And I'll Pass on the Steamers

It had been, just as the announcer had promised earlier that evening it would be, 'a night when Tinseltown's sexiest and most famous stars come out to shine!' and by the time the Oscars were over, O. and I could barely keep our hands off each other.

'Well . . . ?' she asked with an evil grin.

'You mean . . . ?' I asked.

She nodded slowly, her hand on my thigh.

'Hunk and Starlet,' she whispered in my ear.

Ten plus years into our marriage, I am proud to say, O. and I continue to have a wonderful, varied sex life, the result of hard work, open communication and above all, honesty — not just with one another, but honesty with ourselves, in here (I'm pointing to my head), and in here (now I'm pointing to my heart). Ten years, though, is ten years, and so recently, just to spice things up a bit, we've been experimenting with a little fantasy role-playing. Nothing too out there, of course, just the occasional
Master/Slave, Mistress/Slave, Stewardess/Passenger, Doctor/Nurse, Nurse/Patient, Publisher/Writer, Kommandant/Jew, Egyptian/Israelite, Marine/Muslim, Police/Suspect, Warden/Prisoner, Prisoner/Prisoner (ouch), and Prisoner/Prisoner/Prisoner (thanks for pitching in, Phil).

Everyone should have a Phil friend, the guy you can call to help you with just about anything.

As you go down the roll, searching for your Phil, you can skip "Biff." I -- and I can't stress this enough -- am not your Phil friend. Stop emailing me. (You know who you are.)

"She Had Long, Tan Legs that I Wanted Desperately to Climb, like a Little Native Boy Harvesting Coconuts

Before I could even locate my cocktail shaker, a dark-haired woman in a yellow cotton sundress burst into my office. “I’m looking for Kurt Fitzroy,” she said. The door banged shut behind her. I took in the entire tableau in one bleary-eyed but professional glance. She was showing a lot of arm — I liked that. I’d always been an arm man. “My husband is missing,” she said. “And I want you to find him. ”

I was shocked to hear my name in a woman’s mouth. Nobody had visited my office in months, and I’d become a little depressed and maudlin. Maybe it was the all-booze-and-salami-sandwiches diet, but I was not proud of the way I’d been acting lately: hitting Karoake Night at airport bars; crashing company picnics for the free potato salad; visiting cyber chat rooms and posing as a much younger man with a mint Harley-Davidson. Hell, the life of a private dick could be lonely at times. The solitude took its toll on a gregarious guy like me.

“Lady, you don’t want to hire me,” I told her. “I’m dead inside.”

. . . “I’ll pay you five thousand dollars to find my husband,” the client said.

On the other hand, wasn’t it time to get back in the game? To stop feeling so damned sorry for myself?

“Five oven fresh cookies, eh?” I said knowingly. . . . “So what’re we talking about exactly? . . . Murder? Rape? Adultery?”

She dug around in her shoulder bag and produced a stack of dusty books. Hardcovers. I scanned the spines as she handed them over. Selected Poetry of Lord Byron. Sentimental Education by Gordie Flaubert.

It was getting ugly.

I've always loved the prose of noir fiction.

Front: "Blindness, Dementia, Cold Sores, Scabs." Inside: "At least, I Didn't Give You Crabs!"*

Some were sent away for being too profane, others for making snide comments at inopportune times. Now the greeting cards that never made it to the stores hang solemnly on a wall at Hallmark Cards Inc.

I liked "Front: "When I think of you, Mom, I swell with pride." Inside: "At least I hope it's pride. Otherwise, I'm pregnant again."

*I could soooo work for them. Hey, Hallmark, call me! I've got a million of them.

Brought to You by the Letters N, W, and A

Takin' a life or two
that's what the hell I do you don't like how I'm livin
well fuck you!
This is a gang and I'm in it
My man Dre'll fuck you up in a minute
With a right left, right left you're toothless
And then you say goddamn they ruthless!
Everwhere we go they say [damn!]
N W A's fuckin' up tha program
And then you realize we don't care
We don't just say no, we to busy sayin' yeah!
To drinkin' straight out the eight bottle
Do I look like a mutha fuckin role model?
To a kid lookin' up ta me
Life ain't nothin but bitches and money.

[Looking at photo album]

Ruth Buzzie: Elmo, what's this?

Elmo: Oh, that's a picture of Elmo trying to slap Julia Roberts.

"Velma, Would You Do the Honors." Velma Removes the Gorilla Mask to Reveal to the Shocked Multitude: "Old Man Loman!"

"And I would have got away with parking in that handicapped space, too, if it hadn't been for those meddling kids and their dog."

Does Tara Conry Know How to Write a Lede Sentence or What?

Equipped with gummy bears, lubricant and gay porn, a defrocked Pennsylvania priest was ready for sex with a boy but instead got busted by an undercover cop, police said. . . .

In his car, police found three packs of candy, condoms, a camera, KY jelly and a case of Beck's beer.

Bender claimed those items were part of the Pennsylvania AAA Roadside Assistance Emergency Kit, but the police doubted that the Pennsylvania AAA would provided their customers with anything other than Rolling Rock, and proceeded with the arrest. Later, under questioning, Bender admitted he'd lied.

I Shall Wash, but I Shall Not Be Clean

Ain't It Cool News has come across perhaps the greatest promotion in the history of soon-to-be-doomed movies. Visitors to the website of New Line's Running Scared can take part in a highly immersive interactive experience (you must be 17 years old to play--wink wink, horny fifth graders!), becoming a virtual, cunnilingus-craving version of Paul Walker:

That's right, for their online game... You get to play PAUL WALKER going down on his wife... and the object is to eat her to orgasm! Make her arch her back and beg you to stop. WHAT THE FUCK? I'm serious. They really made a game over there that requires you to hit your arrow keys to emulate eating pussy. . . .Now, I have to say... Paul Walker's wife is the easiest woman in the world to get off... because for one... there's a fucking yellow arrow guide to how to get her off...

After 15 minutes or so, she looked down, tapped my virutal Paul Walker on the shoulder, and said, "I don't think it's going to happen." Virtual Paul got up, went into the bathroom, closed the door behind him, and buried his head into a folded towel, to muffle the sound of his wee sobbing. I felt his virtual shame, shared his virtual inadequacy. If her virtual girlfriends laugh for no apparent reason when virtual Paul Walker walks by, it will be just like real cunnilingus.

Let's End Discrimination against the Big-Breasted, and then, Let's Try to Get a Fair Shake for the Beautiful. Let's End This Madness Now

A Miami-based dancer is suing the owners and producers of the Broadway musical 'Movin' Out' for more than $100 million in damages on grounds that she was emotionally abused and fired after her breasts grew too large for her costumes.

. . . Alyse says she was dismissed from the cast of the show last month after her breasts grew from cup size C to D while she was recovering from an injury. . . .

"I was thin, I was a size zero, but my breasts had gotten bigger," Alyse told a news conference on Tuesday. "When I tried on my costumes they fit everywhere except in the breast area."

Alyse, let me get this straight. You're a petite, Miami-based dancer with large, natural breasts? Um, yeah, . . . Look. It might not seem like it now, but believe me. You're going to be all right. Really.

World Water Day - AKA Biff's Birthday

The international observance of World Water Day is an initiative that grew out of the 1992 United Nations Conference on Environment and Development (UNCED) in Rio de Janeiro.

And I'm going to celebrate and observe the occasion in the way of my people, with a lot of tequila shots.

Happy Biff Day, everyone!

I Remember My "First Foray into Coochdom." I Got Lost, Drove Through Quickly, and Spilled My Junk All Over the Place. How I Ever Got Invited Back. . .

My regular waxer was not available and I just could not bear the wild, untamed amazon bush jungle that my, well, bush had become for another day.

So I came to you on my lunch hour, Anonymous Vietnamese Waxer Lady who works at the cheapie nail place. We were mere strangers before this afternoon, but after knowing you only an hour, I feel like I must point out the reasons why you rule.

When it was necessary to get on all fours to do the “taint” part of the wax, you applied the wax so delicately to my bunghole, then asked, in what I assumed were two of the only five English words you know, “Too hot?” I responded yes, it was too hot. And without hesitation, you blew on it to cool the hot wax. YOU BLEW ON MY BUNGHOLE, Vietnamese Waxer Lady. Do you know how special that is? Nobody blows on the bung. Nobody.

Yep, it is a lost art. My grandmother, that woman could blow on a bung like nobody's business. She could blow a bung, until , like air blowing past a bottle opening, a note rang out so clear and pure and true that it would shame the Three Tenors in comparison. Several times, she tried to pass her knowledge on to her grandchildren, but we were too busy playing Pong to pay her much mind. Consequently, no one in the family can blow a bung worth a damn, now.

Shame, that.

So, in honor of my grandmother, I'm spillin' a little of my 40 on the sidewalk. And I'm going to get my taint waxed and my ass blown. Whereever she is, I know my grandmother will know about it, and, hopefully, she'll smile.

From Yankee Pot Roast: "Edgar Allen Poe Tells 'The Aristocrats'"

. . .Then they all arose, and took off all their clothes
And got down in a circle on the floor
There they did it every way, Pa getting most the play
Switching off with no delay; with his wang he did explore
Male or female, there’s no difference; every hole he all explored
Forgetting not his son nor good Lenore.

When dad was with another, well, the rest they did each other,
Boy and dog played with each other upon the floor
And Mom picked up the girl; gave her a little twirl,
And used a strap-on to rock her world; and yet there was some more
The show was not yet over, there was one performance more
Though, from the size of Dad it’s a wonder they all weren’t sore

Quote Biff: Please, N'more.

If You Have Any Poo, Fling It Now.*

Liverpool have apologised to Premiership rivals Manchester United for the behaviour of their fans during last month's FA Cup tie at Anfield.

Merseyside Police and the club have carried out an investigation after United fans were attacked by home supporters who pelted them with human excrement, . . . ."

It's all that tea. It makes them edgy -- and diarrhetic. Obviously.

* From Madagascar

Sometimes, You Should Just Give the Fuck Up

Before cops threw the book at him, Jakub Fik threw something unusual at them -- his penis.

Fik, 33, cut off his own penis during a Northwest Side rampage Wednesday morning. When confronted by police, Fik hurled several knives and his severed organ at the officers, police said. Officers stunned him with a Taser and took him into custody.

I would've thought nothing could stun a man capable of cutting off his own penis. But there you are.

Who Knew Donald Was into Skat? Well, It Does Explain Why He Has that Warble

Disneyland Memorial Orgy

In 1967, Paul Krassner published Mad artist Wally Wood’s parody as a centerspread for his satirical magazine, The Realist, and then as a poster.

How Low in the Polls Does He Have to Drop before We Start Referring to Him as "Black"

The president's ratings for handling of several specific issues, particularly terrorism, have also declined sharply. Just 42% now approve of Bush's job in handling terrorist threats, an 11-point drop since February. In January 2005, as Bush was starting his second term, 62% approved of his handling of terrorist threats.

Bush's personal image also has weakened noticeably, which is reflected in people's one-word descriptions of the president. Honesty had been the single trait most closely associated with Bush, but in the current survey 'incompetent' is the descriptor used most frequently (See pp. 7-8).

Which goes to show, once again, that Americans, as a group, are overly generous in their praise.

Whoops! Hold on while I read pages 7-8:

President Bush's declining image also is reflected in the single-word descriptions people use to describe their impression of the president. Three years ago, positive one-word descriptions of Bush far outnumbered negative ones. Over the past two years, the positive-negative balance has been roughly equal. But the one-word characterizations have turned decidedly negative since last July. . . .

The single word most frequently associated with George W. Bush today is "incompetent,"and close behind are two other increasingly mentioned descriptors: "idiot" and "liar." All three are mentioned far more often today than a year ago.

Um, in light of that, you should probably ignore my previous remark.

Most of These Are Cases of Custody Hearings Gone Bad

Alien Cow Abduction

It's a serious problem. Countless bovines have disappeared from dairy farms everywhere. And the numbers of missing cows are on the rise.

A rapidly growing collection of alien cow abduction evidence and documentation has been posted below

From the FAQ

Mitch from Oshkosh, WI

Q: Are my goats safe?
A: Mitch, we have no evidence that would indicate the aliens are after your goats.

Mark from Chicago, IL

Q: Why would aliens choose to abduct cows? Why couldn't it have been me?
A: Mark, can you produce a deliciously frothy drink that helps maintain strong bones, helps reduce the risk of cavities, helps promote healthy hair, helps rebuild muscles after a workout, may reduce the symptoms of PMS and if consumed at night, may improve your sleep, not to mention makes one heckuva compliment to fresh baked chocolate chip cookies? If so, you are in great danger.

By the way, the video is great, too.

Because, Sometimes, "NO," Means, "NOT SO HARD" and "For Back There, Use Lube, Please"

FRED DE SAM LAZARO: Napoli says most abortions are performed for what he calls 'convenience.' He insists that exceptions can be made for rape or incest under the provision that protects the mother's life. I asked him for a scenario in which an exception may be invoked.

BILL NAPOLI: A real-life description to me would be a rape victim, brutally raped, savaged. The girl was a virgin. She was religious. She planned on saving her virginity until she was married. She was brutalized and raped, sodomized as bad as you can possibly make it, and is impregnated. I mean, that girl could be so messed up, physically and psychologically, that carrying that child could very well threaten her life.

When asked for a definition of the anagram SOL (Shit Out of Luck), Napoli said, "That would be a woman who's had just one lover, who hasn't felt god's love in her life in a while -- but especially not when she was being sodomized with a coke bottle -- a woman without organized religion who's now carrying the child of the man who removed her clitoris with a vice grip (so she wouldn't "enjoy what he was going to do"), raped her, and then did that thing with the Coke bottle. Yep, that woman would be SOL.

I Mean, How Strict Are You on the Whole Man-on-Man Lovin' Deal?

Project Background: I work in the film industry and about a year and a half ago on the set of a film, the grip/electric guys were convinced I was pretending to be gay to 'get' women. They would walk by me when I had my arm around a women and whisper things like, 'We’re on to you, Brian.' Anyway, to taunt my taunters I thought I would shower with several of these women and take a picture of it. I thought about it and talked about it and finally obsession set in and I set a goal to shower with 100 women by the end of the year.

First, Isaac Mizrahi gets to grab Scarlett Johansson's boob without reprisal, and, now, this: A gay guy gets to shower -- and take photos of himself -- with 100 different women. For the love of. . . . Can I be gay now, too?

Seriously, whom do I have to talk to to make this happen?

I Thought the Pony Was Getting to Sleep with All the White Women

One of these days before I die, I hope to see a shift in the attitudes of so many of my black brothers and sisters in this great country we share, from perpetual victimhood, to pride in their achievements on the road from slave to American citizen.

Remember Ronald Reagan’s story about the kid who had to shovel a huge pile of manure? He went about it with such joy he was asked why and said, “With all that manure, there’s got to be a pony in there somewhere.”

The pony hidden in slavery is the fact that it was the ticket to America for black people. I have long urged blacks to consider their presence here as the work of God, who wanted to bring them to this raw, new country and used slavery to achieve it.

Um, Sis, wouldn't a yam famine have worked just as well?

And It's Not William Shatner

A Central Ohio man allegedly told police last week that he likes to drink the urine of adolescent boys.

It's what keeps him young.

If Only Someone Had Told Me That Like 30 Years Ago. . .

"You see, Billy? Keep yourself parked in front of the Xbox instead of going outside once in a while for a football game and you’ll eventually end up on the other side of this rope with Baron von Clownypants and his band of half-assed D'artagnans, instead of out here where the pussy is."

And other lessons learned at the Medieval Faire by Bad News Hughes.

"The Lomans Would Have Never Made It onto Land"

This is going to shock no one, but my organism never evolved. It just sat there, drinking protein ale, watching the other organisms make fools of themselves and laughing its primordial ass off.

"Send Lawyers, Guns, and Money. The Shit Has Hit the Fan"

For two months, Mohammed Reza Taheri-azar had been planning to drive a rented sport utility vehicle through a lunchtime campus crowd, hitting people, police wrote in a search warrant released Tuesday.

In picking a time and spot teeming with people and a vehicle that could 'run over things and keep going,' the 2005 UNC-Chapel Hill graduate wanted to inflict serious harm as revenge for the United States 'killing his people across the sea,' said Detective Matthew Dodson of the UNC-CH Department of Public Safety, according to the warrant. . . .

Right before noon Friday, police say, Taheri-azar executed his plan, driving a rented Jeep Grand Cherokee through walkways near a campus hub, hitting nine people, though none were seriously injured. . . .

In court Monday, Taheri-azar, a native of Iran who grew up mostly in the Charlotte area and is an American citizen, repeatedly mentioned Allah, at one point saying Allah would be his attorney.

Um, I understand the impulse to go with a big name and all, but, in this case, you might consider getting someone to defend you who's actually licensed to practice in the state of North Carolina. This is serious.

"How serious?" you ask. Well, they set your bail at $5 million. If they had caught a serial killer in his basement, wearing a tuxedo constructed of the tanned skins of kidnapped Special Olympians, while he was in the act of sodomizing nuns with a cattle prod, beneath a disco ball of silver-gilded kitten skulls, that guy's bail, they would have set at $200,000. Yep: You're in deep d'oh, my friend.

Call Matlock. Call him now.

The Simp. Sons. Really

"Who Are You Going to Believe? Me? Or That Lying Sheep?"

Deputy Douglas and I arrivedon scene at about 1647 hours and were met out front of the residence by two white males. One of those subjects identified himself as Alan Goats. Alan told Deputy Douglas and I that he was at a neighbor's house down the street when he received a call from his daughter who was home alone. She told him that a strange man came to the front door and knocked several times. She did not answer . . . . He then entered into fenced corral where his sheep are kept and grabbed onto one of the sheep. He dragged the sheep into the small barn and closed the door. His daughter was worried and wanted her father to come home. Alan thought it might have been one of his friends named Roger, but Christina said that it wasn't him. Alan responded home and as he was pulling into their backyard driveway one of his friends, Randy Mirtello, pulled behind him. . . .

Alan said that both he and Randy went over to the barn. Alan was in the lead and opened the barn door. He was startled when he saw his neighbor of 12 years, LeRoy Johnson, in the shed bent over his sheep with his pants down. LeRoy said to Alan, "YOU CAUGHT ME ALAN, I TRIED TO FUCK YOUR SHEEP.

The real victim here isn't the sheep, not even close. To find the real victim, let's recap: the 13-year-old daughter calls her dad to say a strange man has grabbed a sheep and taken it out to the barn to do who-knows-what, although she obviously suspects that it's to do you-know-what. Her dad, with just that information to go on, responds, "Is it Roger?" Now, you can cry for the sheep -- please do -- just so long as you save a few tears for the real victim in this case, and the real victim, here, is, clearly, Roger.

That poor bastard is now on record with the county as the friend voted most likely to take one of your sheep out to the barn for a mounting and stuffing.

That doesn't mean I don't feel sorry for some of the others involved, the father, in particular. Next time he gets a call like that from his daughter -- and, sadly, we all know, there will be a next time -- he'll have to go down the list: "Is it Roger? Okay, well, then, is it LeRoy?"

And no one should have two friends on that list.

Rooster Penis? Yep, You Guessed It: Tastes Like Chicken

Situated in an elegantly restored house beside Beijing's West Lake, it is China's first speciality penis restaurant.

Here, businessmen and government officials can sample the organs of yaks, donkeys, oxen and even seals. In fact, they have to, since they form part of every dish—except for those containing testicles…

For beginners, Miss Zhu recommended the hotpot, which offers a sampling of what the restaurant has to offer—six types of penis, and four of testicle, boiled in chicken stock by the waitress, Liu Yunyang, 22.

The Russian dog was first. It was julienned, and rather gamey.

The ox was, of all six, the most recognisable for what it was, even though it had been diced. In texture seemed identical to gristle.

The deer and the Mongolian goat were surprisingly similar: a little stringy, they had the appearance and feel of overcooked squid tentacles. The Xinjiang horse and the donkey, on the other hand, were quite different. Though both came sliced lengthwise, and looked like bacon, the horse was light and fatty, while the donkey had a firm colour and taste. The testicles were slightly crumbly, and tasted better with lashings of the sesame, soy and chilli dips thoughtfully provided.

Once again, this is your ancient and revered culture. And this is your ancient and revered culture on free markets. Get the picture.

[I love the photo with the caption “Dog's penis, garnished with a plum.” Ha! That plum ain't sweetening the deal.]

No, Lawyer, First; Pants, a Distant Second

The fugitive dubbed the 'Lolita lawyer' for paying a Manhattan mom to have sex with her two teen daughters was caught yesterday in an East Village hotel room with his pants down - thanks to the Daily News.

ames Colliton, 41, had checked into the St. Marks Hotel Thursday under the name Patrick Monsey, but his cover was blown by his own stupidity - and by yesterday's front page of The News, which prominently featured his picture. . . .

At least nine detectives from the 9th Precinct raced to the hotel at St. Marks Place and Third Ave. and found Colliton in Room 26 alone, wearing only a T-shirt.

"I want my lawyer!" Colliton repeatedly demanded.

One detective replied, "How about your pants first?"

Protect and Serve: These guys never stop.

You'll Go Blind if You Do That, but It's a Good Kind of Blind

Police and school officials are issuing warnings about a potentially fatal game gaining popularity among teenagers after the death of a 14-year-old boy.

Eighth-grader Rodney Webster died last week after choking himself to deprive his brain of oxygen so he could feel a brief rush when the blood flow returned.

His death prompted Whitefield Police Chief Bill Colburn and school officials to create pamphlets outlining the danger of the so-called 'choking game.' They will be distributed Monday when children return from winter break.

The pamplet, entitled "Putting the 'Auto-Erotic' Back into Teenage Asphyxiation," will address the most shocking aspect of this recent spate of tragedies.

Said Chief Colburn, "A few years ago, kids were strangling themselves to heighten the pleasure of an orgasm. Now, they're just strangling themselves for the pleasure of the strangling.

"Where did we go wrong with this group?! I mean, it use to be about the masturbation. The masturbation! Now, they've gone and made it all dirty.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this job," he said. "I really don't.

"This pamphlet had better work."

"Why, You're Not the Regular Chit Picker" [Bow-Chicka-Bow-Wow]

Scientists are struggling to save the fast-disappearing bonobo, the gentle 'hippie chimp' known for resolving squabbles through sex rather than violence. . . .

'Bonobos are an icon for peace and love, the world's 'hippie chimps,'' said Sally Coxe of the Washington-based Bonobo Conservation Initiative. 'To let them die off would be a catastrophe.'

The animals are known for greeting rival groups with genital handshakes and sensual body rubs.

They are, also, known for their robes, their oils, and their cheesy facial hair or "porn-staches," if you will.

And June 4th Is Take Your Penis To Work Day

The author of the sizzling new nonfiction bestseller, The Vagina Whisperer is making the rounds of the talk-show circuit and taking Manhattan by storm.

The OB/GYN turned sex therapist has penned a self-help book that’s part memoir and part “how-to” guide that is empowering women all over the city to talk to their vaginas.

What? Huh?

Yes. Says the good Doctor Carol, “Women need to reassure their vaginas that they are loved. Masturbation is a way in which we can love ourselves, but vaginas crave more than just pleasure: they crave affection.”

Dr. Carol’s vulva self-love encourages women to think outside the box, designating Thursday May 4, 2006, as “National Vagina Day.” She has lined up appearances on Oprah and Ellen to bring attention to this very special day. . . . It’s a way of raising your vagina’s self-esteem. It’s time to celebrate our vaginas, and not blame them for our recent breakups.”

As someone who just went through a recent breakup, I blamed my vagina for all of my problems. I asked Dr. Carol what I should do.

“You need to spend some quality time with your vagina. You need to have a girl’s night out with your vagina. Say to your vagina, ‘I love you, Vagina.’ Take your vagina shopping. You need to curl up with your vagina and a good book. You need to take your vagina to lunch.”

"But to Many on the Far Right, Taking the Jew-Hatred Out of White Nationalism Is like Taking the Christ Out of Christmas"

For the small, hardy band of right-wing Jews who attended this past weekend's American Renaissance Conference, the biennial gathering of white nationalists ended on a sour note.

The events Saturday, February 25, passed without major incident. But then, late Sunday morning, none other than former Ku Klux Klan leader David Duke approached the microphone on the floor during the question-and-answer session for French writer Guillaume Faye. After congratulating Faye for stirring remarks that 'touched my genes,' Duke asked if there weren't an even more insidious threat to the West than Islam.

'There is a power in the world that dominates our media, influences our government and that has led to the internal destruction of our will and our spirit,' Duke said.

'Tell us, tell us,' came a call from the back of the room.

'I'm not going to say it,' Duke said to rising laughter.

But Michael Hart, a squat, balding Jewish astrophysicist from Maryland, was not amused. He rose from his seat, strode toward Duke (who loomed over him like an Aryan giant), spit out a curse — 'You f...ing Nazi, you've disgraced this meeting' — and exited."

Yep, it's always the same. Someone calls someone the N-word, and then, there you are in the President's reception, having cocktails, ignoring the huge, swastika-covered elephant in the room. It's just soooo uncomfortable. That's why I don't go anymore.

From the People Who Brought You Such Hits as "Poke Her Haunches" "Glad He Ate Her," and "Million-Dollar Baby Maker" Comes a New Thriller. . .

Production outfit PZP Productions has announced plans to release its gay-sex film The DaVinci Load on May 19, the same day the movie that it parodies—Ron Howard’s The Da Vinci Code—is scheduled to hit theaters.

*SPOILER ALERT**: The plot for this one revolves around whether the woman in Da Vinci's painting "The Last Glory Hole" was really a man in drag.

I'll go see whichever movie gets the Church's endorsement.

Jose Cuervo=John McKenzie

The Bruichladdich distillery on the Isle of Islay, off Scotland's west coast, is producing the quadruple-distilled 184-proof -- or 92 percent alcohol -- spirit 'purely for fun,' managing director Mark Reynier said. . . .

Bruichladdich is using a recipe for a spirit known in the Gaelic language as usquebaugh-baul, 'perilous water of life.'

That's "tequila" to you and me.

VW Commercials in Full Effect, Yo!

Oh, snap! German engineering in the house!