We're Here, We're Queer, We're not Going to Be Your Drunken Secret, Salt Lake City. So Stop Hitting on Us

Hi, from Seattle, where our city motto is “Our lesbians make your lesbians look like dog shit,” which as you can clearly see is true.

What may not be so obvious is that it is Pride Week here. We've been strutting our non-straight stuff for 6 days now, and we're bringing it all to a drunken end today. Well, sort of. With the second highest per capital gay population in the U.S. behind San Francisco, our city pretty much flies the rainbow flag every day of the year. Even so, the legal and social and cultural discrimination that exist everywhere exist here as well. And we need Pride Week each year to kick us progressives in the ass, so we don't get complacent and forget about the second-class citizenship the LGBT community has to live with, so we don't start thinking of the Gay community's political agenda as a frill—something that would be nice to have once we get all of our other goals accomplished—instead of something that is an essential part of a progressive political program. Tolerance isn't equality. And homophiles shouldn't be fooled into thinking it is. So, for one week each year, the LGBT community sends us a reminder.

And they say it with lesbians in wet t-shirts. (Suck it, FTD.)

He's Just a Love Machine. And He Don't Work for Nobody but You (and You and You …)

George Brownridge is my new hero.

Um, That's Not How You Enjoy a Boob. Seriously.

Sometimes, I worry about women. I really do.

“It's Like If You're Rich and White and Male in this Country,” Nader Didn't Say, “You Don't Matter.”

Independent presidential candidate Ralph Nader accused Sen. Barack Obama, the presumed Democratic Party nominee, of downplaying poverty issues, trying to “talk white” and appealing to “white guilt” during his run for the White House. …

“There's only one thing different about Barack Obama when it comes to being a Democratic presidential candidate. He's half African-American,” Nader said. “Whether that will make any difference, I don't know. I haven't heard him have a strong crackdown on economic exploitation in the ghettos. Payday loans, predatory lending, asbestos, lead. What's keeping him from doing that? Is it because he wants to talk white? …

The Obama campaign had only a brief response, “Who?”

That'll Teach Her to Give Spidey a Raspberry

There's a blog out there (link to follow) on which the author has posted screenshots from porn movies that he has turned into SFW images, so safe, in fact, that they're practically suitable for desktops and screensavers on computers in the stodgiest of workplaces. They're that well done.


I hear the naysayers out there—“Naaaaaaaay. Naaaaaaaay,” they say—but I bet not a one of them can tell me what this young woman was doing in the porn movie before the blogger made it appear she was having a snack and enjoying a DVD (most likely, The Ten Commandments).



Nope. Not a one of them has a clue.

Match, Loman.

(Am I the only one craving popcorn right now? I think that image is subliminal.)

Okay, I Added that Last One

LIT 101 CLASS

IN THREE LINES

OR LESS.

BY BEN JOSEPH

- - - -

1984

WINSTON: Don't tell the Party, but sex is way better than totalitarianism.

EVERYONE: Surprise! We're the Party.

WINSTON: Oh, rats.

The Lion, the Witch

and the Wardrobe

C.S. LEWIS: Finally, a utopia ruled by children and populated by talking animals.

THE WITCH: Hi, I'm a sexually mature woman of power and confidence.

C.S. LEWIS: Ah! Kill it, lion Jesus!

Paradise Lost

ADAM: Paradise has arbitrary dietary restrictions?

DEVIL: They're really more like guidelines.

GOD: Incorrect.

“The Miller's Tale”: Canterbury Tales

ABSOLON: May I have another kiss, Alison?

NICHOLAS: How about I blow you a kiss from my anus?

ABSOLON: Say, “Hello,” to my little friend.

Holler, Horse-Fucking Bitches! Peace Out

I was going to post the write up, describing what is happening in this picture, but then, I decided “Hey, if they don't know, they'll never get it.” So, instead, let me simply say, “That's just how we roll in the PNW.”

“While You're In There, Officer, Would You Dial My Lawyer? He's at Pound Sign 1, My Hot Key”

Meet Jeffrey Barrier. The Ohio man allegedly used a cell phone camera to snap photos of a naked woman at a tanning salon Saturday and then hid the phone in his anus in a bid to thwart police. Standing on a chair, Barrier, 41, took the photos at Cincinnati's Aloha Tanning, where a 35-year-old woman was “in the nude in a tanning room,” according to a Hamilton County Municipal Court affidavit. When cops later confronted Barrier, “he kept denying any involvement of the incident” and claimed to not have a camera. However, a second search of the suspect turned up the camera. As noted in a Hamilton County Sheriff's Office report, Barrier “did hide evidence in his anus.”

The sad part is even in his colon, the phone got more bars than mine does in my office. “More coverage in more areas” my ass.

Another Sign: She Asks her Girlfriend to Hold her Wig

Handing her 8-month-old off to a store employee, a Family Dollar Store customer yanked hair out of the head of another woman in line, choked the woman’s mother and chomped down on a police officer’s finger Wednesday, according to an arrest report.

The incident took place about 6 p.m. at the 2049 S. U.S. 1 store, according to the report. The suspect, Tiffany Mashae Brown, 24, of 16th Street, attacked the victims because she was irate about being directed to a different register than the one she started at.

“Brown almost dropped her baby and started walking toward (another customer) while saying, ‘I'm gonna kill you!’” according to the report. Brown hit the 34-year-old woman in the face and upper body and then scratched her face and pulled her hair so that blond strands littered the store.

When the 53-year-old mother of the victim tried to stop the fight, Brown choked her and struck her in the face, according to the report.

Brown bit the last victim, a Fort Pierce Police Department officer, when he struggled to detain her due to her large size — 265 pounds, according to the report.


Apparently, some of you didn't get the memo, the one that identifies the signs that a can of whup-ass is about to be opened up on you. So, to recap, if a very enraged young lady looking in your direction hands her infant over to a discount store customer service representative, you have just popped the top on a 265-pound can of unrepentant, hair-pulling, momma-choking, penny-pinching, sphincter-busting, you-should've-“tased her bro'”-biting fury, and you should be thinking seriously about an exit strategy.

I can't believe I have to tell you this.

(By the way, does anyone else smell bullshit, here, regarding the reason offered for Ms. Brown lauching the WWF-style smackdown on the “victim?” If she were angry over being told to go to a different register, as the arrest report claims, wouldn't she have been kicking the Family Dollar Store clerk's ass instead of some random person's? That story doesn't carry the whiff of truth about it.

I offer this in its stead. Ms. Brown has 12 items in the “10 Items or Less” line, when the clerk informs her that she must move to one of the other registers. As Ms. Brown begins to gather her things and move, the “victim” says in a stage whisper to her mother, “I know she can't manage birth control, but I assumed she could at least count.” “Hold my baby,” ass-whuppin, and jailarity ensue.

So, am I right or is the arrest report?)

Apropos of Nothing, if You Ate at the Chapel Hill Godfather's Pizza during the Early 80's, I Sure Hope You Were Kind to Me

A former restaurant cook has pleaded guilty to a food-tampering charge alleging he inserted hairs in a steak before giving it to a dissatisfied customer. Ryan Kropp, 24, of West Bend, was fired along with another cook after the incident Feb. 23 at the Texas Roadhouse restaurant.

Kropp was charged in Washington County Circuit Court with a felony of placing foreign objects in edibles, carrying up to 3½ years in prison. …

The criminal complaint said that when a manager asked a customer how his steak was, the customer said it was somewhat overdone, although he had almost finished eating it and refused an offer of a new steak.

But the manager insisted on having Kropp prepare a new steak the way the customer wanted it, medium rare, so that he could take it home.

The customer called the restaurant and police after finding hair as he was eating the steak the next day.

According to the complaint, a second kitchen worker told police Kropp had put a slit in the cooked steak and pushed something inside, then stated, “These are my pubes,” referring to pubic hair.

Kropp told police he put a few of his facial hairs on the steak, saying he was angry the customer sent the other steak back and thought he was “just trying to get free stuff,” the complaint said.

“This is a totally bogus complaint,” said Kropp. “If this guy were truly upset, he would have mentioned something about the ‘special’ sauce.” It was at this point that Kropp was advised by counsel to ix-nay on the auce-say.

Pree-Sent…Arms! Well, Not So Much Arms, but If You've Got an Erection or an Swollen Clitoris You're Not Using, …

At the Happy Ass Ranch, there was work to be done.

Timber Kirwan was slipping out of his shorts and into a pair of pants behind a black Toyota Tundra. Nearby, “burners” were arriving and setting up booths. The Pink Pussy Palace was coming into being.

It was time for Kirwin to get started on his geodome. Pulling up his pants, he spotted a guy in the bushes. Wearing what looked to be SWAT gear and a ski mask, the mystery man was squatting with a gun. Apparently, Kirwan surmised, the impromptu theatrics so typical of the Apogaea festival had commenced.

“Show me your hands,” the bush guy ordered.

“No, show me your hands,” Kirwan played along.

And then, quite suddenly, …


Unless this is your first visit—in which case, take off your coat, pour yourself a drink, stay awhile—you know that things took a decidedly less flirty turn for the worse for the overly optimistic (and clearly horny) Timber. So, tonight, in his honor, as you are preparing to unfurl your freak flag, spill a little Astroglide on the floor beneath your sex swing for a fellow traveler.

Deny it all you want, but anyone who sees a man in the bushes wearing SWAT gear and a ski mask and takes “Show me your hands” for a pickup line has definitely had his passport stamped for Loman country. The least you can do is spill a little on the side for the brother not with us.

I, personally, believe he deserves more, and if I can find 20 others, he's going to get the 21 Genital salute his life on the Wild Side has earned him.

And Would It Have Killed Him to Run a Comb through His Hair? Sorry: I Was Channeling His Mother

Turns out something may be more offensive than body odor: trying to eliminate the smell by grabbing a stick of deodorant at a store, applying it, then putting the stick back on the shelf.

Police say that's what Timothy Boggs did at an Anderson Township Kroger on Thursday. Boggs’s effort to freshen up resulted in his arrest, a night in jail and a guilty plea.

Boggs, 19, of Anderson Township, appeared in court today, where what had been a theft charge — of $3.79, the cost of the deodorant — was reduced to a charge of unauthorized use of property.

Boggs pleaded guilty and was sentenced to the night he'd already spent in jail.

Because if there's one place you want to show up smelling daisy-fresh, it's jail. I hope he was able to sample the lubes before he was taken away.

*Don't Pretend You're Not Into Hamster Skat Anymore, because We, Both, Know, You So Are

We first saw this video about a year ago, but couldn't find a way to put it into the print magazine. Sako Kojima is a sculptor, painter, and the most convincing hamster we've ever seen. Her installation/performance "Why I Became a Hamster" included treats, housing, chew toys, and food, all scaled to her size. Kinda makes you want to pet her behind the ears.

And you'll want to watch it to the end—for the pooping.*

But Points for the Man Rack. Whatever Bra You're Wearing Is Working for You. Three Snaps in the Zorro Formation for That

Dude, seriously? That bag with those shoes? Really?

You make me ashamed to be a man.

But, Clearly, that Baby Was Leading Him On

Once they develop a taste for baby, you just have to put them down.

Excuse Me. I've Got to Go Shotgun a Can of High Fructose Corn Syrup

When I was a kid, I was like Colbert. I only ate fruit that came in “loop” or “pebble” form. The sugar high that resulted once made my brothers and me parachute off the roof of our split-level home, using my parents king-size sheet as said parachute. Like the Cookie Monster, “me had crazy times back in the 70's and 80's.”

(Had we used a California King flat sheet, we probably would have made it.)

Say “Super-size Me!” and You Can Have a Side of $50.00 Fries and a Small $25.00 Coke with That

I don't think that's the record. When I was in college, way back in the eighties, there was a restaurant called Colonel Chutney's that sold a one hundred twenty-five dollar hamburger.

It was their regular hamburger — quite tasty on its own — covered in a red wine source, which was the source of its extravagance. No ordinary red wine, it was a late fifties vintage Petrus, or something. They reduced it down with some mushrooms and some butter and gave you a glass to drink with your meal — or so they said.

I dont' think anyone ever ordered it.

Perhaps, that's why it's not in the record books.

They've Got Lights Now. Kinky.

Please don’t burn your fingers!

Fingers?!

“ Bad Boys, Bad Boys, Whatcha' Gonna' Do? Whatcha' Gonna' Do when They Imperceptibly Come for You??”

Police here say they arrested a man after he ordered his pet to attack two officers. Lucky for them that 9-foot-long pythons aren't very obedient.

Police Lt. James Viadero says 21-year-old Victor Rodriguez was charged with threatening police and disorderly conduct after Monday's incident. No one was hurt.

Officers were called to Rodriguez's apartment on a report that he was threatening his girlfriend with the pet reptile.

Viadero says that when the building superintendent opened the apartment door for the officers, Rodriguez allegedly threatened them with the snake and told it to “Get them!”

When the snake did nothing, Officer Viadero and his partner checked that the snake was alive and unharmed. They did same for Rodriguez's girlfriend. Finding that the greatest threat she faced was death from embarrassment, they offered the young woman a ride and took her home.

Rodriguez was made aware of the variety and quality of decaffeinated beverages now on the market, and left to his own devices.


Or that's how I would have assumed this would have ended. Seriously, “disorderly conduct” and “threatening police?”

I'm not saying that Victor isn't “eat up with the dumbass,” as it were, because, clearly, he is. I'm just wondering if the proper outcome, here, is an arrest.

He no more threatened the police than I would have if I'd told an officer I was the god Excretus and that I was going to smite him with bolts of magic urine from my groin staff, and I'd stood there afterwards pointing my pelvis in his general direction. Having a nearly catatonic reptile blink at you is the same Code Meh type of threat.

As long as the girlfriend wasn't in any real danger or didn't appear to be abused or threatened — anymore than the average woman is who's dating an idiot — they should have laughed and gone for doughnuts.

If the police are going to start arresting the citizens for general douche baggery, we're going to need bigger jails.

“You Will Never Go Broke Underestimating the Intelligence of the American Public” – PT Barnum Or (HL Mencken)

In what will be one of many, the weeMichelles have been brought into the zaniness that will be the first campaign, an artist’s exhibit was shutdown after he used a word that you are not to use related to presidents or presidential candidates in this country. Yes, free speech is not absolute.

The exhibit included a picture of Barack Obama’s “Audacity of Hope” switched to “The Audacity of Black Hope.”, a giant penis on the wall next to a sign saying “once you go Barack”, hanging nooses, and this picture of Sasha and Malia Obama.

The artist’s response:

“My mission as an artist is to raise dialogue and conversation about substantive things,” he says, staring through arty glasses that did not have any lenses. “There’s so much media time spent on superficial things — like celebrities. My point is to bring substance back.” – LA Times

I am pretty sure he would not have used a caption like this over Chelsea Clinton’s picture.


To be fair, they did make some pretty offensive statements about her, as well, even some rude ones about her coarse hair.

Thanks to LeeSee for making me throw up in my mouth this morning—which I mean in the good way, you know, the thanks-for-pointing me-to-the-site way, not the bad thanks-for-making-me-throw up-in-my-mouth way. (Is that really bad?)

Cain Versus Abel II: This Time, It's Personal

James Franco: Oh, hello, I'm James Franco, and welcome to Acting with James Franco. Here, to help me, is my brother, Davey.

Davey: Uh, Dave.

James Franco: Davey. [uncomfortable laugh]

Chapeter One: Sense Memory

James Franco: A question I get all the time is “How Do I Cry on Camera?” It's very simple—sense memory. So, [turning to Davey] what we're going to do is we're going to think about a painful memory and, hopefully, that will bring up enough emotion that you actually cry. …

So, do you remember our very first cat, Tobey? … Of course, you remember Tobey. That was my very first pet. And I'd play with him. And we had this little flashlight that I'd just shine on the wall, and he never figured it out. He'd always just follow it around. Mom said she was just going to take him to the vet for a check-up, and I remember I said, “Oh, okay. Bye, Tobey” You know: I didn't think it was anything. Then, I went over the street to Joey's and she came back and she said that they'd put him to sleep, that … He didn't wake up. [Begins crying]

Davey: Well, yeah, that's good, but I didn't really know Tobey. So I can't… I shouldn't… Maybe, …

James Franco: No, you did know Tobey.

Davey: Well, I was, like, two. I barely knew him.

James Franco: Well, that emotion is stored up. You can use that. Look, I just gave you a lot.

Davey: Well, yeah, you knew Tobey…

James Franco: Man, you can come up with a million excuses or you can go with it and feel what you really felt. I know it's really scary, but really feel it.

Davey: Okay, what about if, um, if for me, I remember that day I slip through the jungle gym and broke my collar bone.

James Franco: Oh, you broke your collar bone? That's stupid.

Davey: I couldn't play baseball that year.

James Franco: You broke your collar bone and you couldn't play baseball?! My fucking cat died! …

Davey: Yeah, I don't think that's doing for me, though, either, so let's …

Do you remember that time that, um, I walked in your room and, um, you had carved out that hole in the bar of soap. Remember that? You can use that if you want.

James Franco: That doesn't make me cry. I still do that, different feeling than my hand. Why would I cry over that?

Davey: I don't know.

James Franco: You should cry over the times I did it in your socks.


I'm crying over that, and they weren't even my socks.

That said, I don't know any more about acting than I did before watching that video, but I know a lot more about my older brother and his motivation for acting the way he did when we were growing up.

I'm crying about that insight—just a little—too.

“Hi, Can You Whinny, like a Horse?”

“One of my most memorable calls was also one of the grossest. It was a fetish cat. A scat fetish. Most times I would aggravate the caller into hanging up by refusing to talk ‘shit’ with him, but this night I was feeling frisky. So I indulged in his request and gave him the shittiest call ever. I started out by telling him I was a vegan. After several minutes of conversation he gently asked if I could ‘go’ while we were on the phone, and I told him I could. He wanted to hear it coming out, farts and all. (So gross.) Then he wanted to eat it and clean me. While describing how soft and colorful it was, I told him there was a piece of asparagus that I apparently did not chew too well. Naturally, I asked him to get it for me. I cracked him up. He was laughing so hard, he had to hang up, because he couldn’t get back into our fantasy.”


He couldn't get back into the fantasy? Well, yeah.

Damn, you're a demanding sex worker, lady. Of course, you are getting paid by the minute, so I can see your point. If you're going to want skat-sex talk, you are going to need to be able to bring your A-game. Cutting the conversation short because of your fragile fantasy space collapses at the drop of an asparagus spear takes food out of the mouths of babies (so cute).

This photo essay of phone sex operators must have been so much fun to do—honestly. Sexually imaginative, intelligent, women who can arouse you with their honeyed voices alone: who wouldn't want to chat them up—about anything.

I particularly want to talk with this woman:

“Gary was watching a ‘World's Strongest Women’ show and saw a woman pick up a motorcycle.

‘Oh I could do that,’ I offered.

‘Could you?’ he responded, breathless.

‘Yes. How much do you weigh?’

‘160.’

‘Oh. I could bench-press two of you.’

‘Oh my god… I'd like to see you lift up my girlfriend's car.’

‘What kind of car does she have?’

‘A Mazda Miata.’

‘Oh yes, I could pick up a Miata. In fact, I would love to.’

‘Really?!?!??! Oh my god! What if my girlfriend was inside?’

‘I would just pick it up, lift it to my shoulder level, and then hoist it up over my head, with your girlfriend inside. I'd slowly turn around in a circle with it held up in the air, with your girlfriend screaming in the front seat.’”

A part of me may miss getting paid for this when I move on.

Did you see how she asked him his weight? That's called “selling the fantasy”—pure genius.

Someday, I'm going to marry a woman just like her.

Wrong On So Many Levels

An alert reader wrote in just a little while ago to let us know about something he'd spotted on Fox News Wednesday afternoon. During a segment discussing conservative attacks against Michelle Obama, the wife of presumptive Democratic nominee Barack Obama, the network described the former as “Obama's baby mama.”

… In fact, that description was displayed on-screen several times during the segment, which featured anchor Megyn Kelly and conservative blogger Michelle Malkin, an FNC contributor.


Michelle is not Obama's baby's mama. A “baby's mama” is the mother of someone's child who is not married to the father and whom the father is ducking (avoiding child-support payments or court papers or whatever). Michelle is Obama's daughter's mother.

Come on, FOX News. That's Negro Culture 101. Don't tell me you don't have at least one Oreo on your staff who can fact check this stuff.

“I Don't Know How It Got Up There, Doc. I, um, Must Have Sat on It”

You are probably wondering what can be new about bar soap — Is it yet another new fragrance, another ingredient, another “all natural” cleanser? It is much more than any of these things. We have taken soap to a whole new level. The ShowerBUZZ® is like nothing you have ever seen in a bar soap before. This soap will amaze and astound you! It is a battery operated vibrating bar soap that massages and stimulates your body while you are taking a shower or a bath. This will turn a shower into a fun, invigorating experience that everybody will look forward to everyday.


Oh, sweet Pope on a Rope!

Look, there are going to be some noises coming from the shower. You should probably just turn up the television and try to ignore them as best you can.

But, Occasionally, I'm a Mushroom Cloud-Laying Motherfucker, Motherfucker. So Trip Lightly. What Can I Say? You Pay Your Money, You Take Your Chances

That is so me, always willing to let go of the thousand cuts of racism and bigotry that rot my soul every day of this African American life. It's like I'm a tolerance savant or something.

So Much for Wisdom Coming with Age

Joyce Susick is the type of voter who might carry Barack Obama to the White House — or keep him out. A registered Democrat in a highly competitive state, she is eager to replace George W. Bush, whom she ranks among the worst presidents ever.

There's just one problem.

“I don't think our country is ready for a black president,” Susick, who is white, said in an interview in the paint store where she works. “A black man is never going to win Pennsylvania.”

Susick said her personal objection to Obama is his inexperience, not his color. “It has nothing to do with race,” she said. …

Gauging voter sentiments about race is notoriously difficult. Many voters hide their feelings from pollsters and it is possible that some do not even realize race's influence on their behavior.

In interviews with 40 Pennsylvanians across three counties that Clinton won by big margins, only one person indicated opposition to Obama simply because of his race. But several others said their neighbors might do so. Some offered objections that are familiar, and suspicious, to Obama's aides and supporters.

A few, like Susick, suggested the nation needs more time to prepare for a black president— and perhaps a woman as well.

“I don't think we're ready for either one yet,” said Doug Richardson, 62, a contractor from Latrobe. Obama “just hasn't impressed me,” he said over midmorning coffee with a friend at Denny's. “His middle name bothers me a lot.” That name is Hussein. …

In Pennsylvania, as elsewhere, some people hardly hide their prejudices.

Robert Miller, 72, who lives in a government subsidized room in Bedford, said the Constitution should be amended so it will “not let any colored people run for the White House.”

This is going to be a long five months.

Another Senseless Baby Death Narrowly Averted

A 26-year-old man is charged with child abuse after authorities say he threw his 10-month-old daughter at a police officer in a desperate attempt to escape arrest for an earlier incident. …

Police say a woman approached an officer at 1:30 a.m. Thursday on a street near her Newport News home to report she'd been assaulted by Lee.

Police say moments later, the officer saw Lee walking past, carrying the couple's daughter. When the officer tried to arrest him, Lee allegedly tossed the child at him and tried to run away.

“That baby had my name on it,” said Officer Fife, B. “It was hot when I came on duty, and I'd decided not to wear a vest for patrol. So when I saw that baby coming at me, I knew I was a goner. But when the baby hit me, it bounced right off. I didn't have a vest on, as I said, but, luckily, I did have my Gideon's bible in my left breast pocket. That 10-month-old ricocheted right off it. I didn't get a scratch on me or lose a page out of that bible. I don't want to think about how that patrol would've ended if I hadn't had it on me.

“As it did, I collared the perp and got a citation to boot. There was cake and everything.”

*Actually, I Don't Speak German

I would totally ride that—except one of the requirements seems to be that guys wear man-kinis. And that's not how I roll.

By the way, if you don't speak German and you are dying for a translation, here you go:

“Oh, yeah, this slip-and-slide is a real kick in the pants and a marvel of engineering, but, dudes, seriously, it's been over sixty years since we invaded France. Come on. Who's with me?”*

Yeah, We Seattle-ites Are Some Sick Fucks. That's Why They Stuck Us Up Here in the Forgotten Land of the Great Northwest. Y'all Come Visit

That's a parody of a real “Democrats for McCain” bumper sticker. If only it existed, …

It doesn't. It's just a photoshopped version of the real one, created by Seattle's The Stranger, our weekly independent newspaper.

If I didn't know it already, I do now: Its readers are some cheeky monkeys.

Clearly, I'm Not a Fan of the Genre

Women are stupid, and I don't respect them.
That's right. I just have sex with them.

Show me your genitals, your genitals. (What!)
Show me your genitals. (Genitalia!)

Show me your genitals, your genitals. (What!)
Show me your genitals. (Genitalia!)

You're talking to me about stuff. Why?
I'd rather see your titties.
Now, you're talking about other stuff. Why?
I'd much rather see your titties.

I can't have sex with your personality.
And I can't put my penis in your college degree.
And I can't shove my fist in your childhood dreams.
So, why are you sharing all this information with me?

It's not sexist because I'm saying it in a song.
That's right, bitch. Now, take off your thong.

And show me your genitals…

A few days ago, I showed you a video that distilled all of Youtube into 3:19. Well, now, I'm doing it for HipHop culture.

Now, that I've dropped that knowledge on you, you can go back to your normal lives, and leave HipHop alone.

You're welcome.

Where Is Your God Now?

For the first time in almost 20 years, canned bacon is back in this Country. Not available in any store!

More than 2 years went into the development of this bacon, and we're proud to be able to bring this back to you after improving on a what was a very successful brand of canned bacon made years ago by Celebrity Foods (registered Trademark, all rights reserved).

Each can is 9 ounces of fully cooked and drained bacon. Between 2-3/4 and 3-1/4 pounds of raw bacon go into each can. Each can is the highest quality fresh #1 bacon slices. Cured to our specifications, cooked and then hand wrapped, rolled and packed in the U.S.

With a shelf life in excess of 10 years, this bacon makes a perfect addition to your food storage program and it is great for every day use. Take some with you when you go camping, hiking or hunting—keep a case in the boat, RV, cabin or anywhere that you may need to prepare a meal but don’t have refrigeration!!

Here’s what it looks like when it comes out of the can:




That's right. It's cured, cooked, hand-wrapped, rolled, and packed right here in the U.S., by full-blooded, hard-working U.S.-ans. Wherever you are on the Intrawebs, even with all the limitations the technology presents, I'm sure you can feel my fat American ass well with pride. USA! USA!

“That Looks Awesome”

                    Steven Seagal

                         is

                   COCKPUNCHER

Is It Me or Is the Jiminy Cricket/Songstress Accompanying the Fallen Woman Hot?

It's seven o'clock in the morning, and you're holding your high heels.
You've got a bad hangover that your head feels.
You've got to walk thirty blocks in your halter top.

You've lost all your pride, girl.
You ain't got no right to go walk on the Walk of Shame
Still can't remember his name.

You hope he lost your number, that he used a rubber.
Walk, walk, walk of shame.

Remember that guy with the lazy eye who dancing so close,
The one with the that banana in his pocket that your friends said was really gross.
Well, you let him buy you another Mai Tai, and then you showed him your boobs.
Now, you're walking home thinking about quitting drinking and you're singing yourself this tune.

You've lost all your pride, girl.
You ain't got no right.
Walk, walk, walk of shame.
Still can't remember his name.

It's a cold and lonely morning, people driving by and pointing.
Walk, walk, walk of shame …

Girl, you should go to church.
You should call your mother.
Have a good cry.

Listen, I've got something to say to you:
“You're a whore, you're a whore, you're a dirty, filthy whore…”

Back in my day—back before there were power drinks to ennoble and empower and lead the strayed flocks of the dissolute safely and proudly back to their homes the next morning, en masse, lockstep, like a gang of Jets or Sharks—this is what the Walk of Shame was really like: a slow, undignified stroll through a gauntlet of common decency and unfulfilled personal standards, baring a humiliation of such enormity that you could no longer look your penis in the eye—self-loathing and shattered morals, your only companions. No power drink could wash the experience away. Only time and, occasionally, a round of antibiotics could do that.

Oh, yes, good times, good times.

“Slave Owners [sic] Counted Slaves as 3/5th of a Person—the DRC counts them as 1/2” – An Anonymous Clinton-ite

We are here at the Democratic Rules Committee meeting, where we've secretly replaced the coffee they usually serve Clinton supporters with seething cups of crazy. Let's see if anyone can tell the difference:

Harriet Christian: And I'm proud to be an older American woman!

Reporter: Where are you from?

HC: New York City. Hillary's state! The best nominee that's possible!

And the Democrats are throwing the election away! For what? An inadequate black male? Who would not have been running had it not been a white woman that was running for president? And I'm not going to shut my mouth anymore.

I can be called white, but you can't be called black: that's not my America. It's a quality for all of us. It's about time we all stood up for it.

I'm no second-class citizen, and god damn the Democrats!

Nope, no one appears the wiser.