Yes, the Semiotician in Me Sees the Racism at Play Here, but He's Ignoring It so He Can Enjoy the Recycling Scene

WOOO! YOU KNOW YOU CAN'T BRING THAT WEAK-ASS STUFF UP IN THIS HUMPTY BUMPTY!

YOU KILL THE JOE, YOU MAKE SOME MO'! YOU KNOW THAT, BABY! ELSE YOU IN FOR A LONG DAY! A LOOOONG DAY! CAUSE TRIPLE T'S UP IN THIS BIIIIIITCH!

I might not be up in this bitch, but if you leave an empty coffee pot simmering on the warmer in the conference room during work hours, I will bring the pain.

Check razor! Check razor!

"Sisters Are Doing It for Themselves" Giddyup!

A NSW north coast woman has been charged with bestiality and offensive conduct after allegedly being involved in an indecent act with a horse.

Police said they found the naked woman with the horse when they were called to a paddock in Wilson Street, Lismore at 9am (AEDT) on Monday.

"Police will allege a 35-year-old Casino woman was engaged in an indecent act with a horse," a NSW police spokesman said.

I might buy bestiality, but indecent? I'm going to have to see the tape before I rule on that charge.

Of course, had it been a dead horse, we would be one incident closer to the Carcass Fuckers Gone Wild video everyone's talking about (and in time for Christmas).

It's Slightly More Attractive than "Which Stooge Are You?"

Which John Cusack Are You?

I know women love John Cusak. Unfortunately, I also know this isn't the John Cusak they love when they mention loving John Cusak.

Always the bride's maid, never the bride.

"Rachel Hunter, Why You Hatin'?"

Poured into a gold swimsuit, Make Me A Supermodel winner Jen Hunter looks as if this outfit was custom-made for her. . . .

Appearing here for the first time in the outfit which sparked the debate about size zero models, Miss Hunter - who was criticised on the show for being too fat - said: "This is what a real woman should look like.

"I am all curves and flesh, not skin and bone. Boys, who would you rather snuggle up to?"

. . . Barmaid Miss Hunter, 24 - who weighs 11 stone and is a healthy size 12 - was reduced to tears when she was castigated on the reality TV show for not taking a food and exercise regime seriously.

Judge Tandy Anderson, managing director of Select Model Management, criticised her for having "stocky" legs while supermodel Rachel Hunter, a fellow panellist, reprimanded her for saying she wanted to prove larger women could be successful models. . . .

"I am a northern lass - I like my hotpot and my shepherd's pie and I have a very sweet tooth.

"My wardrobe is stuffed with clothes that don't fit but I scrub up pretty well. I like to think men see me as a yummy mummy.

Well, I can only speak for the pervs, but on behalf of my people, yes, "yummy mummy, please."

Or the Police Made that Part of the Story Up. It's Been Known to Happen

A man who paused to smoke crack cocaine while being chased on foot was arrested early Sunday on car theft and credit card charges. . . .

Police said he scaled a fence near Captain's Cove Seaport and smoked crack cocaine before he ran through the seaport and stood on a boat.

He smoked more crack before officers pulled him down from the boat by his coat and arrested him, police said.

Perry Quinton, 45, of Sedgewick Avenue, Stratford, was charged with second-degree larceny, first-degree criminal trover, attempted illegal use of a credit card and two counts of credit card theft.

Perry Quinton, however, was not charged with criminal use or possession of crack cocaine, because, contrary to popular belief, smoking crack is not illegal in the state of Connecticut.

Good to know.

The Real Tragedy, Here, Is That That Guy Is Getting Laid

It’s hardly a typical scene from the suburbs. The Bortel home outside San Antonio counts 12 members—parents David and Suzanne and their 10 children, ranging from 13 months to 15 (the 20-year-old married and moved away)—all crammed into a four-bedroom house that trembles constantly with activity.

Everything revolves around the home: Dad works there, the kids are schooled there, the youngest three were born there. The family uses a 15-passenger van to get around, and at night, the kids climb into multiple sets of bunk beds.

David and Suzanne hear the same questions repeatedly. So for the record: No, they’re not Catholic. Yes, they’ve heard of birth control. And no, they’re not crazy. In fact, they’d happily welcome a 12th child.

“It’s about obedience to God,” says David, 38. “The Bible says that God is the only opener and closer of the womb.”

Isn't there a prayer or something for this, something that says, "You know what, lord, thanks for the Offer, but I think I've got this. I can take all the womb action from here. Or I will be able to if you'll get back to counting lilies of the field or, at least, cover your eyes. It's about to get weird in here, helper monkey with a Magic Wand weird, and no all-consuming Good should have to see that. (Thanks for answering that Helper Monkey prayer, by the way)?"

"Potapych -- the Bear Who Loved Vodka"

Potapych's first friend was a bad man, taken away to jail, leaving P all alone for far to long, a shocking way to treat a bear.

Lucky for him, Misha, here, was a great improvement: housekeeper, drunkard, scallywag extraordinaire. And though he didn't even drink a reputable brand of vodka, their lives became a party with a reputation. . . .

Misha's generous spirit was warmly received. And his jokes always left others with a rosy glow. The party got better and better: it cheered up the sky.

But the party atmosphere cannot be maintained forever. And once it vanishes, so too will vanish its creators.

There is but one good reason to return, and that's to properly say good-bye. The big problem is in knowing what to say. It may be best to just enjoy the moment.

Bears are never happier without friends, but they'll live forever without too many parties.

So there: by all means, take friends to parties, but don't let parties take your friends.

Be good, drink milk, and think of Russia. Bye-bye.

And if you need one, a Biff makes a good bear, a very good bear, indeed, even if you have bad vodka, very bad vodka; it makes no difference.

"Football and NASCAR, The Dawin Award Cocktail: We Knew One Day, It Would Kill Him"

A South Carolina Gamecocks fan fatally shot a friend over a $20 bet on a weekend football game, authorities said.

James Walter Quick watched the South Carolina-Clemson game Saturday at his friend's house in Lexington, S.C., about 100 miles south of Charlotte. The Gamecocks came from behind and won, 31-28.

Quick celebrated.

But his friend, Clemson fan Richard Allen Johnson, said the Tigers shouldn't have lost and refused to pay, authorities said. So Quick left the house and retrieved a high-powered rifle from his Chevrolet Corsica.

"He went back in and told Richard, `I want my money or I'm going to shoot you,' " said Lexington County Sheriff James Metts, adding that both had been drinking beer.

Metts said Johnson's wife and several friends told police that Johnson then said: "You can't shoot me, I'm invisible."

And Quick replied, "No you're not."

Needless to say, this story doesn't end well for Richard Johnson.

On a related note, I'm not missing the South today.

North Carolina 45, dook 44

Mere weeks after members of their university's lacrosse team were accused of sexually assaulting exotic dancers, ranking Duke polo and equestrian team members are downplaying rumors that they repeatedly engaged in acts of exotic sexual misconduct during the infamously out-of-control parties held at the team's off-campus barn.

"We've done nothing wrong, veterinarians will find no evidence—DNA or otherwise—showing that horses have been assaulted, and of course no charges have been filed," said senior Nat Hennerty, captain of Duke's equestrian squad . . . .

While no formal accusations have been made, students claim the outrageous behavior of Duke's elite equestrian squad has become campus legend.

"I've never been to one of their parties, but everyone at Duke has heard the rumors," said a sophomore who spoke on condition of anonymity, saying she wished to protect herself from possible retaliation by the "privileged elites" who make up Duke's top-tier riding clubs. "Everyone's drinking, the lights in the stable go down, someone gets some saddle soap and a curry-comb…. pretty soon everyone's bareback, they're playing 'strip dressage,' strange lathered-up fillies are prancing around. . .

". . . A formal investigation would tear this campus apart," history professor Woodrow Peterson said. "After all, the Duke University community barely tolerated the systematic sexual abuse of two black women at the hands of its students. If word got out that valuable horses had been treated that way, this place would explode."

Unless, of course, they were black horses. Then, it'll just be a simple case of a few fillies trying to milk some nice boys out of a few extra oats.

His Girlfriend Turned Him in, Huh? Well, the Female Is the Deadlier of the Species.

Dummy Bryan Boniface could lose his job at Madame Tussauds — after posing for snaps groping star waxworks.

One shows him pulling down Kylie Minogue’s hotpants and kissing her bum. . . .

Bryan’s ex Sofia Oliveira leaked the shots when their romance ended.

Living in a country where men regularly pleasure themselves with roadkill, I have to say, this could have been much worse -- much, much worse.

“Yes, Over-Education Leads to Ugliness, Premature Aging, and Beard Growth.” It's True: I Was Quite Fetching before Grad School

An Ordinary dinner party, the sort of occasion we all enjoy: the men are exchanging witty stories. And look at the women: aren't they pretty? Look at they way they laugh. They're delightful. But now the conversation turns to more serious matters.

Man 1: I wonder if the government should return to the Gold Standard.
Man 2: I think it should.
Man 1: Good. Then, we are, all, agreed.

But, oh dear! What's this? One of the women is about to embarrass us all.

Uppity Woman: I think the government should stay off the Gold Standard, so that the pound can reach a level that will keep our exports competitive.

The lady is foolishly trying to join the conversation with a wild and dangerous opinion of her own. What half-baked drivel! Women: Know your limits.

Generally, I come down firmly against this kind of thing, but when the woman is Kay Bailey Hutchison, … Well, I subtly look the other way.

A 2004 Democratic Primary Recap

"Sharpton spoke concise, elegant circles around his opponents. But alas, he was black.

So this guy became the front runner: Dean. Howard Dean."

And people wonder why I can't get excited about all the Obama For President hype.

You'll Go Blind

British parents are as happy as ever to fib about Father Christmas. A poll for Reader’s Digest found that almost nine out of ten parents have passed on untruths.

The Top Ten white lies are:

1. Father Christmas

2. The Tooth Fairy

3. Crusts give you curly hair

4. Carrots help night vision

5. If the wind changes, your face will stay like that

6. The Easter Bunny

7. Babies are found under gooseberry bushes (or similar)

8. If you eat apple pips, they will grow in your tummy

9. Picking your nose causes your head to cave in or your nose to fall off

10. Lying does something unpleasant to your tongue.

I've always been fond of these:

* I'll turn this car around. If you don't believe me, just try me.

* Get me a beer, and I'll give you a taste.

* Pull my finger. I won't fart this time.

* Get good grades in school, and you can become anything.

* I never did that when I was your age.

* This is going to hurt me more than you.

* Him? Um, he's your "uncle."

* That was wonderful, honey. Play us another song.

* You'll grow into it.

* Gin helps settle my stomach.

* Daddy was just giving mommy a special hug.

"And on This Day, I Am Most Thankful for These Kind and Caring Heathens with No Concept of Titled Land Who Have Surely Saved Our Lives"

Les: "Then, Mr. Carlson had the helicopter land in the middle of the parking lot. I guess he thought he could save the day by turning the rest of the turkeys loose. It gets pretty strange after that."

Venus: "Now, it gets strange."

Andy: "Yeah, right. Damn it, Les, come on. Tell us the rest."

Les: "I really don't know how to describe it. It was like the turkeys mounted a counter-attack. It was almost as if they were. . .organized."

Mr. Carlson: "As God is my witness, I thought turkeys could fly."

I know everyone is linking to this, but I'm going to link to it, too, anyway. It deserves it. WKRP was one of the funniest shows to ever not find an audience, and this pretty much captures everything that made it unique.

Enjoy the day, everyone. Since I couldn't go home this year, I won't be able to smile as my relatives tell how wonderful their lives are and laugh as my Aunt Bernice tells me all the less than wonderful parts. That's what I'm going to miss about the day: the traditions. Anyway, I'm eating with friends (the French Custard and Apple Tart I bought, I mean, made really looks good). I hope wherever you are, you get a chance to eat till you're sleepy and drink till you're passed out, but not before you watch a lot of football.

You Get Me 12 Mules on that Jury, and He'll Walk Out of There an Innocent Quadriped

Oh, he wanted it.

He went in there swinging his sweet, sweet ass -- all callipygian and alabaster -- in the donkey's face, and then turned coy when the donkey wanted to be more than friends, like he would've let the guy shit in his field otherwise. The man knew what was up. And he would've gladly gone through with his side of the bargain if the guy with the camera hadn't shown up. Once the camera got there, though, there was no chance. He got all "No, no, I don't do that" and camera shy.

But he wanted this to happen, you can have no doubt about that.

Little donkey tease.

It's Not the Early Hours, but the Commute that Kills You. I Heard That

Last night I didn't fall sleep until early in the morning.
And I've got a long day ahead of me. . .
So, what the hell is making me smile at seven thirty-five in the morning?

You'll have to watch to find out, but I'll tell you, it's a pretty amazing short film, Oscar-nominated even. (The QuickTime version on the home site -- at the linked location - looks better, FYI.)

Damn catchy tune, too: A las seite treinta y cinco a la manana*

*Actual translation might vary, as I took Spanish over 20 years ago, and I wasn't a very cunning linguist then. I'm worse now. For all I know, that's just Bifflish. Apologies to Spanish-speaking peoples everywhere. (On the bright side, you were spared having to hear me speak it.)

There's a Thin, Brown Line Separating Law and Order from Chaos and It's Called The Police Force. Blue Line? What Did I Say?

In X-rated testimony as graphic as a porno flick, a former dominatrix yesterday described a bizarre sexual encounter in the woods she claims to have had with a town police officer.

"He wanted to go to a motel in the Bronx where I would defecate on him, but I told him I was uncomfortable going to the Bronx," testified the dominatrix, Gina Pane, 31, buttoned up in an olive-gray suit with her black hair pulled back in a bun. . . .

The defense lawyer, Andrew Quinn, said Ward was interested only in recruiting Pane as an informant, having her set up a meeting with a cocaine dealer she knew so police could intercept him.

Quinn said the case would hinge on whose word was more credible - a police officer or a dominatrix.

Assistant District Attorney Gwendolyn Galef said, however, that Ward knew the rules about developing a confidential informant and broke them to gratify his own defecation fetish.

Among the evidence the prosecutor presented was the dominatrix's own feces, which was tested in a lab.

"Thats feces all right," said Dr. R. Quincy, M.E., reporting from the state forensics lab. "I'd stake my career on it."

Asst. D.A. Galef said, she agreed with the defense that this would come down to who was more credible, a police officer or a dominatrix, except Galef said, "a dominatrix or a skat-loving Barney Fife."

"We like our chances," said Galef.

"Hey, Y'all, Watch This!"

At times like this, I really miss the South.

And Somewhere, Off in the Distance, Tommy Tune Smiled

Three years ago, I entered my first Golden Testicles competition. What did I know about anything? I grew up on a ranch that was actually a farm, 50 miles from the nearest town, and 75 miles from the nearest woman born after 1950. All I had was my package.

In retrospect, the day that commuter plane caught on fire and the country's leading Testicle Scout was forced to parachute onto my family's property was the most important one of my life. I liked to work the fields naked. Who didn't? He took one look at me, produced a contract from his smoking backpack, and my fate was gelded. . . .

It was a normal rodeo, except that we were all naked, and they weren't judging us on how well we did rope tricks, or rode the bulls. All they cared about was how our nuts held up to the pressure. I guess mine did OK, because when I whipped off my chaps for the first time, a clown fainted.

I don't want to spoil it for you, but I don't think it will ruin anything if I say, the kid with one ball from Nowhere Special wins it all. Now, you might think telling you the ending would spoil it, but it doesn't, because the joy of this story is the journey, not the destination.

I promised myself I wasn't going to cry, but here I go. Excuse me a minute, won't you?

Santa Baby. . .

Dear Santa,

How are you? I am fine. No, I'm better than fine. I am excellent, a by-product of all my clean living, which brings me to the point of this letter.

I have been a very, very, very, very good boy this year. You can ask anyone, even check your Nice List. You'll see, I'm right on this. Because of my very, very, very, very goodness, I expect to see one of the above in my driveway on the 25th (and, if you're strapped for ideas, she would make an excellent stocking stuffer, as well).

Needless to say, if I don't see the Aston Martin DBS parked outside of Casa del Loman, I will stop believing in you, and will take up Paganism and witchcraft (and guess who gets cursed first, fat boy, which is in no way a threat, because threatening people is wrong).

Sincerely,

Little Orphan Biff

P.S. Yes, I did see Casino Royale this weekend. What of it?

Overheard in New York

Flight attendant: The captain has advised us that our flying time will be quick, at an altitude of high and a speed of fast.

AirTran flight attendant over intercom: We hope you ladies and gentlemen had a nice flight, and we ask that you all press your faces against the windows so Delta can see what a full flight looks like.

Flight Attendant: Thank you for flying US Airways, and have a happy... happy... what the hell holiday is this? Columbus? Psssh, that ain't no holiday. Have a good week!

"Columbus. Why the hell does our nation celebrate the failure of a person who wasn't even an American citizen?" he asked as he wrote his Thanksgiving Day shopping list.

Oh, the Irony -- Being Disqualified for Being the Only One to Use the Apparatus Properly

A participant of a sex dolls rafting tournament has been disqualified for sexual abuse of an apparatus, Zizn’ newspaper reports.

Igor Osipov was not able to keep in his sexual desire, even in the cool water of the Vuoksa river near St. Petersburg. . . .

“I was shocked, I think it was an expression of his great desire to win,” Osipov’s friend said. The jury then noticed Osipov’s strange position and told him to moor. When he came out of the water, gazers saw signs of recent sexual activity on the swimmer’s doll.

The jury found the swimmer guilty of sexual abuse of the apparatus and disqualified him.

How do you sexually abuse a sex doll?

The Law Offices of Biff Loman, Esq.: "Reasonable Doubt for a Reasonable Price"*

Bryan Hathaway, by counsel and pursuant to secs. 971.30 and 971.31, Stats., moves the court for an order dismissing the criminal complaint, charging Sexual Gratification With An Animal, contrary to sec. 944.17 (2) (c). . . .

The complaint fails to allege any facts that support the conclusion that Mr. Hathaway committed an act of sexual gratification with an animal. According to the complaint, Mr. Hathaway had sex with a dead dear (sic). The statute does not prohibit one from having sex with a carcass.

I would like the record to show two things: one, that I created this defense on October 25, 2006, a full two weeks before this motion was filed, and, two, I was joking when I did it.

* That said, counselor, your first blog defense is free. Any other defense strategies taken from this site will cost you.

This Cannot End Well

Former boxing champion Mike Tyson is to become a male escort after agreeing to work at legendary Hollywood madam Heidi Fleiss' new legalized brothel for women. Fleiss bought 60 acres of land in Nevada, and his work is scheduled to begin on Heidi's Stud Farm. . . .

She says, "I told him, 'You're going to be my big stallion.' It's every man's fear that their girlfriend will go for Mike Tyson."

And it's every girlfriend's fear that Mike Tyson will go for her clitoris like he went for Evander Holyfield's ear.

Ladies, wear a cup.

"Why, You're Not the Usual Planet on the Brink of Geo-political Disaster" Bow-Chicka-Bow-Wow

The mission of the Global Orgasm is to effect change in the energy field of the Earth through input of the largest possible surge of human energy. . . .

The intent is that the participants concentrate any thoughts during and after orgasm on peace. The combination of high- energy orgasmic energy combined with mindful intention may have a much greater effect than previous mass meditations and prayers.

The goal is to add so much concentrated and high-energy positive input into the energy field of the Earth that it will reduce the current dangerous levels of aggression and violence throughout the world.

I hope that it doesn't come to self-love, that I can rope (handcuff, whatever) someone else into leaving me panting and sweaty, but I'll do what I have to. In the event that I am not Master of My Domain on December 23, forgive me. And remember, I'm killing the kitten for World Peace.

Don't judge.

Conversely, You Could Eat Sashimi Off a Woman's Nude Body and Get Lap Dances until Your Root Is Rubbed Raw. The Results of Not Praying Varies Widely

An early-morning tornado killed at least nine people in Columbus County northwest of Wilmington, ripping mobile homes from their foundations and sending cars flying through the woods. . . .

"It was like if you hadn't said your prayers," said Bob High, a photographer with The News-Reporter in Whiteville. . . ."

It was exactly like that, like they hadn't said their prayers. So let that be a lesson to all you kids out there: Say your prayers or God will send a tornado to your trailer park to kill you, because that's how He rolls.

"Where Is Your God Now?"

Then, when everyone is looking,
My buffet starts cooking.
And I tease it when I need it
And I'd pass it if I had it.

When I drop the beat it goes [beat noise].
When I'm driving the RV I say [more beat noise].
That's what a Chevy calls
In Iowa, this is how we play.

Wearing gold spandex pants
I made a Hip Hop album.
And when I dance and play,
All the children sing my song.

Executing dance moves never seen,
I'm a 200-plus beat-box machine. ...

I just died a little.

Excuse me while I get fetal under my desk and try to rock a way the tears.

50% of High School Seniors Have Definitely Had a Popsicle Before*

JP Morgan: "Do you know that that's the way I started?"

*My money's on the one in the blue.

Thankfully, Fellatio Has Come a Long Way Since Nancy Davis Was a Girl

Bill Clinton is the first president caught in a scandal apparently because of a predilection for oral sex (although an earlier president was brought down by a Deep Throat). Clinton is probably not, however, the first president who enjoyed it.

According to Kitty Kelley's biography, Nancy Reagan "was renowned in Hollywood for performing oral sex." Just-say-yes Nancy--in the days when she was Nancy Davis--was known to give the best blowjob in town, "not only in the evening but in offices. [T]hat was one of the reasons that she was very popular on the MGM lot." It must have made her very popular with Ronnie as well. . . .

Oral sex becomes more common as one climbs the education ladder. Only 41 per cent of women with less than a high school education report having performed fellatio on a partner; by contrast, about 80 per cent of women with at least some college education have experienced one or the other.

From the 59% of women with less than a high school education that hadn't performed fellatio, the most common comments logged were "What's fellatio?" and "Oh, god, no: I'd never do that. I'm a good girl. But I have blown a guy or two, just to keep him happy, if that helps your survey any."

From the 20% of college educated women, they were "Oh, this is confidential. Well, then, 'of course.' Who hasn't?" and "Hello: Gay here."

Hey, Debbie, Call Me

No stranger to controversy, rocker Courtney Love is set to get headlines flying again — she has posed nude for an upcoming issue of British fashion magazine, Pop, Access Hollywood has learned exclusively.

The widow of Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain appears naked in several pictures of the trendy, two issue a year magazine, expected to hit newsstands later this month. . . .

According to sources close to the singer, Love was not planning to disrobe for the shoot, but chose to after becoming “comfortable” with the photographer.

I've been there. I mean, I wasn't planning to disrobe for my Washington State driver's license photo, but chose to after becoming comfortable with the DMV employee taking my picture.

What can I tell you? I am putty in the hands of a girl in a tight, polyester uniform.

What I'm Reading

It's one of my favorite comic strips.

Mmm, Iced Gravy

Not just chicken fried steak a la mode, but chicken fried steak covered with a scoop of ice cream made from the schmutz from a deglazed pan in which the steak was cooked. It was, surprisingly, awful.

Oh, yeah, like you wouldn't try it.

The Chair Asks Senator "Dolomite" of Ohio to Yield the Floor, so Senator "J.D. Bigups" of West Virginia Can Drop Some Bi-Partisan Knowledge on Us

Question: I couldn’t be more excited about the Democrats taking back Congress this week. Do you think Bush is going to play nice with the new Democratic majority? Or do you think he’s going to be a lame-duck jerk for the next two years?—Allison

Answer: Though the president may harbor some sour grapes about the outcomes of the mid-term elections, there’s no denying that two years is a long time to hold a grudge. I predict not only will he find a way to work with the non-GOPers in Congress, he’ll eventually come to embrace their individual personalities. We can be sure the transformation is complete when he bestows upon each of his new coworkers one of his unique nicknames. Turd Blossom, meet your competition.

Florida-03: Corrine Brown (Weezy)

That is wrong on so many levels.

Fow Wins in a Landslide

Legislative District No. 43 Senator

Martin Fow (Unaffiliated): Many candidates claim to be "outsiders," but Martin Fow is the real deal. When we contacted him yesterday afternoon, he was unable to name two of the three branches of government, thought Vince Vaughn was the current vice president, and was unaware that he was a candidate for this position. His opponent, meanwhile, is an accomplished legislator with years of experience and accumulated wisdom—just the kind of fat-cat Beltway insider that needs to be shown the door! Vote Martin Fow for Legislative District No. 43 Senator.

It's funny, sadly, because it's true.

Yep, It's True. And Fisting Cures Cancer.

A 60-year-old man with acute pancreatitis developed persistent hiccups after insertion of a nasogastric tube. Removal of the latter did not terminate the hiccups which had also been treated with different drugs, and several manoeuvres were attempted, but with no success. Digital rectal massage was then performed resulting in abrupt cessation of the hiccups. Recurrence of the hiccups occurred several hours later, and again, they were terminated immediately with digital rectal massage. No other recurrences were observed.

As a friend of mine once said, as he was explaining to me why he spanked his children, “Even the simplest organism understands pain.” So it stands to reason that if a pig-knuckled B.F. Skinner shoved his barely lubed, rheumatic pointer into your anal star every time you hiccuped, you'd learn eventually to associate ass pain with that gastric spasm, and stop.

What doesn't stand to reason is the above scenario. For those of you getting here in the middle, a man suffering from pancreatitis develops hiccups after health care officials insert a nasogastric tube into his nostrils. Despite their best efforts, they are unable to cure the hiccups. Got it? Okay. What I don't understand is how you get from stubborn hiccups to digital rectal massage.

Fictionalized Account:

Doctor: Boo! Okay. Boo! Boo, Mr. Johnson! Boo!

Mr. Johnson: – Hic –

Doctor: Damn. Well, I'm out of ideas. Anybody got anything?

Nurse: Boo!

Doctor: We tried that.

Mr. Johnson: – Hic –

Doctor: Anything else? Anything at all?

Intern: Has anyone tried putting a finger in his ass?

Nurse: ?

Doctor: ?

Mr. Johnson: !

Doctor: Why a finger in the ass?

Intern: I think the question should be “Why not a finger in the ass?”

Doctor: You know, I like where your head is, my friend. Nurse, spit on this.

I don't know. It just doesn't follow to me.

But now that I have a toothsome, female primary physician, I'm really looking forward to being treated for this cough.

Forget that Previous Post on Democracy. I'm Throwing in the Towel

The Democrats, in other words, want to let a darker-skinned man rape your white wife. You know what? I just found out nothing about Democratic values. But I learned a hell of a lot more about Republican ones.

He's from the U.K. He's new to the party.

Theirs Is the Superior Societ. . . I'm Sorry: Is She Blowing that Cat?

Wow, I thought that only happened in Seattle, maybe, Enumclaw.

Off the Top of my Head: Will Edit and Amend if My Work Day Allows

"This message is for Timothy Daly. This is the Virginia Elections Commission. We've determined you are registered in New York to vote. Therefore, you will not be allowed to cast your vote on Tuesday. If you do show up, you will be charged criminally."

Two things of note: one, Timothy Daly has been a lawfully registered voter of the state of Virginia since 1998, and, two, the Virginia Elections Commission didn't make the telephone call. Combine that with allegations that Democratic voters are receiving telephone calls telling them their polling sites have changed, and a nasty picture of democracy gone wrong develops.

I hate to state the obvious, but this isn't how it's suppose to work. Ideally, prior to today, we would have had a vigorous discussion of the issues that matter, citizens voicing their concerns and positions (what things matter to them, the best method for realizing the ideal outcome, the harm to others that course of action would cause), candidates stating theirs. We would then work to elect the candidate that best reflects our interests, and vote the ones that come closest to ourselves. Or we would vote against our interests if we were convince the harm of our positions to others was greater than the benefit of our dreams realized. We'd vote for the good of the nation over the good of our selves. And we'd trust that even if we lost, our voices would be heard and reflected in the decisions made by our elected officials, because regardless of political affiliation, elected officials represent the citizens of their district, state, and nation, the ones who didn't vote for them included. Unlike in Africa, we're not warring tribes; unlike in Iraq, we're not conflicting religions. We don't kill the losers, the people with whom we disagree, because we're all in this together (see the "United" part of the United States of America). We don't share this land by default or accident; we do it by design, by choice, by political will, because we believe this is the best way for peoples of differing cultures, ethnicities, and ideas to live together. At the heart of it all, we believe in democracy.

And this ain't it.

My "Reggie" Is Bald and Wears an Ear Ring. But He's Ready. Oh, Is He Ready

I hadn't planned on starting a cosmetics company.
But sitting in a hair salon in Rome a few years ago, I made a discovery. As I saw women leaving the salon, I couldn't help noticing that some would linger by the door. After a few minutes, their colorist would come back with a little paper bag, hand it to them and send them cheerfully on their way.

When I inquired about this mysterious ritual, the receptionist said: "Per sotto, per farli combaciare," meaning: "For the hair down there... to make it match."

Back in New York, I told a salon-owner friend about it. She responded, "I'm sure my clients would love a product like this, and I'd use it myself!" Not only did she like the idea of matching her chestnut brown hair, but also - she confessed - she desperately needed to cover some grays she'd recently discovered down there!

Over the next two years, I worked with our manufacturer to perfect a product that would address this need. . . .

I'm thrilled to be sharing my discovery of our easy-to-use betty colors with you. We call them BLONDEbetty, BROWNbetty, AUBURNbetty and BLACKbetty.

I also came up with a hot pink color not just for special occasions - our FUNbetty.

Fortunately, I've yet to run into one that wasn't a Funbetty, but I, admittedly, have lived a charmed life (as you know if you've read this blog before).

If you haven't been similarly blessed -- say, you've met UN-FUNbetty, STDbetty, or CRYINGGAMEbetty (unless you're into that) -- I'm sorry.

But if you think I don't want to read about those encounters in the Comments section, you're wrong, so very, very wrong.

12 Signs You Drank Too Much

Actually, it's more like "12 Signs You Need Better Drinking Buddies."

"And the Award for Most Original Costume Goes To . . . "

If your penis turns green, your first response isn't "Hey, great! Now, I have a costume for Halloween!" It's "Hmm, I should probably have that looked at."

Yes, "Hey, great! Now, I have a costume for Halloween!" can be your second response. No, you don't have to have it looked at today. (What are you, a girl?) Yes, it has to be looked at by a doctor: Your drinking buddies don't count.

Thanks.

This has been another public service announcement by Biff Loman, the Society of Biffs, and The Truth* Network. Have a nice day.

Only One Person Is This Open about Her Sex Life: Yep, It's Dooce

My mother knew this day had been coming so she sat me down and explained in refined euphemisms how a blow job worked and I didn’t believe her. No way would anyone ever put someone’s Wee Waw into their mouth. And the whole term “blow” just made me even more confused. In college I had a roommate who took an anatomy class and on the day they dissected a human penis she came home in tears. She had never before seen a penis, and frankly, neither had I, so when she described it to me we held each other, cried and promised WE‘D NEVER STICK ONE OF THOSE THINGS IN OUR MOUTH, NO WAY IN HECK. . . .

The second gay guy I dated . . . liked anal sex, except, he wanted it performed on him. I am not into kinky sex with motorized objects or things that strap onto the body, so he suggested that I use objects around the house. To put into his butt. In. To. His. Butt. Dad, if you have made it this far in this post I promise to pay for your ambulance trip to the ER. There comes a point in every relationship when you have to ask yourself, “Am I willing to stick a bottle of A1 sauce up this person’s butt?” And in that relationship the answer was, “Just once and now I never want to see you again.”

You can go through childbirth, with all the blood and fluids, with the exertions that leave hemorrhoidal tissue hanging, and the birth eruption that tears things that should be untorn -- all that -- and think it's beautiful, but ask you to pleasure a guy with a condiment bottle and you run screaming.

Women.

I Sleep Soundly at Night because Knights of the Blue Light Like Marcus Barrett Are Out There Protecting Me

A Salt Lake City police officer is on paid administrative leave after allegedly beating up a Bosnian refugee. Marcus Barrett is accused of getting into a brawl with a man inside Golds Gym in West Valley City and later meeting the man in the parking lot outside.

The man called 9-1-1 after Barrett approached him in his patrol car demanding he get out of his own vehicle. The man, who we're identifying only as "Agim," refused. He told dispatchers he wanted to wait for other officers to arrive. . . .

Agim's attorney, Clark Newhall, says this resulted from a simple move on the basketball court. "He stole the ball from someone on the opposing team. The person on the opposing team assaulted team assaulted him because he apparently didn't like having the ball stolen from him. . . .

Newhall says the officer walked to the back of his police car and grabbed a shotgun. "He turned around and cocked the shotgun, aimed it at my client and told him to get out of the car he was a policeman and he was going to put my client under arrest. . . .

As the 9-1-1 tape goes on:

Man’s voice: "Do you know who I am?"

Agim: "I don't."

Man's voice: "See that (expletive) car right there?"

Agim: "Yea."

Man's voice: "What does that make me?"

Agim: "A cop."

Man's voice: "A police officer"

But Newhall says his client wasn't sure the man was a police officer. Agim wanted to wait for other officers to arrive. Still, on the 9-1-1 tape, the man proceeded to demand Agim get out of the car.

Man's voice: "Get out of the car right now. If you don't get out of the car right now I will put you under arrest . Now get out of the car right now.

Agim: "Hold on till the cops come I don't trust you. I don't trust you."

Man's voice: "Get out of the car right now."

Agim: "I don't trust you."

Barrett is now charged with four misdemeanor counts including assault, unlawful detention and disorderly conduct. An internal investigation is also being conducted by the Salt Lake City Police Department.

I'll say it. Fighting back tears , you're probably too emotional after reading that to say it, yourself. Go ahead and cry. I've got it: "He's a hero."

Some People Are Having More Sex in Their Sleep than I Am in My Waking Life

A man with mischief afoot entered a home and licked the toe of a sleeping woman over the weekend, police said. The man reportedly licked the woman's left big toe while she was sleeping early Sunday, the Scripps Treasure Coast Newspapers reported.

The report of the intrusion was overshadowed by the significance of the event, itself, as the toe-licking episode provided further proof that men really don't have any idea where the clitoris is. And that's just sad.

"I feel violated and it'll be some time before I feel completely safe in my home again," said the unidentified victim, "but, honestly, that guy got closer to it than my husband has in ten years of marriage." Which is very sad, indeed.

I Know: They're Like Lays Potato Chips -- You Can't Eat Just One

Democrat Harold Ford Jr. right, smiles as he poses for a photograph with Pam Chatfield from Hixson, Tenn., in her Halloween witch costume during his campaign for U.S. Senate in Chattanooga, Tenn. Tuesday, Oct. 31, 2006.(AP Photo/Alex Brandon)

"Harold, Harold, Harold, my brother," he said as he shook his head in dismay, "who do you think you are Ward Connelly? Clarence Thomas? Michael Powell? OJ? If you're not a superstar athlete or an appointed conservative politician, you've got to leave the white women alone (at least, until after the election).

"I can't believe I have to keep telling you this."

In Case of Rapture, Can I Have Your Dog?

We know that you, a good-hearted, God-fearing person, have spent an appropriate amount of time preparing yourself and your soul for the upcoming rapture. But how much planning have you done for your earthly household in the time that follows? . . . you will be long gone—but what of your pets? Unfortunately, they will not be going to heaven with you, despite what popular animated films would have us believe. . . .

The task before you, then, is to provide for your dog or cat once you have gone and the earth has descended into a cesspool of sin and chaos. As anyone who has owned a companion animal knows, fresh drinking water is essential to a pet’s survival. This will not change. . . . In time, your pet will learn to distinguish potable rainwater from the unpleasant downpouring of blood. Preparing early by moving your family and home close to a natural upwelling of fresh water will only cause problems later, as it will unduly bring your pet into contact with the damned hordes, who will flock to springs and other “power spots” for their pagan bacchanalia. . . .

Your dog or cat will also need to eat. . . . However, make sure you do not leave any chocolate lying around, as 1) it is poisonous to both dogs and cats, and 2) it tends to attract damned hordes.

. . . once Christ’s followers have left the earth, we can assume that gay marriage will be rampant. This will inevitably lead to human-animal marriage. It would be prudent to keep a hyacinth flower tucked behind the left ear of your dog or cat to tell potential suitors that he or she is “taken.”

Or you can just ask me to look out for them (although I find it hard to believe anyone who would abandon their dog to go to heaven has more than a Loman's chance of ever seeing god). Since I'll be down here driving your car, sleeping in your marital bed, having drunken satyr sex on your church's altar with your un-Raptured daughter (wearing goat-hair chaps, pumping all her un-Christian wet places with my engorged horn, using positions propriety kept out of the Kama Sutra, you know, satyr sex), it's the least I can do.