“I Got a Rock”

Of all the Peanuts specials, this one is my favorite. To me, it captures the charming pathos of Schultz better than any of the others, and to boot, as a child, it gave me the quote that defined my existence, the one I broke out whenever I was expecting Life to fulfill its promises and lavish its blessings upon me, but had it drop its pants and take a dump on my head, instead.

Without it, I would've just said, “fuck” a lot. To be honest, I should probably qualify that last statement, with “I would've just said, ‘fuck’ a lot more.”

Sorry, but I'm Really Enjoying Reading The Onion This Week

According to a Boston University study released Monday, men from lower-income backgrounds are significantly more skilled at communicating their attraction to women than their middle- and upper-class counterparts.

“Many people would assume that the relative dearth of educational opportunities available to men in lower economic strata would result in inferior communication skills,” said Boston University social anthropologist Dr. Mary Schoen, co-author of the study. “To the contrary, our research finds that they are up to four times more adept at conveying their interest in women than men with higher incomes.” …

The study found that 95 percent of men who earn less than $18,000 a year were able to loudly and publicly voice their approval of specific body parts on women. By contrast, a paltry 3 percent of men who earn more than $75,000 a year could do the same.

“Though they scored substantially higher in math and science aptitude, upper-class males were surprisingly inept at simply letting a coworker know her ass looked nice in a skirt,” said Dr. Marybeth Clarke, Boston University sociologist and the study's co-author. “It's not that they didn't notice the ass. They simply were unable to convey the sentiment.”

Even more remarkable, low-income men are often able to initiate communication with women they do not even know.

“It's one thing to be able to strike up a conversation with a friend or coworker,” Clarke said, “but the challenge is that much greater when you're trying to talk to a stranger who's running to catch a train.”

“Whether the woman was black or white, rich or poor, cheerful or profoundly depressed, these men were consistently able to get across the message that they would enjoy engaging in intercourse with her,” Clarke said. …

Lower-income men were also seven times more likely to ask women questions. Among the queries noted in the report: “Where you going all dressed up so sexy?,” “Where did you get a pair of legs like that?,” and “Hey, baby, wanna suck my root?”

It's research like this that led me to graduate school in the first place. It's also why I was asked to leave.

Kids today: What Are You Going to Do?

A group of white Louisiana college students dressed in blackface and reenacted the “Jena 6” assault while a friend snapped photos and videotaped the staged attack, images that were later posted to a participant's Facebook page. The photos, which you'll find on the following pages, were taken late last month on the bank of the Red River, where students from the University of Louisiana at Monroe giddily acted out the racial attack. The photos (and the short video clip at right) were posted to the Facebook page of Kristy Smith, a freshman nursing student. The album of images was entitled “The Jena 6 on the River.” In the video, three students with mud smeared across their bodies stomp on a fourth student, while two of the participants are heard to say, “Jena 6.” One man can also be heard saying, “Niggers put the noose on.” After the video and photos on Smith's page were discovered by fellow students, she removed the material and made her Facebook page private. Smith, who did not respond to a TSG e-mail sent to her school address, apologized for the images in several recent Facebook postings. “We were just playin n the mud and it got out of hand. I promise i'm not racist. i have just as many black friends as i do white.…”

Correction: you HAD just as many black friends as you do white. No worries, though, anyone could make that mistake. Most budding bigots do, at one point or another.

*That's Me on the Left

A youth soccer coach went to the middle of a sports field in Windsor after a contentious match and pulled down his pants, exposing his buttocks to his opponents—a team of 14 and 15-year-old girls—authorities said today.

Several of the girls and their parents were offended by the action on Saturday and immediately called police, who plan to ask Sonoma County prosecutors to file misdemeanor indecent exposure charges against the coach from Petaluma, Windsor police Sgt. Steve Brown said. …

The contest had featured physical play and “heated arguments,” Brown said in a written statement.

After the alleged gesture, police officers spoke to the coach, who denied exposing himself, just as he denied grabbing himself at an earlier point in the match and yelling to the referee, “I gotcha' Red Card swingin' right here!”

While I find this funnier and more praiseworthy than I should repulsive, I do believe “Mooning” is protected speech, at least in civilized states, like Maryland and North Carolina, and it should be seen in that light—as an obscene speech act that I've been known to use from time to time —not as a sexual display too disturbing for the fragile and effete to view.

After all, it's just an ass, people, one of the more entertaining parts of the body, and Mooning just gives it its full expression. Whether it's just for fun or a mean-spirited Fuck You, it's all good. Lighten up.

Don't make me drop trou on you.

At Least, That's the Last Time I Remember Anyone Discussing Frottage as High Art

It's Not Easy Being A Frotteur

I know what you're thinking: Surreptitiously rubbing one's crotch against nonconsenting women in crowded areas in order to achieve sexual arousal sounds like a walk in the park. But whenever I hear someone talking about how “simple” it must be to be a frotteur, I just have to laugh.

Believe it or not, inconspicuous genital friction is not all fun and games.

Contrary to popular belief, frottage takes hard work and dedication. Unlike building a deck or performing surgery, there are no instruction manuals on how to properly press your penis up against someone's hip on a packed train. These are things I had to teach myself. …

No one thinks about the hours and hours of preparation frottage takes, …. Every single day, I'm up at the crack of dawn to catch the crowded rush-hour train. I bet you're saying, “Hey, a lot of people do that.” Well, you try maintaining an erection at 8 a.m. without your morning coffee. Good luck. …

Now don't get me wrong, there are definitely parts of frottage that are truly rewarding. Like the feeling of your penis hardening as you thrust it into a nonconsenting woman's backside, and the part where you ejaculate in your pants. But there are downsides to frottage, too.

Just the other day I was on the train with this beautiful creature in front of me. Everything's going smoothly: I'm leaning in at a nice 80-degree angle, got a good rhythm going, when all of a sudden, the woman starts screaming and hollering. Talk about a mood-killer. Of course, they end up stopping the whole train, so now everyone is mad at me, and I've got two policemen asking me all these personal questions. What a hassle!

No one said, junior high school was going to be easy, my friend.

Actually, I'd Go to Disney for Something like That

In the Kink Olympics—at least, until Japan retires—everyone is playing for Silver. Seriously, it's not even close anymore.

What? You think we're competitive? Okay, try to imagine a world in which Disney employees have to pull back Minnie Mouse's labia so kids can get inside Space Mountain. You can't do it, can you?

As I said, we're, all, playing for Silver.

Accept it. Move on.

Ahh, Kittie. (I Did Say “Kittie,” Right?)

THE boobs of happy mums can put other women in the mood for sex and spark wild fantasies, according to a new study.

The bizarre findings showed women who were exposed to other breasts experienced rocketing sexual desire and a massive increase in sex fantasies.

The research, carried out to help develop therapies for women with low libido, involved asking new mums to insert special pads into their bras.

The same pads were then sniffed by half of the study group and the findings showed that women with regular partners, who were exposed to the smells experienced a 24 per cent increase in sexual desire and 17 per cent increase in fantasies.

I'm a layman, ignorant in the ways of marketing, but that said, I think when these things go into production they should name them something like “Nasty Pads” or something similarly raunchy. Then, people will have a better idea of what they do.

I mean, seriously, Cialis? Viagra? They sound like diseases that cause impotency, not drugs that cure it.

Of course, if you're in this position, you could simply by-pass the middleman (that bastard), and just invite a new mom to bed with you and your less horny friend. I mean, who doesn't win under that scenario?

Speaking of winning, if any of you researchers are wondering what effect middle-aged man dew has on breasts or horny women or dysfunctional twentysomethings with daddy issues, I am appropriately male musk-y and available for testing. Holler.

“True Story,” Wang Added

A PANDA bit a scavenger on his legs yesterday at the Beijing Zoo after the boy broke into the panda's habitat, Beijing media reported today.

The incident happened around 1pm at the zoo in Xicheng District. An official from the zoo said a boy climbed into the park without buying a ticket and then jumped into the panda habitat, the report said. Media reports had conflicting account of his age, which is either 12 or 15.

A witness surnamed Wang said the boy stayed outside the railings and shouted toward the pandas at first.

Wang said the boy used a bamboo stick to tease the male panda “Gugu,” so the panda was enraged and rushed at the boy.

“He shouted ‘I'm not afraid of a panda, I know karate,’” Wang said. “By ‘know karate,’ I think he meant ‘know how to shit myself and collapse into a whimpering ball of humiliation and self disgust,’ because when ‘Gugu’ finally charged him, that's what happened.

“I wish I could be certain about this next part,” Wang said. “Events unfolded so quickly and all, but I could've sworn that immediately before ‘Gugu’ unleashed his furry little fists of fury, he made a motion with his paws and a ‘Pssst’ sound with his mouth, like he was opening up a No. 10 can of ursine whoop ass. Damnedest thing I ever saw.”

“Dear Supreme Court, From This Picture of My Son's Class, It Appears You Really Screwed the Pooch on Your Recent Desegregation Opinion”

If you had to guess, which kid would you say was held back, and is in the same class for the September 6, 2007 picture? I'll give you a hint: foreground, front row, lower left-hand side.

Consider it a lesson learned, kid: If you're going to flip off The Man, you've got to pick your spots. Usually, this lesson comes with a beat-down or, at least, a tasering, so although it might not seem like it now—as you're learning to tie, nay, velcro-latch your shoes for the second year in a row—trust me. You got off easy.

And Barry White Music Is the International Music of L'Amour

Chicks dig the bad boys, and usually, this is what they get for their efforts—except with more pregnancy.

“Mom, I Don't Care What They Do in Public Schools. Stop Hitting on Me. Dad, Take Off the Black Trenchcoat, and Back Away from the AK47”

A Van Nuys teacher was arrested on suspicion of having a sexual relationship with a 14-year-old boy, police said Friday.

According to police, Merideth Johnson Vincent, 40, was arrested on Thursday at about 3 p.m.

Vincent is a teacher of a private home schooling group, KNBC's Laurel Erickson reported.

Wow, they aren't kidding: home schooling really can provide kids all of the same experiences as traditional schools. I stand corrected.

And He's Putting the “Hurt” back in “Yoghurt”

Dear Sarah,

I would like to share with you some interesting information, as it was derived from your good work. I have loved to eat yoghurt all my life. I specially like it plain, without fruit or sugar. I just love the slightly acid taste it has.

I also love to perform cunnilingus on my girlfriend, and have loved it since I first tried it with my first fiancée many years ago. I specially love that acid taste, which I find fascinating. But it wasn't until I read your website that I connected both experiences. In your flora section I learned that it is lactobacillus that produces the acidic taste on both!

As I love my girlfriend so much that it hurts, and I want to have her in everything I do, I decided to produce yoghurt with my girlfriend’s lactobacillus. I bought a yoghurt machine, which is just an electric contraption that keeps small cups constantly at body temperature. I put plain milk in each cup, and then with the full and loving help of my girlfriend I swabbed a bit of her vaginal juices and put a small bit in each cup. I then mixed the contents in each cup, plugged the machine and waited overnight.

The results were fabulous! I love the product, which I call “Paige's Yoghurt,” and feel a special loving warmth each breakfast as I know I am eating her out! I have taken a few cups to work, which I store in the office fridge. A female co-worker pinched one from me, ate it, and liked it so much that she is asking me where I got it, but I do not dare tell her where it came from!

While I doubt sincerely that a co-worker would steal your food and then tell you how much she enjoyed eating it, I salute you, Yoghurt Boy—SALUTE!—and all of your efforts to put the “fun” back in “funky.” We need more people like you running around.

Sadly, if Sarah's response to your e-mail is correct, we're going to need at least one more soon, as you probably won't be with us much longer. You see, in addition to collecting lactobacillus on that Qtip when you swabbed Paige out, you collected quite a few other snuggies, E.Coli for one, that really thrive in warm and germinating substances, like milk. And needless to say, a flowering vag cocktail is nobody's friend.

On the plus side, I hear afterlife vagina is heavenly. (I think I read that in Deuteronomy.)

So, god speed, my funky friend. God speed.

For those of you who, like me, must remain here, trapped in this mortal coil, a piece of advice: eliminate the middle man. Instead of yoghurt for breakfast, just eat your girlfriends.

That way, everybody wins.

*This has been another public service announcement from Biff Loman and the worker bees of The Truth Network. Bon Appétit!

got piss?

A 50-year-old man arrested after police said he urinated into milk and left bodily fluids inside a home is believed to be the naked bandit who has terrorized women for years by sneaking into their homes and tickling sleeping victims.

Police said Thomas Blacine was arrested over the weekend when a police dog tracked his scent to a sport utility vehicle parked near the 700 block of East Second Street after a woman said she was fondled in her sleep.

Wow, that Expedition ad couldn't be positioned in a worse place. Either, the company should push the Florida Department of Tourism to start a new campaign—“Florida: ‘Our Pervs Are Ford Tough’”—or it should push the newspaper to adjust the Google Ad Search tool so its products aren't featured in stories that include words like “urinated,” “terrorized,” or “arrested.”

Of course, Bronco sales did increase after O.J. tried very slowly to evade capture in one, so who knows?

Any publicity is good publicity, I guess.

And When I Want to Kill, I Show 'Em da' Booty

“Rome is corrupt! Kill everyone to save Rome!”

That's the basic gist of Adult Swim's new Flash-based Web game Viva Caligula. You personify the mad emperor Caligula as he goes on a neighborhood-to-neighborhood killing spree through Rome, taking down senators, housewives, gladiators, prostitutes and basically everyone else who crosses his path. And you have fun in the process, at least until your conscience catches up and you feel a bit sick about the scenario you've just created. …

As the game progresses, the emperor amasses an arsenal of 26 different weapons (one for each letter of the alphabet) from the good old-fashioned axe to the enemy-charming zambogna. These weapons lend the game the lion's share of its charm. Some are ranged weapons; others, slow heavy hand-to-hand weapons; others are animals; and one of them is opening your toga in order to stun people with your manhood.

It works. It really does.

Well Played, Lodja. Well Played.

Imagine a relative who thinks sex is like a handshake. (“You mean Uncle Walter?”) Who organises orgies with the neighbours, doesn’t mind if their partner sleeps around, and firmly believes females should be in charge of everything. (“That would be my Aunt Bernice.”) Imagine there was a whole tribe of these relatives—crazy yes? But definitely a lot of fun. (“Family reunions are the second weekend in August every odd year, if you're interested.”)

Lodja is adorable but sometimes she bites. I'm trying to take her ear temperature to see how scared she is of strangers. She doesn’t look really scared. We play the call of a bonobo in Leipzig and see if her right ear goes up. If it does, it means she's scared because the right side of your brain gets hotter when you have a negative emotional response. We're predicting that bonobos won’t be scared of strangers because when they see a stranger they run up and have sex with them for 30 mins. …

So far, our results are a mess. They don’t make any sense. Which means that we are either on to something really big, or the experiment is a train wreck.

It could be a little of both, but I'm thinking Dr. Wood's hotness is throwing off the results. I mean, I don't know her, but if she asked to take my temperature, I think I might run up and try to have sex with her—and that's not normal behavior for me.

Why? What have you heard?

And I Thought Janet Jackson Was Weird for Getting Coffee Colonics

Charges have been dropped against a Texas woman who was accused of giving her husband a sherry enema that killed him, the prosecutor in the case said on Wednesday.

Tammy Jean Warner had been scheduled to face trial for negligent homicide in the May 2004 death of Michael Warner, 58, but Brazoria County District Attorney Jeri Yenne said the charges were dismissed a month ago for lack of evidence.

In an official statement, the Brazoria County Coroner, Dr. Robert Quincy, said, “Oh, we know where the evidence is. We just can't find anyone willing to get it.

“We're between interns at the moment.”

At the time of Warner's indictment in 2005, police told the Houston Chronicle the woman had given her husband two large bottles of sherry, which raised his blood alcohol level to 0.47 percent, or nearly six times the level considered legally drunk in Texas.

Warner admitted administering the enema but denied she caused the death of her husband, who was a machine-shop operator. The incident occurred at their home in Lake Jackson, near Houston.

She told the newspaper her husband was addicted to enemas and often used alcohol in that manner. Police said Warner had a throat ailment that left him unable to drink the sherry.

Which was probably his body's way of telling him to switch to bourbon.

That said, given the disregard I have for it, if left with two bottles of sherry, I'd sooner pour them in my ass than in my mouth. I find the stuff repulsive. (Notice, here, that the thought of not drinking it at all was not considered seriously as an option.)

Yeah, Everyone Has a Brother like That

Everyone knows Jebus
The guy who healed the lame.
Well, I am Jebus's brother.
Craig is my name.

Jebus is the prince of peace.
Jebus is the lamb.
Jebus is the son of god.
But Craig don't give a damn.

Because when Craig's inside, we'll party all damn night.
I don't turn water into wine, but into cold Coors Light.
I'm not my brother, I know. Don't walk on H₂O.
But I've got hydroponic shit that me and Judas grow.

I'm fucking Craig! I'm fucking Craig! I'm fucking Craig! Craig Christ.

I hang out with lepers, Barrabus, and Sodomé.
Jebus's friends are called apostles.
Those dudes are totally gay.

Jebus performs miracles from Galilee to Rome.
But it would be a miracle if he brought a fucking lady home.

Because when Jebus is praying, fucking Craig is laying
Every lady in the testament, you know what I'm saying.
I won't die for your sins, like my famous kin.
But if you've got a little sister, then there's room at this Inn. …

And now the question for you is not What Would Jebus Do?
But where will you be when the Craig Machine comes partying through?
And if the lord will allow,
You've got to ask yourself How?
And Who? and Why? and When? and Where is my messiah now?

It's fucking Craig!

I was just thinking, since I'm going to hell, why wait in line? *bump*

Would You Steal a Doughnut from This Policeman?

Authorities said Scott A. Masters, 41, slipped the doughnut into his sweat shirt without paying, then pushed away a clerk who tried to stop him as he fled the store.

The push is being treated as minor assault, which transforms a misdemeanor shoplifting charge to a strong-armed robbery with a potential prison term of five to 15 years. Because he has a criminal history, prosecutors say they could seek 30 years.

Farmington Police Chief Rick Baker said state law treats the shoplifting and assault as forcibly stealing property. The amount of force and value of the property doesn't matter.

"It's not the doughnut," Baker said. "It's the assault."

Anytime, a police officer tells you, "it's not the doughnut," it's the doughnut. When you consider Masters could rape Police Chief Baker's dog and sell its buggered ass to Michael Vick for use in a dog-fighting match and still face less time than he's facing now, trust me: It's the doughnut.

Sylvia's, It's Where the Brothers Go when the Brothers Have Got to Get Their Eat On

Jon StewartThere's a lot more to black culture than Hip Hop, and if you didn't know that, then, apparently, you're a fan of Bill O'Reilly, who last week, dropped some science on his listeners while discussing a dinner he had with Al Sharpton while at Sylvia's, the famed Harlem restaurant.

O'Reilly: I couldn't get over the fact that there was no difference between Sylvia's restaurant and any other restaurant in New York City. There wasn't one person in Sylvia's who was screaming 'MF-er, I want more iced tea!'

Jon Stewart: That's remarkable especially since Sylvia's in-house brand of iced tea is Mother-Fucker's.

You know, I've said it before and I'll say it again, with a name like Mother-Fucker's, it has to be nasty. . . .

For more we go to our senior black correspondent, Larry Wilmore, coming to us live from Sylvia's restaurant in Harlem. . .

They're like Lays Potato Chips

A hard-partying Wall Street trader and his ex-girlfriend are in court over an allegedly broken $100,000 promise to keep on the straight and narrow.

In recently filed court papers, Elisa Kwon accuses her former beau Greg Calvino, 45, of reneg ing on a pledge he had made to not "use drugs, stay out late, frequent strippers or prosti tutes." The 30-something Kwon insists Calvino had vowed that if he ever did any of those things again, she could cash a $100,000 check he had made out to her.

Dude, take a little advice from a man who's going to give it to you anyway.

One, if you're stupid enough to give a $100,000.00 check to a woman and permit her to cash it with your blessing if you engage in any form of sin, be smart enough to put a Stop Payment order on the check before the ink dries. I'm serious, because we, both, know, you're going to sin again. At least, this way, you'll be practicing safe sinning, financially speaking, anyway.

Two, your ex- has crazy eyes. If you're going to date women with crazy eyes -- why are they so damn attractive? -- you've got to prepare for this kind of thing. They happen a lot.

In fact, given the typical behavior of a woman with crazy eyes, you should count your blessings, really. I mean, she didn't set your house on fire, shoot your dog, give your car to a street gang, cut off your penis, or publish those pictures of you wearing that thing or doing that taboo while wearing that thing. (You know what I'm talking about. Oh yes, you do). You got off easy. Thank the lord and move on, seriously, because, dude, like crazy eyes, that money's gone.

Unlike the money, though, crazy eyes will be back. Remember those blessings I told you to count. If you still want them, sleep with one eye open. You'll thank me afterwards. You'll thank the man who can't say, no, to a woman with crazy eyes.

Man, I miss my dog.