Friday, July 31, 2009

“Oh, and If You're Going that Way, Bring Me Back a Fudgsicle”


“There. The transfer of knowledge is complete.

“Now, Obama-san, show me Paint fence. Yes, yes, well done.

“Now, show me Wax on-wax off. Yes, excellent.

”Now, show me Universal Health Care. Well…”

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Of Course, If You Saw Bill Macy Humping in “The Cooler,” You May Be Having Trouble Getting Erect or Wet Now. Good Movie Otherwise, Though


Kate: You've danced your last dance, and you've held your date close. There's only one thing left to do, and all of your dreams will come true.

Hey, Bill! What time is it?

Bill: It's time to get laid.


It's like he read my mind.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

“Oh, It's a Problem. It's a Problem for Them”


A prospective juror Monday in Howard Sullivan’s murder trial had a startling revelation about a potential witness in that case.

Prosecutor Greg Wilson was asking if anyone on the panel knew Lionel Crawford when a woman raised her hand. He’d gone through a list of potential witnesses and wanted to know if familiarity with a witness would bias a juror for or against their testimony.

“How do you know Mr. Crawford?” Wilson asked.

“He shot me in 2004,” the woman replied.

“He shot you?” Wilson asked. After a long pause, he said, “Your honor, the prosecution has no objection to this witness.”

Friday, July 24, 2009

The Grapes of Wrath of Khan


“The Khan Song”

(To the tune of “
The Beverly Hillbillies”)

Let me tell you all a story 'bout a man named Khan
He was really smart but his sanity was gone
One day he was sent back to Ceti Alpha Five
Where the parts of an evil plan started to jive

The next thing you know ol' Khan's shot into space
And zooming off to Risa like he's in some starship race
Who knows what's going on in the mind of this crazy man?
Just keeping watching this episode to see his master plan!

A short time later, the Botany Bay re-entered normal space near Risa. Khan smiled wickedly. “
Excellent work, Joachim!”

“Actually, my name is Barney.”

“Whatever! Hit the brakes on this thing and we'll beam down to the planet.”

“Brakes, sir?”

“Yes, you know, the things that stop a vehicle.”

“We knew we were forgetting something…”

So the Botany Bay plummeted down and crashed on Risa. Luckily, Khan's genetically engineered goons didn't forget airbags, so everyone was okay.

Khan looked around at the paradise surrounding him. “This shall be our new empire! We shall remake this planet in our image!”

Joaquin asked, “We're going to carve our faces on the planet's surface?”

“No… We will make Risa as Earth was in the 1990's! Everyone will listen to grunge music and wear plaid shirts and so on, and as the apex of the 1990's, we will reign supreme!”

“And how exactly are we going to get everyone to think 90's stuff is cool?”

“Because I will tell them so!”

“What if they don't listen to you?”

“Oh, they'll listen to me. Nobody ignores someone with this manly a chest!”

“Give it up. We all know that's not your real chest.”

“It is so! Now watch and learn!”

Khan whipped out some plaid shirts and some grunge music CDs and went up to some vacationers. “Excuse me, but would you like these?”

“Plaid shirts and grunge music? Didn't those go out of style about a millenia ago?”

“My chest says they didn't…”

The vacationers looked at Khan's chest and were instantly mesmerized. “We will do whatever you say…



It's ain't Shakespeare, but to a Trekker, it's damn close.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

*I Wish I'd Noticed that First


Since Barack Obama weighed in on the arrest of Henry Louis Gates, we thought it was worthwhile to do a close reading of the law and the arrest report to see just how stupid the Cambridge Police Department was.

This account is based on the police report, a statement from Gates' lawyer, interviews by Gates given after the arrest, and a radio interview that the arresting officer gave this morning.


Even though I believe the police can justify a disorderly conduct charge based on the flimsiest evidence, now would be a good time for the Cambridge police department and the arresting officer to settle this matter. Apologizing to Gates, as he has requested, would be a good beginning to the process. Just throw out the usual “if my actions or words offended anyone, I'm sorry,” and then start adding zeros to the settlement figure until you hit a number that really makes you feel regret. Then add two more. That should put things behind you.

Now, your friends and colleagues are all going to try to convince you that you're right and that with the right representation, you can walk away from this a winner. That's their jobs. They're your friends and colleagues. It's your job to ignore them because (a) the president just shifted the preponderance-of-evidence standard significantly to the plaintiff side of the table and (b) fortune (bad fortune, mind you) has placed you center stage in its latest racial drama, Acting Stupidly, and given you the role of “Officer JIM CROWley.”*

As they say on Law and Order, make the deal.

Abortions Just Got Yummier!


At last, EVERYBODY can have “one in the oven” with the deliciously disturbing Fetus Cookie Cutter!

That's right — you can now bake cookies that look like little fetuses. According to our vast knowledge of the human reproductive process, the cookies are shaped like fetuses approximately 4 months along on their journey.

Imagine the expression on the teacher's face when your kid hands out oatmeal or chocolate chip fetuses to all the students. We can almost hear the Principal calling now.

The Fetus Cookie Cutter comes in a clear plastic box with a photo of a fetus cookie behind the cutter. We THINK it is stainless steel, though it might be aluminum.

Hey, anyone can bake cookies shaped like circles or trees or hearts — But it takes a special kind of person to make these babies. Just stamp your fetuses out of cookie dough, pop them in the oven, and then let them gestate for a few minutes. When they're done, your kitchen will be filled with the enchanting aroma of fresh baked fetuses. You'll almost imagine them singing, “We're your fetus! Get ready to eat us!



Somethings are clearly in poor taste—or so I've heard. Me, I've been fortunate enough never to have been exposed to any of them.

What can I tell you? I've lived a charmed life.

Monday, July 20, 2009

This Week's Note from Post-Racial America


Harvard's star African-American studies professor Henry Louis Gates got hauled to jail by the cops for breaking into his own house because the lock was broken. That's racist. So is the lady who called them, who also works for Harvard.

The Boston Globe has the police report, and it reads like Crash. …

Gates came home in the afternoon with another black friend. The lock on his front door was jammed, and he had to throw his shoulder into the door to get it open. A white lady saw the two men and thought, ̶Oh, two black guys are breaking into the house,” so she called the cops. By the time they showed up, Gates had successfully gotten into his own home and was doing whatever free God-loving Americans with the same rights as you and me do when they enter their homes.

Gates sounds like an ornery cuss, and the insult of having to explain himself to the police for having to enter his own home seems to have caused him to lose his temper. As Gates was yelling at him, the officer insisted on moving the conversation outside—allegedly because the “acoustics of the kitchen and the foyer” made it hard for the cop to use his radio. But low and behold, once they got outside, Gates' “tumultuous behavior…outside his residence” got very disorderly very fast. So Gates got popped for yelling at a cop.

So in case you were wondering: No, not even the director of the W. E. B. Du Bois Institute for African and African American Research at Harvard University, in the sanctuary of his own home, which is itself practically in the middle of the most prestigious university in the world, which is Gates' employer and playground, is immune from getting hassled because he is black.



This is one of those instances in which a person who's spent a little too much time in the rarified air that his hard work and abilities has earned him finds out that the money and prestige and elite zip code that he thought would protect him from racism don't, that the smoke and mirrors of wealth and fame don't stop the police from seeing a “nigger” when they see a black person, especially when that black person is at a crime scene. I'm sorry you had to find that out in such a humiliating fashion, Dr. Gates.*

Thankfully, according to this report, “he… is now resting comfortably in his summer home in Martha's Vineyard.”

*Actually, I'm not. I've never been a fan of his scholarship or his views on the obligations of “successful blacks” to the larger black community. Given his views, I have to say this couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.

“Obey Your Thirst” Bitch


It's true: a black man's semen is as refreshing as a carbonated lemon/lime soft drink—and when we're drinking alcohol, it 's as intoxicating as a Margarita. True story. Make sure all the barely legal, white women you know get the facts.

Of course, they wouldn't have to get their facts on this site if they paid attention in class during Black History month. The “Semen: Tastes like Splooge” campaign has been a part of the curriculum since the early'70s. There shouldn't be a woman alive who doesn't know this by now.

* Video was removed. Here's a newscast that includes it:

Thursday, July 16, 2009

The King of Smart-Assery for Today is Dalton Duncan. All Hail, Dalton (and if You're a Cheerleader at Redmond Jr High, Let Him Get to Second Base).


TEACHER-ASSIGNED DETENTION NOTICE



Student Dalton Duncan

Teacher K. Kruse

Reason for detention: Another student made the comment “You need to push it in further” (innocent comment) and Dalton added “That's what she said.”

Report to room Stage by Lunch and remain until end of lunch


I know this is hard to believe, but I was a bit of a smart-ass when I was younger, so I know: One hour of detention during lunch for that comment—totally worth it.

Oh, First Ex-Wife, Where For Art Thou


EMBED-How To Satisfy A Woman - Watch more free videos

How to Satisfy a Woman


Andy: Listen up. I'm only going to explain this once: How to Satisfy a Woman

First off, a disclaimer: There's more than one way to feed the cat, but each requires patience, care, and occasionally must be starved until it begs for its dinner.

Now, a lot of attention is normally paid to the female “O.” There's good reason for that.

If you want to satisfy a woman physically, emotionally, and spiritually, be prepared to spend some quality time down in The Dent. The In-and-Out Burger must be seasoned with your attention.

But don't forget to season the rest of her with your charm and the occasional gift, the text message haiku. Not too much, though. If you give her all of you, she'll want none of you.

So learn to build anticipation. Keep the Moose Knuckle tapping the bed sheets. Build it and they will…they will thank you.

If you want access to the Oval Office, use every vote you can. Tell her she's special. Share in a mutual hobby. Engage the labia—gentle, though—you're not cleaning it.

Once you've satisfied a woman emotionally, you'll want to satisfy her spiritually. Lucky for you, her spirit animal resides in her who-ha.

Get to know the man on the boat, the honey bee, the Clitoris Leachman, and then, tease it like a midget.…



Good call, my friend. Tease it like a midget, but not exactly like a midget. For instance, I don't recommend grabbing the clitoral hood and taunting the clitoris with “Got your hat! Got your hat! Can't get it back!”

It takes a special kind of woman to orgasm from that kind of a build up. She's out there. I'm sure of it, but, clearly, she's a rare breed.

And she will be mine. Oh, yes.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

My Friends Send Me Things


[scene: Picnic in a Fayetteville park where a soldier is trying to knock up a Carolina Palin while her friend mouth-breathes in despair (or just because)]

The Friend: I'm bored.

[Hits trooper in the back with de-gristled chicken bone.]

Let's go.

Buck Smith, Official Town Official: Sad to say, in any other town, this soldier would be S.O.L. [Shit Out of Luck –editor biff]. Not in my town.

When a soldier needs help, the citizens of Fayetteville answer the call. No matter how fat and odious that call may be.

[Alarum! Alarum! Wingmen to your stations!]

The Ugly Friend: [Wingmen approach] (gasps) A hottie! A frogman! (loses breath) A cowpoke. Oh, goody!

Buck Smith, Official Town Official: Way to jump on that grenade, men. Now, that's sacrifice.

Then, again, that's what you'd expect from America's first sanctuary community for soldiers.

Soldier: Thanks, Fayetteville!

Fayettevillian who Will Give a Soldier a Hand Job in the Park on a Picnic Blanket like You Weren't Even Sitting Right There: (Smiles because her yrailer park lot is paid for through the month now.)

Buck Smith: My pleasure.



That's an example of series of ads commissioned and run by the Fayetteville Area Convention and Visitors Bureau to booster tourism through Support Our Troops sentimentalism. Although the spots tested well among the target demographic—horny GIs with more money than sense—they are not playing well among the city's blue bloods. Among that crowd, the Red Lobster-Twice-a-Week, old-money families, they are considered “tacky,” “tasteless,” and “moronic.”

These are the people who sat silently by through the campaigns of my youth:

Fayetteville: Oh, so That's How You Spell It
Fayetteville: “What You Looking At?”
Fayetteville: A Moment on the Lips, a Lifetime in Your Bloodstream
Fayetteville: City Motto: “He Needed Killin'”

Me? I couldn't be prouder of my hometown. Honestly, I welled up with tears when the city official said, “S.O.L.” Sniff, there I go again.

I'm so homesick now. I think I'll go call my mother. Be right back.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Sláinte!


LeeSee mentioned that she enjoyed a Monster® Energy drink every morning, which made me recall a beverage I'd enjoyed at a bar during the Monster® promotional days. Back then, they were trying to get bartenders to come up with cocktails that used their product—like Red Bull® had done so successfully— with the typical mixed results. I recall the drink I had for one reason:

  • one half can(s) Monster Energy Drink

  • 1 oz Tanqueray No 10 Gin

  • 1.25 oz Orange Curacao

  • 1.50 oz Sweet and Sour Mix


It had a catchy name: Monster Under the Bed Masturbating Watching a 10-Year Old Sleep.

For reasons that escape me, the Monster® people never promoted it much. Who knows why. I mean, really, who doesn't enjoy a refreshing, gin-based libation?

Anyway, the next time I order one, I'll think of LeeSee.

Thursday, July 09, 2009

My Favorite is No. 1703. (That Cat Has Got Mad Skilz, as the Kids say)


Just a reminder that the world is full of goofballs (and that I really need to go to Rio).

Seriously, how can a world populated with these people be such a fucked up place? Oh, wait…

Monday, July 06, 2009

Here It is, Your Moment of Post-Racial Tranquility


Note to Republicans: Racist “humor,” the Internet, and political ambitions don’t mix. Audra Shay, vice chairman of the Young Republicans and the leading candidate to be elected its chairman on Saturday, is now the latest in a growing list of GOP officials learning this lesson the hard way, based on pictures of a now-deleted Facebook page obtained by The Daily Beast.

On Wednesday, Shay—a 38-year-old Army veteran, mother, and event planner from Louisiana who has been endorsed by her governor, Bobby Jindal—was holding court on her Facebook page, initiating a political conversation by posting that “WalMart just signed a death warrant” by “endorsing Obama’s healthcare plan.” At 1:52, a friend named listed as Eric S. Piker, but whose personal page says his actual name is Eric Pike, wrote “It’s the government making us commies… can’t even smoke in my damn car… whats next they going to issue toilet paper once a month… tell us how to wipe our asses…”

Two minutes later, Piker posted again saying “Obama Bin Lauden [sic] is the new terrorist… Muslim is on there side [sic]… need to take this country back from all of these mad coons… and illegals.…

Eight minutes after that, at 2:02, Shay weighed in on Piker’s comments: “You tell em Eric! lol.”



First, “38-years-old?” Really? How long do you get to be a Young Republican? Until you get your AARP card? Next thing you're going to tell me is Cheney's a member of the Hitler Youth.

Second, “mad coons?” I hate to get all politically correct on your ass, Pike, but the term for us now is Coons of Fury. It's 2009; move forward with the nation, simpleton.

Thursday, July 02, 2009

In Lieu of Flowers, the Family Asks that Well-Wishers Simply Bad Touch the Child Closest to Them


So finally we have something firm on Michael Jackson.

On Tuesday morning a motorcade will go from Forest Lawn Mortuary in L.A. to the Staples Center complex in downtown Los Angeles where the public memorial will be held.

We're told the family still hasn't decided whether the memorial will be at the Staples Center or the smaller Nokia Theatre. A decision on that is expected shortly.



Am I the only one hoping the pallbearers moonwalk the casket into the grave? Really? Just Me? Okay.

Wednesday, July 01, 2009

I May Be Related to Leon Wilkes

Text Messages Sent Between Harriet Tubman, a.k.a. Moses, and Leon Wilkes, a Running-Away Slave
by Ashley Sharpe
LW: where r U?
HT: u hav 2 b able 2 keep up no matter what 4 this 2 work.
LW: stubbed my toe. tried to tell u to w8.
HT: smh.
LW: it is severe. :’-(

LW: r we free yet?
HT: not yet.

LW: i think i need 2 go back.
HT: ain’t no going back. rmbr wut i told u?
LW: but i need 2 go back. think i 4got my wallet. :-(
HT: if u try 2 go back, I hav bullet wit ur name on it.
LW: if they catch me will be castr8ed. prefer ur bullet.
HT: dont give up now. thnk about ur freedom.
LW: ur right. when im free 1st thing i want is educ8ion and unencumbered opportunity for meritocratic advancement, free from the yoke of racial prejudice and discrimin8ion.
HT: no.
LW: k. then i settle 4 my unborn kids 2 hav that.
HT: no.
LW: then i take a chzbrgr n french fries.
HT: i know a place.
LW: k.

LW: how much longer til we get 2 the st8ion?
HT: st8ion????
LW: the train st8ion.
HT: we Rn’t going 2 no train st8ion!
LW: but u said we’d take the underground railrd.
HT: ur feet r the train, the ground is the railrd. lol. jk. ;-)
LW: lol. so there IS a train. :-D
HT: no. we r runnin.
LW: but my stubbed toe? plus I left my sneakers.
HT: what size?
LW: 9.
HT: i have xtra pair in my gym bag.
LW: do they have added insole support? I tend 2 overpron8.
HT: yes.
LW: k.

LW: Harriet, r we free yet?
HT: no. pls stop asking.


Imagine Leon asking Harriet if they can stop for a bathroom break at the pause in every conversation and you'll have a pretty good idea of what's it's like to travel with me and a near perfect explanation of why the Loman family home is in North Carolina, not Canada.

Rest in Peace, Billy Mays. You Will Be Missed (especially after this)


America,

Do you like the taste of sopping wet nethers? Of course, you do, but who has the time?

You've tried juicing. You've tried milking. You've tried sucking and licking, but no matter what you try, you still can't get enough juice to slake your thirst.

And what do you do with all that leftover woman? Cuddle? No, thank you.

How many times have you felt the seismic tremors, dropped your love derrick into the seam—expecting a gusher, finding only a seep—and come away thirsty? How many times, sitting there afterwards, engaged in small talk with the detritus, your face glistening like a glazed doughnut, have you thought, “There must be a better way?”

Well, now, there is. Introducing TWAT:

Twenty-two yummy ounces of all the stuff you love and none of the one hundred-plus pounds of the stuff you don't. TWAT gives you all of the flavor and none of the mess.

There are no awkward conversations, no half-ass excuses about early morning meetings, no money left on the dresser. Just pop the easy-opening top, drink your fill, and toss the can into the recycling bin. It's that easy.

“There must be a catch, ” you say. “Drinking 22 oz of love honey in one night, usually, requires an embarrassing morning after.” Pish posh! The only walk of shame in your future is the walk of shame you'll have carrying three cases of TWAT from the 7-11 to your apartment in your parents' basement.

And for those of you with a taste for the man goo, don't think we've left you out. Order now, and for absolutely no additional costs, we will throw in a banana. You're welcome.

Thankfully, We Don't Have Hardees in These Parts


Biscuit-cles? Really, Hardees?

Okay, I'll have an order. But that sauce had better be good.