It's Wrong to Revel in the Suffering of Others. On the Other Hand, Everyone Should Have a Hobby

Janice: Put your head back. Feet on the rail. [Italics mine, because this is critical information. In fact, when the kid looks back on this video, he'll see that not heeding this advice is where he went wrong.]

[Ride begins.]

Kid: (Screamed over Janice's gleeful cackling) OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! OWWWWWWWWWWWWW! OWWWW! HELP ME! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT, JANICE! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT! ST-STOP IT!

Janice: (Continued Cackling)

Kid: Janice, I've fallen. [Should've listened to Janice and put your feet on the rail.] Janice, I've fallen. Please, I'm stuck. [Janice laughing heavily, on the verge of wetting herself, offers a token of support.] Janice, I'm stuck. OW! This hurts. [Laughing continues.] This hurts. [Janice throws head back, and laughs some more.] This hurts. This hurts. This hurts. It's not funny. [Janice continues laughing.] It hurts. Janice, it ain't funny. Ow.


Janice, you are one sick puppy. If you're ever in Seattle, give me a call. I think we could have something beautiful together.

This Could Be the Greatest Movie since Undercover Brother

If asking you not to wake the other bitches is wrong, I don't want to be right.

Okay, You Can Have the One Who Looks like Aretha Franklin, but the Older One Stays Here. And We Get Winslet

They've already been invited to hang with Hannah Montana, now Malia and Sasha Obama also have the chance to meet Harry Potter.

Describing President Barack Obama as “everything the rest of the world liked about America and now likes again,” Harry Potter star Daniel Radcliffe offered to show the first daughters around Hogwarts.

“I'd like to take this opportunity to issue a public invitation to the Obamas that if their daughters would like a private tour of the Harry Potter set, I would be honored to be their personal tour guide,” Radcliffe told The Daily Beast.

Radcliffe, who will soon begin filming the final installment in the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, said he was “so proud and happy” for America, calling Obama “both Martin Luther King and JFK.” Added the actor, “He is a symbol of progress which is what we dig about this country. What you love about England is all the old buildings and such. The traditions. I love that, too. But this is what we want from you.”


You want our adorable, black children? Dude, morals and ethics are my shakiest ground, but still, I'm pretty sure giving away children is wrong.

Oh, that's not what you meant. I can see that now. My bad.

Man, It's Going to Take a Lot of Alcohol (and Therapy) to Get Me Through the Next Four Years

PolitiFact has compiled about 500 promises that Barack Obama made during the campaign and is tracking their progress on our Obameter. We rate their status as No Action, In the Works or Stalled. Once we find action is completed, we rate them Promise Kept, Compromise or Promise Broken.


This is a great idea. Really.

Um, St. Petersburg Times, could you help me? I'm having trouble finding the Bush-ometer and the Clinton-ometer and the Reagan-ometer on your site. Oh, you don't have those. You didn't think this was important until now—until there was a drunken ni… black president. Fair enough.

While we're on the subject of fairness, don't you think you should have, either, weighted the promises based on their importance to the president's agenda (or yours) or, at least, mentioned the methodology behind your system of ranking. Because not all promises carry the some level of importance, and giving equal weight to a small one as you do an important and valuable big one seems unfair. For instance, do you really think “Create an international tax haven watch list,” at No. 12, is more important than “End income tax for seniors making less than $50,000,” at No. 24 (aren't you a Florida newspaper?). Further, do you think, based on his campaign speeches and debate responses, that a international tax haven list is more important to the president's agenda than “Create a foreclosure prevention fund for homeowners,” (No. 15), or more important than what he plans to do with the Bush tax cuts (Nos. 37 and 38)? No, I didn't think so, either, you dishonest shitbags, (oops) I mean, you incompetent fucks kind ladies and gentlemen of the hallowed press.

That? I told you. It's froth. My mouth just does that, sometimes, but, mostly, when I'm trying to be post-racial.

What's that Coming from My Mouth? Froth. It Just Does that Sometimes. Think of it as “Perfect Freedom Froth” and Leave It Alone

Drunken Negro Cookies: This is me not being offended. See? Not. Offended. Prior to Tuesday's inauguration, I probably would have been in an absolutely, bet-your-fucking-ass sort of way. But that ain't me no more.

That person has no place in the new post-racial America, so the new me is just singing praises and getting on with his life, enjoying the sunshine and being warmed by the love of my fellow man. Life is so good. (I can see why y'all kept this from us for so long.)

Question: Is perfect equality suppose to taste like bile? Because I'm tasting bile. Okay, now, I'm tasting frustration with undertones of recriminations. (And is that boysenberry? Where'd that come from?) Oh, that's normal? Good. You know, when I dreamed about it as a kid, I always dreamed equality would taste like chicken.

I Have Got to Get a Job in Tokyo

Breastfeeding The Cat
When a friend sent this me in an e-mail entitled “Breastfeeding the Cat,” I thought it was going to about something else, thinking “breastfeeding the cat” was a euphemism for a sex act or something only a person with a large and liberal freak flag (and, possibly, a cat) would try. Nope.

It's the Japanese, letting everyone know that Obama may be the leader of the free world, but they are, still, the kings of the nether and pleasure regions. We're all just admiring and humble subjects.

“Did You Get a Picture of That?” “No, But I'm Sure the FBI Did, so We're Good.”

It's just like when the statue of Saddam fell—but with more dry humping.

If Only Getting the Roommate to Join In Were that Easy

It's exactly as I suspected. Somewhere out there, there are condom animals having better sex than I am.

If I Had a Dollar for Every Time I've Said That…

Sometimes, to get rid of the lingering one-night stand, you've got to go to weird places.

But don't go there if you're a writer of fiction. Apparently, that kind of dialogue is frowned upon. (If you can read but one review this year, make it this one, because you're going to want to read about the groin-grabbing badness of a man that tops haunted vagina with a bloody camel toe. Trust me.)

Okay, Smarty Pants, You Explain It, Then

Oh the smoldering eyes!

Back in 2007, Donatella Versace's F/W 2007 collection was inspired by the Father “Gorgeous Georg” Gänswein, Pope Benedict’s personal secretary. And now, I just opened up a lovely present from Rome and…Lo and behold! The Vatican Poster Boy Calendar for 2009 by Piero Pazzi!

No, seriously. It's the Holy See-approved montage of some of the hottest men in collar and such. Just too bad that they are all seminarians/priests/committed to that silly thing called celibacy.


Vatican III: Pay more attention to the ladies: in this day and age, it's too expensive to continue fucking the altar boys.

Pimpin' Ain't Easy

Remember how Martha Stewart emerged from jail in 2004 all slender and svelte? She lost ten pounds during her time out for insider trading and now we know why: She always worked out, her prison friend Lisa Guarino told the Enquirer, even when hordes of menacing lesbians threatened to disrupt her routine!

“Martha and I would do crunches at night. I would count in English and Martha would count in French. And then, I would punch her in the throat, because—for fuck's sake— nobody should get away with being that pretentious.”

One visit to the recreation center nearly ended in tragedy when strong-willed Martha shot her mouth off, revealed Lisa. “We were going to the usual room we used and the lights were off, which was odd. Then I looked through the window and I could make out some lesbians having sex.

“I warned Martha not to go in there, but she said it was our time to exercise, swung open the door, turned on the light and said, ‘No, no, no. That's all wrong—unless you meant to lollygag your tongue around her vulva while she moaned in disappointment before settling in for a full two minutes of dedicated attention to her uretha. Then, brava! Mission accomplished! But my guess is, if she wanted to spend years having unfilled sex with someone who couldn't find her clitoris, she'd be fucking men.

‘Now, if you'll use your shiv to cut out a swatch of that weight bench cover, I'll show you how to make a truly splendid (and inexpensive) dental damn. And with it, I'll show you what a good thing sex with a woman can be.

‘But first, this commercial.’”

Guarino said that at that point, she reminded Martha that just because the guards were watching on closed circuit television, it didn't mean she was doing her old show and that just because some lesbians were in their spot, it didn't mean she could get out of having sex with her. And by “reminded her,” Guarino said she meant “punched her in the back of the head.”

She didn't want Stewart to think she had gone soft.

Somewhere, a Lawyer Weeps

“Based on Mr. Barkley's driving, the odor of alcohol on his breath, his bloodshot and watery eyes, HGN, and his performance on the SFST's, I told him he was under arrest for driving under the influence of alcohol. I advised Mr. Barkley of his Miranda warnings and he said he understood. The Scottsdale officer transported Mr. Barkley to the command post for me at 5230 N. Scottsdale Rd.…

“When we arrived at the command post I read the Admin Per Se/Implied Consent Affidavit to Mr. Barkley. he said had a number of questions about the consequences of refusing the blood test. I answered each of them and numerous times he told me that he drinks, ‘but I don't do any of that other shit.’ He went on to explain that he didn't not take drugs. Eventually, Mr. Barkley told me he understood the nature of my request and he submitted to a blood draw. I drew two vials of his blood at 0200 hours without incident. I sealed and labeled the blood kit and later sent it to the Chandler Crime Lab for analysis. I advised Mr. Barkley of his right to an independent test and he said he understood.

“Following the blood test I asked Mr. Barkley the series of questions listed in the DUI interview paperwork he answered each of them. When I asked the question, ‘Where were you going?’ He told me that he ran the stop sign because he was in a hurry to pick up the girl I saw get in the passenger seat. He asked me to admit that she was ‘hot.’ He asked me, ‘You want the truth?’ When I told him I did he said, ‘I was gonna drive around the corner and get a blow job.’ He then explained that she had given him a ‘blow job’ one week earlier and said it was the best one he had ever had in his life.

“While being processed he told a civilian Gilbert PD employee, ‘I'll tattoo my name on your ass’ if it would get him out of the DUI. He laughed and the quickly corrected himself and said, ‘I'll tatto your name on my ass’ and laughed again.

“It was at this point that we realized, although Mr. Barkley had said he understood the rights guaranteed him by the Fifth and the Fourteenth Amendments of the Constitution and summarized in the Miranda case ruling warnings read to him, he had no idea what the right to remain silent was all about—not really.”

I Live on the Corner of “Oh, No, He Didn't” and “I Wish a Motherfucker Would.” As I've Said, It Ain't Easy Being Me

Indistinguishable Black Woman: “Do I get stress headaches at work?” Yes, definitely. From the moment I get in, it's “Denise, we need this,” “Denise, we need that,” which is stressful, 'cause my name is Linda. Denise is the other black woman who works here.

By ten a.m., someone in the Copy room makes a joke about Kobe Bryant, and everyone looks at me to make sure it's okay. And I smile like it's okay, but, really, my head and neck are starting to throb.

Then, I spend the rest of the afternoon training my interns and answering their questions, like “Yes, black people use shampoo” and “No, I don't know any good reggae clubs around here” and, “Yes, Condoleezza Rice is very articulate. Why do you sound so surprised?” And, “No, I can't tell you where to buy weed.”

And that's when I reach for Excedrin—new Excedrin for Racial Tension Headaches.

Excedrin RT works fast, taking me from “Oh no you didn't!” to “I wish a motherfucker would.” I like that.

Voiceover: Excedrin Racial Tension Headaches—fast relief for hundreds of years of nagging pain.


We've got no hope of curing cancer, inoculating ourselves against HIV infection, or relieving humankind of the common cold, but this? This, we can do.

Can we get someone on the racial tension pain relief project? Seriously. Before I choke someone? I'd appreciate it, and I'm sure the someone who's about to get choked would, too.

Someone Asked Me to Caption This

Bill: Well, honey, I held up my part of the bargain. I campaigned hard for you, trashing my legacy and burning my bridges to the black and progressive communities in the process.

And when the campaign failed and you thought you still had a chance in 2012, who kept your name and your policies in the public eye? In interview after interview, I embarrassed myself by offering up back-handed compliments to Barack as I reminded voters that McCain wasn't that bad.

Then, when Obama won, I revealed my donor list to the media to help you become secretary of state, which wasn't even part of the bargain. But I did it.

I've done everything you've asked. It's your turn: Quid pro quo, Senator Clinton. Quid pro quo.

Hillary: I can't believe you want to go through with this.

Bill: Oh, hell yeah. After this dance, I want to go back to the hotel. I want you to jump in that thong, put on the blue dress, black wig, and beret, and then, I want you to make with the “intern” action. And like you mean it, too. I want you fully involved, working on it, like making me cum could produce peace in the Middle East.

Oh, and when I call you “Monica,” that'll be your cue to pay attention to my balls.

Hillary: Speaking of which, you must be really bundled up tonight, to not feel me repeatedly kneeing you in the groin.

Man Crush of the Year

Claiborne Pell, the quirky, patrician former senator from Rhode Island who created the college grant program that bears his name and wrote the legislation that established the National Endowment for the Arts and the National Endowment for the Humanities, died just after midnight Thursday at his Newport, R.I., home. He was 90.…

Mr. Pell was best known for devising legislation that created the program that has dispensed grants to tens of millions of poor and middle-class college students.

He often remarked that he had been motivated to help students meet the high cost of a college education because the G.I. Bill of Rights — the program of federal educational grants to returning service members after World War II — had meant so much to him personally. The fact was that with Mr. Pell’s vast family wealth, derived from an 18th-century royal charter of land from King George III of England, he could have purchased some of the educational institutions they attended, let alone paid their tuition bills.

Mr. Pell, whose ancestors were the original lords of the manor in Pelham Manor, N.Y., lived among the old-money families in Newport. Five of his relatives have been elected to either the House or the Senate, including his father, a one-term representative from Manhattan’s old Silk Stocking District.

After winning his first Senate term in 1960, Mr. Pell, a Princeton graduate, sponsored the preparation of a large two-volume statistical report in 1963 that became the basis of the bill creating the Basic Educational Opportunity Grant, or BEOG, which provided financial aid for the needy to attend college.

Asked in an interview in 1996 how the programs came to be known as the Pell Grants, he wisecracked: “Because there was no Senator Beog!” In fact, the name was officially changed to Pell Grants in 1980 by his admiring colleagues in Congress.


As a former university admissions officer for, both, a historically black institution and a historically white one, my heart is broken. I know how hard it was for poor and first-generation college students to scrape together the thousands of dollars needed to enroll in the colleges and universities of their choice. I know what a waste it was when extremely bright and talented students didn't have the money needed to pursue opportunities their intellect and their industry made available to them. The Pell Grant program kept that waste to a minimum, which is why Claiborne Pell has been a career-long man crush of mine and why my heart is broken.

Why do the good ones always die so young? Okay, he wasn't young objectively speaking, but given the number of lives he affected, he should have been allowed to live as long as he wanted. By that standard, his life span doesn't seem long enough for me. I hope 90 was good enough for him.