidence, criminal endangerment, two counts of intimidation and misdemeanor criminal mischief.

The charges stem from a Sept. 3 incident in which Howald is alleged to have shot and then cut off the head of a chocolate Labrador retriever named Gunner, which was owned by a Butte family enjoying a holiday weekend at the Ladysmith campground near Bernice.

Howald is also alleged to have thrown a beer bottle at another camping family as well as fired a gun at a man after an altercation. In addition, he was involved in a vehicle rollover - all in the same weekend....

Howald remains free on $35,000 bond, reduced from the $100,000 set when he was arrested for the crimes by Jefferson County police. A long list of conditions accompany the reduction, including working full time, avoiding contact with the victims including the John Sullivan family of Butte whose dog was killed, not associating with felons, not possessing firearms and being home by an 8 p.m. curfew every night.

Oh, yeah, that bail money's gone. Jefferson County, enjoy.

And They Said Irony Was Dead. They Were Wrong, of course. Now, Had They Said Good Journalism...

A cop who once headed a domestic violence unit held an ax to his wife's head and twice threatened to shoot her - all because he didn't like the birthday cake she bought him, sources said yesterday.

Either, he didn't quite get the whole "axe" concept, or that's a poorly written lead sentence. It's the latter, as you probably guessed.

They Also Mentioned "Tossed Salads," but Prosecutors Now Believe that Conversation Was about Their Future Roles in Prison if Caught, not Terrorism

In the indictment's recounting of the conversations, the principals converse in what officials describe as code, referring to arms shipments and attack plans as sporting events or, on some occasions, as vegetables.

But any such efforts to conceal the nature of the subjects discussed were seemingly clumsy. In one conversation, for instance, Adham Amin Hassoun talks with another defendant, Mohamed Hesham Youssef, about soccer equipment. The indictment says that Mr. Hassoun later told investigators he had indeed been referring to sports equipment, but that he was unable to explain why he had then asked Mr. Youssef if he had enough 'soccer equipment' to 'launch an attack on the enemy.'

We needed the Patriot Act to catch those guys?! For them, we gave up our rights to live private lives in a free society?!

I can't tell you how depressed that makes me.

Oh! And happy Thanksgiving!

"How To Masturbate in Your Grandmother's House"

You're visiting nana for a whole week. Day one, you spend afternoon looking through scrapbooks and sipping tea. Day two, you go antiquing while she tells you about the summer camp she went to as a little girl. Day three, you go through some items inthe attic, marveling at how your grandfather's old sweaters fit you perfectly. By day four, you need to masturbate.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

WWRGD?

Consuelo Sanchez, 55, whose apartment is adjacent to 6-F, complained about the smell for weeks before housing authority officials unlocked the door to discover the decomposed body on a sofa, the television still burbling away. The occupant, an 86-year-old retired transit worker, had died a month earlier of natural causes. 'I kept telling them, 'The man is dead,' ' Ms. Sanchez said. 'I was hoping I wasn't right.'

The medical examiner removed the bulk of the remains, but it was up to Ronald Gospodarski to take care of the rest, most of them viscous and indescribably malodorous. The man in 6-F had largely soaked into the sofa cushions as his body decayed, and his gastric acid had melted through the plastic covering on the upholstery.

'I don't care if you're black, white, rich or poor, whether you live in the projects or a penthouse, everyone smells the same when they die,' Mr. Gospodarski said as he scraped a caramel-colored goo off the floor of Apartment 6-F this spring.

So the next time you feel like telling someone about how horrible your job is, think about Ronald Gospodarski, and think about what he'd say if you told him about your company's new policy against making personal phone calls during company time.

I'm guessing it would be something along the lines of "Shut your fuckin' whine hole," but that's just a guess.

How F**king American Are You?

You are a bleeding heart liberal American. You are broad-minded, tolerant of the ideas of others, and look like an ass-hat when driving your stupid electrical car. You like to got to anti-globalization protests, but you also like to drink Starbucks. Which is it, douche-bag? You can't have your soymilk wheatgrass cake and eat it too. While you're not exactly a communist, you are definitely not Fucking American!

I'm not tolerant of the ideas of others. I don't know where people get these crazy ideas.

Go North, Young Men. Grow with the Laps"

'I was driving along thinking, 'My life is really good.' I'd just got my boobs done, I just bought a new car,' she said.

The way the simple things in life give her joy -- big breasts, a new car -- you just know she's a dancer whose heart is as big as her boobs, the kind you don't mind pinning a few hundred dollars in her g-string for.

So go to Edmonton. Help Page.

For once, think of someone besides yourself. Give and give and then, when you don't feel you can give anymore, get a lap dance. You'll feel good afterwards. Helping others does that.

Trust me. I know.

Or, Maybe, Drawling, "You've Got a Purty Mouff. It Makes Me Think Thangs" Isn't as Seductive as I Think It Is

Question: I recently started dating a British guy. I think he’s cute, but maybe it’s just that he has an English accent. How can I tell the difference?—Carrie F.

Answer: Like many romantic dilemmas—“Your place or mine?,” “Is it warm in here, or am I just drunk?”—this is a question that has long plagued American women. The British accent is Kryptonite to the female resolve, and though the evening may start with him innocently “chatting you up,” it ends with your knickers draped on a lamp in his sketchy midtown apartment. Would this happen if he didn’t have that damn British accent? Yes, because you’re a slut. But it wouldn’t have happened twice. And not while his mum was visiting.

And yet, all my Southern accent gets me is condescension and, shortly afterwards, dismissal. It' so unfair.

"Pour Some Sugar on Meeeeeee!"

Tasha Henderson, right, and her daughter, Coretha, left, pose for a photo outside their home in Edmond, Okla., Friday, Nov. 11, 2005, with the sign Coretha was forced to hold for an hour at a busy intersection so that passing motorists could read it. The 14-year-old freshman already has been forced by her parents to give up basketball and track because of slipping grades, and said she hopes to improve in school so she can play next year. (AP Photo)

But Tasha threw down the placard minutes after her mother was out of sight, and started dancing on the basketball pole behind her to music she had blaring from the family stationwagon, as Tasha, like practically everyone in America (but her parents, apparently), knows panhandling isn't the only way for young women with poor grades to get tips from strangers.

“Camel Toe Annie says: ‘If There Is Someone You Want To Get To Know, Show Em' the Toe!!’”

CAMEL TOE CUP

Features

• Not tested on camels


• Molded of durable teflon


• Camel Toe Annie approved


• Each CTC is numbered and registered at our central office, in case you leave it after a night of whorin' or it is found in a dumpster


• DEEP GROOVE channel accommodates all materials (denim, cotton, silk, burlap)


• Dishwasher and microwave safe

Testimonials


“I wanted to impress this guy at the bar, so I opened a beer with my cup,
we've been going out for 3 days, he drives a camaro, I'm in heaven!” – Bobbi-Marie Mudflap, age 52

They should borrow from BASF's advertising campaign: “We don't make the trailer trash; we make the trailer trash sexier.”

Man, did I ever miss my calling!

Thanks to the Prevalence of Guns, Violence, and Alcohol, the Chances of Me Dying from a Heart Attack Brought on by Fatty Foods Are Damn Near Nil

If you're in the mood for a caramel cloud nine, do Snickers tonight. First, freeze it. Then go wash your face, drink a beer — whatever you want to do while the candy bar chills. Once enough time has passed, peel back the wrapper, taking in the glistening chocolate skin of the candy. Lay it down gently on a cutting board and separate it into smaller pieces. Look at them longingly as they lie there with their peanut hearts on their sleeves, and tell them to hold on for a minute while you prepare the batter.

In a bowl, mix a cup of pancake flour, an egg, a cup of milk, and two teaspoons of cooking oil — oh, so nasty. Turn up your radio and get your groove on while you mix the ingredients together into a creamy texture. No lumps allowed. Think of it like your favorite lingerie — you want it smooth and silky. To quote Rod Stewart, 'Tonight's the night.'

When that's all done, prepare the oil. If you're not friends with a deep fat fryer, just fry the Snickers on the stove.

That's right: We're deep frying Snickers and feeling sexy. Wish you were Southern, don't you?

"Yes, Moma. I'll Be Good"

For her 5th birthday, Jodi received a handmade 'Just Like Me' doll and a warning:

Look, kid, we can stitch up a big boned replacement for you anytime we like. Do you want this doll to sleep in your Holly Hobby bed and eat your pudding pops while you waste away in a smelly orphanage run by some bargain Mrs. Hannigan knockoff? Yeah, we didn't think so. Then we all agree. The poopie pants problem and the booger eating stop NOW. And no more licking the cat either."

Yep, there was a Biff doll. Nope, I haven't pinched a proper loaf since leaving Toddlerhood. Thanks for your inquiries.

"Will Work for Fellatio"

So I'm eating lunch in Washington Square Park and reading my new book*, when an older black man asked me if I could spare some change. I could, so I gave him some. Next he asked if I could spare a cigarette, but I told him that I didn't smoke. Then, he asked me if I could spare a blow job.

'Excuse me?'

'A blow job. Can you spare a blow job for an old man.'

'Sorry.' I was seated on a low bench in front of him and he was standing above me.

'Ah man, everyone's got a blow job to spare!' he complained. 'Are you telling me you need me to give you a blow job because you don't have one yourself?'

Be careful. That's bound to be a trick question.

"Our Anus Is a Useful Thing Indeed..."

THE PROPER WORDS SONG

PENIS

Is what boys have down in front.

PENIS

Is the word, though it seems blunt.
All boys have a penis, so no matter what you've heard,
Remember that PENIS
Is the proper word.

VULVA

Is what girls have down below.
[Even though most people call it "vagina" and some children call it "Virginia"]

VULVA

When she's naked, it will show.
All girls have a vulva, so no matter what you've heard,
Remember that Vulva is the proper word.

Let's see: A creepy, old guy has written a song to help children learn their body parts, particularly, the ones, you know, down there. I don't know what that looks like to you, but to me, it looks like community service for a first-time sexual offender.

Unfair as this is to say -- since this video is the only evidence I have to base my judgment on -- I expect we'll be seeing a lot of videos from this guy in the future.

"Gee, Mr. Peabody. You Sure Know a Lot about Young Boys and Masturbation" "Quite Right, Sherman. Quite Right. Our Association Has Been Educational"

You see, Z., the flush-toilet, like so many inventions (the combustion engine, insulin, garage rock, falafel) was the result of collaboration. In the mid-18th century, folks everywhere had grown tired of seeing their turds floating around in the cistern, turds lingering like overbearing houseguests, turds climbing up out of the bowl and raiding the larder—turds, Z-Dog! Everywhere, turds. As you can imagine, something simply had to be done.

For centuries, hapless defecators resorted to calling in bearded, robed sorcerers, who would wave a plunger over the bowl, holler, “Be gone!” and banish the offending poo-poo to the netherworld. This “brown magic” had mixed results until 1777, when the first fully effective flush toilets began to appear around London, credited to a variety of names that I won’t bore you with here—although rest assured many are hilarious. The sorcerers, with little else to do, went back to their day jobs—selling comic books to pre-adolescent boys and perfecting mystical techniques of masturbation.

And that's why pre-adolescent boys, bathrooms, and masturbation are inextricably linked to this day.

The Correct Answer Is "I Don't Know about John, but Mrs. Madden's a Valkyrie in the Stalls"

Top Ten Questions On The Carolina Panthers Cheerleading Application

10. 'You're cool about getting freaky in restrooms, right?'

9. 'If you don't get the job, are you gonna punch me?'

8. 'Can I see your pom-poms?'

7. 'Have you and another girl ever gone into the red zone?'

6. 'Would you describe yourself as a 'slut' or a 'tramp'?'

5. 'Would you like to participate in a special event with me and my wife?'

4. 'Are you willing to stand outside, half-naked in January for minimum wage?'

3. 'What's John Madden like in the sack?'

2. 'How do you look in a mug shot?'

1. 'Would you mind if I tried splitting your uprights?'

With a few minor adjustments, that could be the application for the First Ex-Mrs. Lowman. (The line, ladies, forms to the right.)

Because Nothing Takes the Edge Off of Gut-Distending Hunger and Soul-Rotting Poverty like a Thong

Models prepare for a parade in front of street children in the drug-infested 'Barrio Triste' (Sad Neighborhood) in downtown Medellin in Colombia November 7, 2005

Yes, yes, by all means, show the children something else they can't have.

Next on Opray!

Do you take Medication for Mental Illness?

Are you a woman addicted to porn?

Are you Friends with Your Husband's Mistress?

Do you have "rough" sex?

Tell us how Rachel Ray can help you! [See above.]

Do you suffer from vaginal odor?

Do you suffer from extremely bad hangovers?

Do you know someone who vomits in their sleep? [Those two are probably related.]

Do you know someone who has "broken" their penis?

Do you know a man who has developed breasts?

Me! Me! Pick me, Oprah! I have man-boobs, mitties, if you will. I'd love to come on your show and tell the world about the suffering I've endured from an American public indifferent to my plight.

And you can to. If you see an affliction on the future shows list that you have and would like to share with the world -- my favorite: "Living a Secret Life?" -- then, do what the producers ask: "click on the show subject below to read more about it. If the topic pertains to you, fill out the form on that page and tell us your story."

But if any of you bastards tries to cut in on my mitty or broken penis fame, I swear, I'll do something to you that'll qualify me for the "Is there a moment you wish you could take back?" show. Don't push me.

"And I Hate It when She Stumbles into My Bedroom Looking like She Just Murdered Someone"

"I don't want to be titled as Courtney Love and Kurt Cobain's daughter. I want to be thought of as Frances Cobain." In her first interview ever, Cobain, whose mother is currently in a substance treatment centre in LA, says she has her own style, too. "I don't like to look sloppy. I'm a girly-girl." And she doesn't particularly go for her mother's grunge attitude either. "I prefer when she's more classy starlet," she goes on. "I don't really like her hard-metal stuff, or when she doesn't brush her hair."

That's normal, Frances. Not having your mother look like the centerfold of Crack Whore magazine is a preference for most people. So good for you!

Deejay's Appeal: 'Kill The Whiteness Inside'

The dance floor throbs to the rapid thump-thump of the hip-hop beat. The deejay, Tha Pumpsta, leans against his booth, and a woman slides up from behind, grabs his narrow hips and rubs hard.

Tha Pumpsta hops onto the crowded dance floor of guys in big T-shirts dangling from slight frames and ladies in short skirts and tasseled boots.

'Kill whitey!' yells Tha Pumpsta into the microphone as he bounces to the beat. 'What . . . gonna . . . do dance . . .' he raps to the beat. 'Kill whitey!'

The kid by the bar busts out with a break-dancing move. Women drop their booties and the guys slide in close. Tha Pumpsta struts around in an all-white outfit from his headband to his high tops, shouting it again: " Kill whitey!"

Tha Pumpsta, who happens be white, has built a following in the past few years by staging monthly "Kill Whitie" parties in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, for large groups of white hipsters.

I don't pray much. You know I don't, so, God, if you're listening, "Kill Whitey. For Biff."

Nostalgia, Naughty, Naughty Nostalgia

Yahoo! News Photo

Nothing makes me homesick for North Carolina like a good story about lipstick lesbians licking each other's love nubbins, slippery and swollen, in a bathroom stall.

That kind of thing happens so much there that they based an Andy Griffith episode on the theme. Helen and Thelma Lou, who would've thunk it? Well, maybe, that was a dream I had, but the point is, I had it because I'm from North Carolina: There, that kind of thing happens about as frequently as cigarettes are lighted.

What I'm Watching...

Everything about Capote—which fairly quickly dispenses with the murders, Capote's arrival on the scene, the investigation, and the trial, and then lingers over the disturbing relationship between the writer and the murderer, which is to say over the change from Capote's initial nurturing of his 'amigo' (as Smith liked to say) to his brutal refusal, at the end, either to help or to correspond with the convicted murderer as the date of the execution, and with it the completion of his book, drew near—has just the right feel to it: as grave and considered as Capote's book, as sobering as his moral tragedy. Everything here, from the look of the movie (which is so severely photographed that I was convinced, after the first time I saw it, that it had been shot in black and white, until a second viewing set me straight) to the performances and script, is remarkable for an unusual degree of restraint. The writer and director both seem to have immersed themselves not only in Clarke's biography of Capote, but in In Cold Blood itself, and the film they've created has the same austerity and sombre rhythms that give the book its distinctive poetry....

Much will be written about the portrayal of Truman Capote by Philip Seymour Hoffman, and rightly so: it is a marvelous performance. More, it is a performance, rather than an act of mimicry. Hoffman wisely avoids "doing" Capote: he provides enough of the well-known mannerisms and vocal tics to authenticate his portrayal of a familiar public figure, but what makes his rendition so satisfying is that he manages to convey a coherent character—selfish, amusing, ambitious, sentimental, and, in the end, ruthless—in the terse drama the filmmakers have created, one that can stand quite apart from the real-life story.

This is a remarkable movie with two equally remarkable performances. Both, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Clifton Collins Jr., the guys pictured above, deserve Oscar nominations.

And if you haven't read the book, do so. It'll scare the peanuts out of your shit. Chilling, terrifying, and beautiful, it's one of America's greatest contributions to literature.

And you know me. I'm not given to hyperbole.

iVomit

And now bring me a man who plays music.
And when the man played music, the groove came upon us.
And when it did, Job shouted, "Back up off a brother." And given room so he could, Job did drop-eth it like it was hot.

- 2 Job 3:15 (and Biff 3:46)

Mr. T. Just Growled, and Said, "Pain"

"Me: "Hi, Mr. T."

Mr. T looked at me and you could see it in his face. Anyone who calls him Mr. T and not by his real name must have questions about his career, his relationship with Sly Stallone, his time on The A-Team...… He was cautious, and for good reason.

Mr. T: "Hey."

He turned back away from me, waiting for his double-shot espresso.

Me: "Uh, Mr. T? Can I ask you a question?"”

He turned back towards me, cautious.

Mr. T: "Yeah, yeah. What is your question?"”

It was a question that I had wanted to ask since, well...forever.

Me: "“"Do you still pity the fool?"

He does. He still pities the fool.

And Gary Coleman still doesn't know what Willis is talking 'bout, which is probably more convenience than nostalgia, since Willis is probably talking about acquiring illegal firearms and snorting cocaine.

McSweeney's Internet Tendency: The Legend of Me.

According to legend, my hair will stick out wildly, from lying on the couch all day. I will walk with an awkward stagger, my arms held forward. No one knows why I walk this way. Some say it is to be ready in case I trip. Others say it is to make sure I don't go face-first through a spider web.

When I am abroad on the land, many of the frightened townspeople report hearing a ghastly, bloodcurdling howl. This is the part of the legend that hurts my feelings the most, because I think they're talking about my singing.

Some stories claim that if you confront me during my midnight walks and chant, 'Jack Handey, Jack Handey, give me some candy,' I will give you some candy. Man, forget it. I need that candy.

I am said to prey upon young lovers, and that if I look into a bedroom window and see them having sex I will stand there and watch with my red, flaming eyes. But I am not looking for young lovers; I am usually looking for something else, like, I don't know, my lost treasure or something. If I happen to see two people having sex, I will stay and look, for I am curious about your human ways.

They say I can turn into a bat. I can, but not very well. What I am probably best at is wandering into a party and transforming myself into someone who looks like he might have been invited. And woe to him who fingers me as an impostor, for he will be greeted by a hideous hissing sound coming from the tires of his car.

It is whispered that I can suck the blood out of you. Others say I can start to tell a joke, but then get really confused and not remember where the joke goes, and start over again and again until it drives you mad. But it's not my fault. You see, I am the offspring of an unholy union between a man and what people in these parts call a "wo-man."

I use to love "Deep Thoughts with Jack Handey," back when they were a mainstay on Saturday Night Live.

My favorite has always been "When children ask, 'Where does rain come from?' I tell them, it's God crying. And when they ask, 'Why is God crying?' I tell them, 'It's probably something you did.'"

Fall into the Reich

You can't have a civil discussion on khakis, because no matter how genteel the society, no matter how deft the discussants, it's going to get out of hand. Someone's going to mention Dockers (or denim); someone's going to get angry; and someone's going to play the Hitler card. It happens every time. It's best just to avoid the subject altogether.

Picture's Source