"This War in Iraq Is Just Turning into a Jigaboo of a Problem," They Are Going to Say Next

Gov. Mitt Romney has apologized for referring to the troubled Big Dig construction project as a 'tar baby' during a fundraiser with Iowa Republicans, saying he didn't know anyone would be offended by the term some consider a racial epithet.

Which would be a plausible defense if Press Secretary Snow hadn't got into trouble for using "tar baby" just a couple of months ago. And as I noted then, we prefer "Tar Baby Americans," thank you very much.

It's sad, really, but it does make you wonder what other slurs the Republicans are using in their strategy meeting talking points.

What Gets Lodged in the Your Kid's Mouth in Vegas, . . . Well, You Know the Rest

Claiming that their young daughter discovered a used condom in Las Vegas hotel bed and then put the rubber in her mouth, a Scottish couple is suing Caesar's Palace for negligence and emotional distress. According to a lawsuit filed July 13 in Clark County District Court, five-year-old Caitlin Kilcoyne found the condom during a July 2004 Sin City visit with her parents Gerald and Jacqueline. Caitlin "found a used comdom in the made up bed in her room. . . and placed the condom in her mouth," notes the complaint, . . .

According to the Smoking Gun, this isn't the first time this has happened. With the advent of the Gummy Condom (registered trademark), the snack treat invented to get kids use to the taste of roll-on contraceptives, these kinds of accidents are bound to happen.

On a brighter note, health officials say people aren't using condoms, but, apparently, they're using them, all right. They are definitely using them.

Darth Works the Day Shift

Chad: "May I speak with you a moment, my master?"

Randy: "It's just Randy. Okay, Chad?"

Chad: "Yes, my master."

Randy: "And don't kneel. It's weird."

Speaking of Depravity. . .

". . . and then, this one time, at Chess Camp. . ."

There Are Far More Depravities than Have Been Written about in Your Good Books

Westboro Baptist Church was founded by Fred Phelps in Topeka, Kan., in 1955. The church — unaffiliated with any mainstream Baptist organization — has always "preached against all forms of sin," as its Web site says. Church members began demonstrating against homosexuality 15 years ago. According to Phelps's daughter Shirley Phelps-Roper, Westboro believes that America is damned to eternal punishment because the country is accepting of homosexuality and other "sins of the flesh."

. . . Westboro gained notoriety when members held an anti-gay rally outside the funeral of Matthew Shepard, who was brutally murdered in 1998 in Wyoming due to his sexual preference. Westboro later attempted to get a plaque commemorating Shepard's "entry into hell" erected in a Wyoming park.

The church of about 100 members is made up primarily of Phelps's supposed family. Westboro directs most of its preaching against homosexuality and America's acceptance of gays, whom Phelps-Roper calls "the bottom rung on the depravity chain."

"Bottom rung of the depravity chain"?! Oh, please. Either, you know nothing about homosexuality or you know nothing about depravity.

Straight men in my state pay to have horses anally pleasure them while their buddies watch and film the act -- and we don't have laws against it. That is but one example of the hetero depravity you're discounting here.

Really, it's all that I need, but if it makes my point more emphatic, use your Internet connection to look up a Cincinnati Steamer. I'll wait.

The point is, anything that you can define as uniquely in the provenance of homosexuality, is going to land middle to upper rung on the Depravity Chain. Tops.

Thank god. I'd hate to think there was some funky pleasure out there that I couldn't take part in because I was born Straight.

I prefer to be limited by my low threshold for pain and my overly developed gag reflex, instead.

I'm, Like, Groovy. Far Out

You Belong in 1964

If you scored... 1950 - 1959: You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in! 1960 - 1969: You are a free spirit with a huge heart. Love, peace, and happiness rule - oh, and drugs too. 1970 - 1979: Bold and brash, you take life by the horns. Whether you're partying or protesting, you give it your all! 1980 - 1989: Wild, over the top, and just a little bit cheesy. You're colorful at night - and successful during the day. 1990 - 1999: With you anything goes! You're grunge one day, ghetto fabulous the next. It's all good!

What Year Do You Belong In?

Yeah. Hmm. Don't I strike you more as an 80s guy?

The Onion Strikes Again

Second-grade students at Franklin Elementary School impressed parents, teachers, and fellow students with their recent production of Peter Shaffer's Equus Friday.

The avant-garde play, described by audience members as 'adorable,' was originally produced in London in 1973. The story revolves around troubled 17-year-old Alan Strang, played by Kyle Keever, 7, and his encounters with his psychiatrist after he blinds six horses with a metal spike. The play focuses on the causes underlying a seemingly senseless act of violence, and forces characters and audience members alike to confront questions of responsibility and ultimate meaning.

"The kids loved it," teacher and director Michael Komarek said. "Once they stopped screaming about horses getting their eyes gouged out and realized that it was just a launching point for more complex ideas about alienation from the modern world, they rolled up their sleeves and dug right in."

Reminds me of the time my kindergarten class staged Shampoo. Of course, my teacher, Ms. Gundersen, said we were so bad the play was unfit for our parents to see and closed down production with the suggestion that we not tell a soul, which we didn't. I did wonder why, if we were so bad, she bothered to keep the video tape, but who knows?

Teachers, eh.

If You're Getting Tingly in Your Naughty Log Watching Women Breast-Feed, You Should Tip. And Remember: You're Tipping for Two

"I was SHOCKED to see a giant breast on the cover of your magazine," one person wrote. "I immediately turned the magazine face down," wrote another. "Gross," said a third. . . .

Babytalk is a free magazine whose readership is overwhelmingly mothers of babies. Yet in a poll of more than 4,000 readers, a quarter of responses to the cover were negative, calling the photo — a baby and part of a woman's breast, in profile — inappropriate. . . .

One mother who didn't like the cover explains she was concerned about her 13-year-old son seeing it.

"I shredded it," said Gayle Ash, of Belton, Texas, in a telephone interview. "A breast is a breast — it's a sexual thing. He didn't need to see that. . . .

"I'm totally supportive of [nursing mothers] — I just don't like the flashing," she says. "I don't want my son or husband to accidentally see a breast they didn't want to see."

Trust me, Gayle. They won't.

"I Wish I Could Quit You."

"This ain't nobody's business, but our own."

Am I the Only One Curious about the Identity of the Person Who Called in the Suicide? By Curious, I Mean, I'm Looking at You, Mrs. Kravitz

Linda Kay is an exotic dancer who performs at a nude juice bar in Union, N.J. . . .

When Kay isn't on stage, she may be at her home on Diana Drive in South Plainfield, enjoying her unusual art collection.

On a dresser in her basement bedroom, she had a human hand in a Mason jar filled with formaldehyde. She calls it 'Freddie,' a friend told the Newark Star-Ledger. Upstairs in a bedroom were six human skulls.

Kay's collection went largely unnoticed until Friday, when police went to her home to investigate a report of someone attempting suicide.

They found no suicide victim, . . .

People who worked with or otherwise knew Kay came to her defense.

Montclair attorney Ira Weiner, who represents Hott 22 in Union, where Kay works, said she is a "lovely girl" and has "never been violent towards anybody. I'd be surprised if she had any violence in her.

"And Hott 22 does not knowingly hire mass murderers."

. . .Patricia Ann Kay said her daughter had been drawn toward the morbid since she was a girl. She collected animal skulls, including a Texas longhorn.

"She would find snake skeletons in our back yard," Patricia Ann Kay said. "That was just her. It's a fascination with the human body."

She said she knew Linda was an exotic dancer, but had never watched her perform.

"She has a flair for the dramatic," Patricia Ann said. "I have never tried to stop my children from doing whatever they want. As long as they are happy, aren't hurting anyone and it's keeping them out of the poorhouse."

Your mom and your lawyer, the two people you can depend on for a reasonable defense of just about anything you do. You might want to remember that the next time you wake to find a human head in your freezer with no idea that you can offer to yourself or the police for how it got there.

But, seriously, call your lawyer first.

“You Love Her, but She Loves Him, and He Loves Somebody Else. You Just Can't Win”

Because you can't tell the players without a program.

Who Created HIV? Not the CIA (wait for it), Not the Illuminati (Wait for it), Not the Pentavariate (Wait for it), But the ...

DOES THIS BIRD FLU VIRUS then not exist at all?

In humans, in the blood or in other bodily fluids, in an animal or in a plant there never have been seen or demonstrated structures which you could characterize as bird flu viruses or flu viruses or any other supposedly disease-causing virus. The causes of those diseases which are being maintained to be caused by a virus, also those in animals, which can arise quickly and in individuals either one after the other or several at the same time, are known since a long time back.

However much you stretch things in biology, there is simply no place for viruses as the causative agents of diseases. Only if I ignore the findings of Dr Hamer’s New Medicine, according to which shock events are the cause of many diseases, and the findings of chemistry on the effects of poisonings and deficiencies, and then if I ignore the findings of physics about the effects of radiation, then there is a place for imaginings such as disease-causing viruses.

"And only if I ignore the findings of the Flat Earth Society," he didn't go on to say, "will I be able to sail a ship around the Earth. But I'm not ready to do that. Are you?"

"Why THEN are disease-causing viruses still being maintained to exist?" the interviewer asks him. Are you ready? Okay, here it is: Academic medical protagonists and practitioners are saying they exist, one, to "harm many people with vaccinations," two, to "not have to admit that they are failing totally in their treatment of chronic illnesses and have killed and are killing more people than all wars so far have made possible," and, three -- and this is my favorite -- to hide "their historical origin as an oppresion and killing instrument of the Vatican's. . ."

That's right: the Vatican.

It's amazing that he took time from his busy schedule of constructing these to give this interview.

But come on. The Vatican?! I wouldn't say he's Ann Coulter crazy, but he's pretty close.

Federal Air Marshalls Just Saved Tons on Their Car Insurance Rates. No, That's Not True, but They Are Getting Raises. Ask Them How.

You could be on a secret government database or watch list for simply taking a picture on an airplane. Some federal air marshals say they're reporting your actions to meet a quota, even though some top officials deny it.

The air marshals, whose identities are being concealed, told 7NEWS that they're required to submit at least one report a month. If they don't, there's no raise, no bonus, no awards and no special assignments.

"Innocent passengers are being entered into an international intelligence database as suspicious persons, acting in a suspicious manner on an aircraft ... and they did nothing wrong," said one federal air marshal.

"But on the good side," he said, "We're not fucking the public over for nothing. These are really good raises we're talking about, here."

It Really Does Make the World Go Round

Sumu Lounge Gear was brave enough to trust me to test their products and share the results with you. These chairs have been seen all over MTV, Playboy magazine, the X Games and have been donated to Hurricane Katrina victims, but they've never seen as much action as they have at my house.

Elmo is a rock star and scores hot chicks because he has Sumo chairs.

I knew it! I knew he wasn't all giggles and smiles from just being tickled.

"All Those that Contend with Me Suck Cock by Choice"

The TV show Deadwood has taken the art of cussin' to new heights. Fans of the show are even known as fucknuts. But despite what you may have heard, Deadwood is not all blowjobs, cocksuckers and titlickers.

That's true, but just like in real life, that's why you tune in, why you get up in the morning, why you put up with all the boring-ass other shit -- because the fun part of life comes from the joys to be had on the extremes, in the moments where there are cursing, cocksucking and titlicking going on. All those other moments -- the rainbows, the butterflies coming to rest on babies' noses, the quiet walks on the beach where two footprints in the sand become one and god is carrying you -- all that shit is filler.

Oh, No, He Did'ent!

Bitch-slapping black folks: It's not just for speaking figuratively anymore.

It's Cat Shit, People! Soylent Kopi Luwak Is Cat Shit!

Coffee grows in dozens of countries around the world. Some varieties have earned a special reputation, often based on a combination of rarity, unusual circumstances and particularly good flavor. These coffees, from Jamaican Blue Mountain to Kona to Tanzanian Peaberry, command a premium price. But perhaps no coffee in the world is in such short supply, has such unique flavors and an, um, interesting background as Kopi Luwak. . . .

Kopi (the Indonesian word for coffee) Luwak comes from the islands of Sumatra, Java and Sulawesi (formerly Celebes), which are part of the Indonesian Archepelago's 13,677 islands (only 6,000 of which are inhabited). But it's not strictly the exotic location that makes these beans worth their weight in silver. It's how they're "processed."

On these Indonesian islands, there's a small marsupial called the paradoxurus, a tree-dwelling animal that is part of the sibet family. Long regarded by the natives as pests, they climb among the coffee trees eating only the ripest, reddest coffee cherries. Who knows who first thought of it, or how or why, but what these animals eat they must also digest and eventually excrete. Some brazen or desparate -- or simply lazy -- local gathered the beans, which come through the digestion process fairly intact, still wrapped in layers of the cherries' mucilage. The enzymes in the animals' stomachs, though, appear to add something unique to the coffee's flavor through fermentation.

Loves me some coffee. Cat shit? Not so much.

The State of the Union Address

Fanfare!

It's my second anniversary of maintaining this blog. Who would've guessed back in 2004 that two years later I'd still have so much time on my hands? (If I could feel shame, this, I imagine, would be an appropriate moment for it.)

Thanks to everyone on the Blog Roll for visiting regularly and for showing me what real blogs look like (bastards).

Special shout out to Mai, C.B. and Law Guy, for reading from the beginning (and Giornalistica for sticking with The Truth for so long). Somehow, I haven't managed to scare them away. (That's another milestone: my first Shout Out. I'd always thought it would be to "all the fine ladies in the house" -- and that it would be at my acceptance dinner for the Nobel Prize Peace Prize. What are you gonna' do?)

Anywoo, as is the tradition around here, on the anniversary of The Truth, I leave you with a link to the first ever post: "There's Typewriter Erotica and It's Giving Me the Vapors"

Actually, I won't. Because it's the second anniversary, I'm throwing in a bonus post from my first day of blogging, "She's Got Brass Ovaries, My Friend."

When people ask me what my blog is about, I say it's a dialogue, or a call-and-response preached from the Internet, in which I express who I am through my reaction to what's going on in the world, and the World responds by leaving me comments like this:

"What a strange, complex man you seem to be."

Amen, and pass the Krystal.

Tell Him about the Perfect Penis Theory

Chappelle Show- Kneehigh Park - watch more funny videos

"I don't believe your pappy.
"He may be rich, but he ain't happy.
"He tells you about work and you want to be him,
"But when's the last time you got to see him."

"He works hard. Why?
"So you can go out and buy
"A bunch of bullshit that you don't need
"Driven by your punk-ass hopes and greed."

"That's why
"I say,
"Fuck it."

"For the first time in my life,
"I'm finally free:"

"No mansion for me.
"I said, 'Fuck it."

"No brand-new Humvee
"I say, 'Fuck It."

"But you'll get no pussy."

"Fuck it."

"What you don't understand
"Is I make love to my hand.
"So I don't need you, Honey.
"I beat my dick like it owes me money."

"Fuck it.
"That's right:
"I said,
"'Fuck it'' (begins at 3 minute mark)

Handy and Useful Latin Phrases

Estne volumen in toga, an solum tibi libet me videre?
Is that a scroll in your toga, or are you just happy to see me?

Lex clavatoris designati rescindenda est.
The designated hitter rule has got to go.

Sentio aliquos togatos contra me conspirare.
I think some people in togas are plotting against me.

Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam.
I have a catapult. Give me all the money, or I will fling an enormous rock at your head.

Utinam logica falsa tuam philosophiam totam suffodiant!
May faulty logic undermine your entire philosophy!

Visne saltare? Viam Latam Fungosam scio.
Do you want to dance? I know the Funky Broadway.

Si hoc signum legere potes, operis boni in rebus Latinus alacribus et fructuosis potiri potes!
If you can read this sign, you can get a good job in the fast-paced, high-paying world of Latin!

You'd never know from this blog, but I went to the state championship in Latin translation when I was in high school. (That's probably why I find these so amusing.) Yep, I was a big nerd like that.

Written by Someone Who's Never Met My Penis, the Pudgy, Myoptic, Asmatic on the Cock Block

Your Penis Is Perfect

When peeing, a man is afforded a brief ritual of contemplation combined with a very intimate moment with his member. This urinal mat offers a thought for him to consider. If men loved their penes, perhaps the world would be a happier place.

And loving them a little less probably wouldn't hurt, either.

What Happens at the G-8 Summit, Stays at the G-8 Summit

At the G-8 summit, President Bush grabs German Chancellor Angela Merkel from behind and gives her a quick massage before rushing off. Chancellor Merkel is not amused.

I think, somebody needs an intern.

I Could Sooooooo Be the Press Secretary for These United States

A microphone picked up an unaware President Bush saying on Monday Syria should press Hizbollah to 'stop doing this shit' as they discussed the upsurge in violence in the Middle East.

White House spokesman Tony Snow immediately confirmed to the press corps that the president had, indeed, said, "shit," adding that he was pretty sure the president, a born-again Christian, was using it in the strict New Testament sense of the word. "You know," he concluded, "as Christ used it."

I'd Like the Tostitos, Instead. Hold the Nut Punching

Never mind "Cool Ranch" or "Black Pepper Jack" Doritos -- all the cool kids eat "Swift Kick to the 'Nads'" Doritos!

Actually, those Doritos are even better than that if the writing on the bag is to be believed. I'm referring, of course, to the column of characters on the right-hand side of the bag. Now, if you know your Kanji like I know my Kanji, then you are illiterate, too, and have to rely on the translations in the comments section of the page, like I do. This, based on replies, is, either, "Black Pepper Salt" Doritos or "Revive You like a Vibrating Foot to the Wrinkled Fun Bag" Doritos.

From the same source, you learn that the vibrating foot to the gonads is just one more adorable fetish in the Land of the Rising Sun, and since that seems to jibe with the picture on the cover of the bag, I'm going with that.

Superior. Society.

How Did the Footage from My Junior High School Homecoming Dance Get on the Internets?

If loving this is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Japanese Potty Training: Theirs Is the Superior Society

This is exactly how my potty training went except the toilet wasn't nearly as happy about it.

She Doesn't Say She Misses Him, but You Can Hear It, the Longing in Pocahontas's Voice, and You Know

The Disney Princesses Talk about Chlamydia

Approximately one million cases of Chlamydia are reported to the Center for Disease Control each year. This startling statistic is comprised of a disproportionate number of teenage girls; young victims particularly susceptible to misinformation and often unaware of the high risks associated with certain behaviors. In an effort to protect our nation’s youth and empower them with knowledge, the CDC sought the perfect spokeswomen to reach these young girls before they came to harm. The Disney Princesses were the only logical choice given their staggering success selling shoes, dolls, dresses, pillowcases, sunglasses, posters, and other willy-nilly items. Now, the Disney Princesses offer their wisdom, compassion, and personal stories to today’s youth.

What Is Chlamydia?

Snow White: Chlamydia is a lot like swallowing a poisoned apple transformed through magic by a witch. Except, instead of a poisoned apple, it’s more like bacteria living on dirty dwarf cock.

Cinderella: The Chlamydia bacteria can grow in the throat, vagina, penis, or absolutely anywhere on that whore “Sleeps-Around Beauty.” Oh, I’m sorry. I mean, Aurora.

Pocahontas: Chlamydia is the only thing I still have from John Smith.

What I'm reading (Click the Comic for a Legible Display)

My favorite on-line comic -- and no that isn't damning with faint praise.

The Title for This Guy's Blog Entry Is Worth the Price of the Click

The surgical removal of the penis is at the best of times a dangerous practice, rarely performed even by doctors: An attack by the renowned Brazilian fishlet known as candiru, which likes to swim up a man’s urine stream and lodge in the urethra with a ring of retrorse spines..."

The reviewer was trying to illustrate a point on how books that include passages like that should come with warnings. Maybe, they should. When I was reading it, though, after that part, all I could think was, "Yes, yes, go on."

Oh, yeah, like I'm the only one.

The Disabled Are about to Get Medieval on Your Ass

If it's hard to grasp why diabled people need this space, WE SUGGEST: go and break your fucking spine.

Level 43 Cleric: Armed with Helmet of Disbelief and Blog of BullShit Detection Seeks Same

I am seeking a level 42 or above rogue, druid, and sorceress to help me assault the fortress of Mordria, and for hot kinky sex. I am the sole holder of the Axe of Fragyholt and am a level 72 Paladin equipped with Def+ 52 plate mail. I also have a really big penis. I can cast Magic Missile, Icebolt, and am a fairly skilled at cunnilingus. Indeed, Orcs and Goblins are no match for me, not unlike your unsuspecting genitalia, which shall recieve a thrashing, the likes of which have been only whispered in hushed voice in times of darkness. I have a lot of experience, both with annihilating ogres, and the finer points of pleasuring fair maidens, and like to be beaten with wet towels. I live at home with Mother, and you will have to sneak in through the basement window. This partnership boasts many advantages, such as an unlimited supply of Cheetos and Mountain Dew, and hot, steamy, hanky-panky with my massive member. Comic book lovers a plus.

I believe dreams can come true. I believe there's someone for everyone. I believe there's an island where JFK, Elvis, and Jimi Hendrix spend their retirement boozing, floozing, and shooting up. I believe in rainbows, leprechauns, and historical materialism. But I don't believe for a second that this guy has ever performed cunnilingus, has ever thrashed a genitalia besides his own, or has done anything with his penis besides coax it from beneath his giant rolls of fat so he can piss standing up without making a mess.

But that's just me, Biff Loman, reality's policeman.

"If You Were to Lick My Heart, You Would Die from the Poison" -- Anon (because I Forgot)

A four-story building on Manhattan's Upper East Side collapsed into a pile of rubble Monday after a thunderous explosion that hurled fireballs skyward and left an upscale block littered with bricks, broken glass and splintered wood.

Authorities said the blast was caused by gas, and they were investigating whether it was the result of a suicide attempt by the building's owner, a doctor who was going through a bitter divorce. The doctor, Nicholas Bartha, 66, and a passer-by were severely hurt; at least 13 other people had minor injuries.

Bartha recently sent out a rambling e-mail to his wife in which he contemplated suicide, a police official told The Associated Press on condition of anonymity because the investigation is ongoing.

'When you read this ... your life will change forever,' the e-mail read in part. 'You deserve it. You will be transformed from gold digger to ash and rubbish digger. You always wanted me to sell the house. I always told you I will leave the house only if I am dead.'

To paraphrase Chris Rock, "I'm not saying he should've blown his house up, but I understand." But then, Bitter is my native tongue.

This One Is Just for Me

This is how I imagine Bill Clinton acted during his "Lewinsky."

"Mistakes Were Made. Comas Were Induced. Who's to Say Who Is Wrong? Let's Just Move On"

An Iowa judge has denied unemployment benefits to a man who claimed discrimination after being fired from an ethanol plant for drinking 'automobile fuel' produced by the company.


[Cory Neddermeyer, 42,] was fired after an April 21 incident at the Denison plant. According to Neddermeyer, he showed up for work that morning and saw that there had been a spill of fuel alcohol. Hundreds of gallons of 190-proof alcohol were contained in a 6-inch-deep holding pond that was about 30 feet by 24 feet.

It proved to be too much to resist, Neddermeyer said. . . . "Curious about the taste and its effects, I dipped into this lake of liquor and drank what I considered to be 2 to 3 ounces. . . ."

He was taken to a hospital, where his blood-alcohol level, according to state records, was reported at 0.72 - nine times the legal limit for driving, and almost double the level that is considered potentially fatal for many adults. . . .

At the hearing, Administrative Law Judge Teresa Hillary asked Neddermeyer, "Why would you drink fuel?"

"I don't have a good explanation for that," he replied.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," is my pat answer for situations like this. Corey, you might want to remember that for next time (and we all know, there's going to be a next time).

Pimping Relativity Ain't Easy

Albert Einstein had half a dozen girlfriends and told his wife they showered him with 'unwanted' affection, according to letters released on Monday that shed light on his extra-marital affairs. . . .

. . ."It is true that M. followed me (to England) and her chasing after me is getting out of control," he wrote in a letter . . . in 1931.

For you kids out there, I'll translate: "Damn! Somebody get these ho's off me. Back up! Let a player play!"

Oh, for those of you wondering, Albert Einstein was, like, the biggest pimp of his generation. Way bigger than Snoop is now.

You can find these and other astonishing facts in your schools' libraries. It's that building where all the kids you mock go to read. Don't worry: they've got books on tapes and DVD, too.

And Here I Am Paying to Get My Hair Cut Like a Sucker

A schoolboy whose afro hairstyle grew so big he required hospital treatment for head pain has shaved it off in aid of charity.

John Sterlin Browne, 14, a pupil at Tynecastle High School, had his head shorn in the school gym hall at lunchtime to the cheers of hundreds of fellow pupils.

The Ghanaian-born teenager had been cultivating his afro for the past three years and his mum styled it fortnightly in fashionable corn rows. But combing his hair was so agonising that it regularly took his mum more than two hours whilst John bit on a piece of wood to cope with the pain.

I grew my hair out into a Monster Afro for my 7th-grade class picture, and, like this kid, I did it with the aid of cornrows.

Sweet Jebus! It hurt, but it was worth it.

When the yearbook came out, there I was, "Biff Loman," with an afro so big you could hardly see my face, it was so small by comparison, the photographer having had to adjust the camera so much to fit my entire head into the frame. Everyone else in my class was recognizable, had normal sized faces, but not me, not Biff Loman. For that year, I was reduced to a billowing afro, a giant Q-Tip dipped in ink, a Cousin It for the Soul set. The only thing bigger than the 'fro was my smile.

But as I said, it hurt to get the cornrolls put in every weekend, so as soon as I took the picture. I had my hair cut down to a respectable length.

Good times, good times.

Dude, Seriously, . . .

OK, I must confess. My batting average is just that, average. I am not a barfly. It doesn't make me a snob or antisocial. It's just not my scene.

So I'm single on the sidelines.

This is by choice, despite what you all may think. I'm not a bad catch by any means, but probably not the greatest catch either. I can actually hold a conversation, although my jokes are 'pretty lame,' as pointed out to me at the office on a regular basis. I have my moments, though, when I'm damn hilarious.

. . . I choose not to do the bar scene, but apparently that is where "Juneau's finest" are. I get tired of hearing women burp, belch, fart and use the f-word all night.

. . . I would like to find the real ladies of Juneau. Where are the nice ones that stir the fire within a man?

Dude, seriously, you're lucky to be batting average. Honestly, based on what you wrote, I have to say, you should be grateful there are women anywhere willing to burp, belch, or fart in your general direction. And if one of them should use the f-word in any context in a conversation with you, you should drop to your knees and kiss her sweet, gaseous ass in thanksgiving and supplication and hope, hope that you might be one gastric eruption closer to carnal embrace and sub-cockel, spastic release.

With the lame jokes, though, I wouldn't count on it.

Let's face it: You need help -- and I'm just the guy to do it.

"Why?" you ask. Well, I like you kid. You remind me of ... Well, you don't remind me of anyone. (Thank you, Jebus.) Let's just say, I could use the karma, and leave it at that.

Got a pencil? Good. Here are three quick tips to not so much improve your batting average as give you a few more quality hits. Okay:

One, stop wearing sunglasses indoors. That looks doesn't work for anyone. It definitely doesn't work for you. Sunglasses indoors is for guys with an air of mystery about them, guys in the mob, and guys with last names like Pitt and Clooney, guys whose last pictures grossed $100 million domestic opening weekend. For the rest of us, it's about as attractive as wing tips with shorts. Stop it.

Two, lose the porn-stache. If the moustache hasn't come in by your age, it's not making the trip. Shave it, okay? If you don't get memos reading "To: Jason , From: The Boss, Re: The Money Shot," you shouldn't have facial hair (or facial hairs, in your case) like that.

Three, stop using phrases like "stir the fire within a man." I can't explain why you should. Just do it. Your loins will thank you.

That's it. Those simple suggestions should have you in a lasting relationship in no time. Good luck, my son.

There's no need to thank me. Okay, if you insist, send me something from the divorce.

No? What about from This Angle?

A Northeast Portland man is suing basketball superstar Michael Jordan and Nike founder Phil Knight for a combined $832 million. Allen Heckard filed the suit himself, June 29th in Washington County Court. Heckard says he's been mistaken as Michael Jordan nearly every day over the past 15 years and he’s tired of it. "“I'm constantly being accused of looking like Michael and it makes it very uncomfortable for me,"” said Heckard. Heckard is suing Jordan for defamation and permanent injury and emotional pain and suffering. HeÂ's suing Knight for defamation and permanent injury for promoting Jordan and making him one of the most recognized men in the world.

. . . The question remains -- is the occasional confusion with an admired celebrity worth $800 million?

I sure hope so, because I look just like Denzel Washington. Okay, I look like Denzel Washington would look if he were in a car accident and got his face ripped apart by the Jaws of Life, the result of a botched first attempt by the EMTs to remove his smoldering remains the mangled wreckage. Still, . . . . Not a day goes by that someone doesn't say, "You know what? You look like a burned and disfigured Denzel Washington who's been bingeing on Oreos, only shorter."

I can't tell you what that does to a man. I can, however, tell you it does -- hmm, let's see (carry the 2) -- yeah, $800 million worth of it.

Amen, Rev. Hughes. Amen

I'm a Jesus Jerk.

I don't take shit from anybody, especially when it comes to my beliefs and my religion. I'm always right, and I'll sacrifice your personal health and state of well-being to prove it.

I've been known to introduce people to the Holy Trinity of ass-whooping: my fist, my foot, and an eternity in the pain capsule of purgatory. . . .

I don't care if you're Episcopalian, Baptist, Mormon or a Muslim terrorist -- if you don't accept Jesus into your heart, I will punch you in the throat. I know all of the ways to send a sinner to Hell: I've been trained in four types of holy martial arts, including Christ-Fu, Jew-jitsu, and Ninjutsuckersgetpunchedintheface.

And I'm a Bouncer for Buddha. Don't get me started on the kind of shit hammers I can lay down.

Let's Just Say, When You're Covered in Man Goo, the Police Let You Slide

On March 30, Minnesota Timberwolves center Eddie Griffin was drunk and masturbating when he crashed his luxury SUV into a parked Suburban outside a store in Minneapolis, according to a lawsuit filed Thursday by the man whose Suburban was hit in the crash.

This story includes pictures and a video.

Of the wrecked car.

Not Minnesota Tiberwolves center Eddie Griffin, drunk and masturbating.

'Cause that would be gross.

Eew.

Feel shame.

Welcome to the Spock Casa

"This is where I chill, where I relax, where I chill-lax."

He didn't ask, but for the record, I know what he's saying.

eBay: Firefighter Hazmat Chemical Environment Suit .Not Gay

• Flexible 0.75mm thick visor allowing a wide field of vision.
• Heavy duty 122cm (48”) gas tight zip fitted to the right-hand side of the suit.
• Externally taped seams (Elastomeric suits only).
• Elasticated inner legs with stirrups with elasticated outer legs designed to accommodate safety boots of the customer’s choice.
• Safety gloves that are compatible with the material of the suit fitted by means of the Respirex locking cuff mechanism.
• Adjustable internal waist support belt enabling users of varying sizes to comfortably wear the suit.
• Sufficient exhalation valves to ensure that the pressure change within the suit does not exceed 1 mbar in 1 minute.
• The suit is produced in a standard size sufficient to accommodate a person of up to 1.95m in height.

Externally taped seams?! Respirex locking cuff mechanism?! Sufficient exhalation valves for pressure change?! Elasticized inner legs with stirrups?! Stirrups?! I don't care what the seller says. That's gay.

He's Got a Guide to Black Jack, as Well

I've been considering a trip to Vegas. In my research, I discovered this Lucky Ned's Guide to Roulette:

Roulette requires precise concentration, cat-like agility and the ability to pick winning numbers. The naysayers claim that the way numbers come up on a roulette wheel is random. I say, RANDOM MY ASS! If roulette is so random, how come I'm always such a big winner? WHY HAVE I BEEN FORCIBLY REMOVED FROM CASINOS? And don't use the casino's excuse that I was drunk, unruly, and passed out twice with my head on the black square. I know a smokescreen when I see one. If you are good at the lottery you'll be great at roulette. And with a little practice, you'll GET THROWN OUT OF CASINOS TOO!!"

Now, I'm convinced the only way to gamble honestly in Vegas is to visit a brothel. Call it the Loman System.