“It's My Birthday, Bitches!”

The Hungover Games from Ashley Hinshaw

Effie Trinket: The time has come to select the courageous men and women for the honor of representing yourselves in the 2012 Hungover Games!


Potential Contestant: You don't think we'll get picked, right?


Other Potential Contestant: No, we're young. We don't even get hangovers.


Effie Trinket: As it was decreed, each year, neighborhood bars would offer up drunkards as tribute to compete after a night of drinking. There are no sunglasses, no water, and no headache medicine. These are the Hungover Games!

When I was drinking regularly and heavily in my 20s, hangovers, as they say in the penal system, were my bitches. I pimp slapped them until they treated me right, and then, went on with my day.

But, now, as the song says, hangover sure hurt more than they use to. In fact, there have been mornings when I would have leapt into Death's sweet bosom to get away from the aftereffects of a bourbon too far if only Death would have me. (She won't, the tease.)

Age has taken away that superpower. So, that's one more thing I can't do anymore, but as I said, in my prime, I would have medaled easily in The Hungover Games, possibly, earned the Gold.

Now, I 'd be like the myth busters riding in the Throne of Moan, a whining little girlie man:

“Do You Know Any ‘Scum Buckets,’ Boys and Girls? I Bet You Do.”

“I hope I get to live in your neighborhood some day.

“The problem is when I move in, y'all move away.”

It's funny because it's true.

Also, this may be the last time a SNL performer shot a sitting president the bird. Good times, good times.

Still, I'd Rather Have a Dog

I like the way they scream “NINJA!” before each attack!

In Post-Racial America, We Can Laugh at Stuff like This

Seth Myers: Now, Paula, what about the very serious allegation of you using the N-word?

Paula Deen: Hot butter and oil, Seth! Which n-word is she talking about? There's a whole bunch of n-words.

Seth: Well, the bad one.

Paula: Like “nutrition.”

No, the other bad one.

Death by Caffeine

Bring it, bitchez!

One Ring to Find Them, One Ring to Bind Them, and One Unholy Flesh Ring to Water Their Eyes and Blind Them with the Funky

While a thousand years ago holy men would go to great lengths to acquire relics, one of the oddest heists did not occur until 1983.

Being Jewish, Christ would have been circumcised. That small ring of flesh would become a surprisingly important part of Christianity. The ceremony of circumcision, the brit milah or bris, was a favorite subject for painters and church walls often featured frescos of the act. The Emperor Charlemagne is supposed to have given Jesus’s foreskin to Pope Leo III as a reward for crowning him Holy Roman Emperor. Technically Charlemagne was re-gifting it, since legend says he received it as a wedding present from his wife.

Since relics were holy, and no one in the Christian religion was holier than Jesus, churches clamored to claim possession of the one true foreskin. At one point at least 18 towns promised pilgrims that their foreskin was the real deal. Over time most of these prepuces were lost or destroyed.

And then, in the early 1960s, one was re-discovered, in the little town of Fayetteville, attached to a babe in swaddling clothes (his family being slow to payoff the onesie it had on layaway), in a house not much better than a manger, born to a woman villagers said was a virgin, because if anyone said otherwise, that bitch would cut him.

It was said to glow, to cast a halo atop it, when the light passed through the blessed child's urine stream just so. Many a babysitter was struck blind by its beauty.

Bullies came from wide and far to marvel at and then kick the shit out of the Loman child, but the Truth was undeniable: he possessed The One True Foreskin.

Pictures to follow.

Bottoms Up!

Brooklynites can’t vote on Super Tuesday, but that doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy a little Santorum.

A Fourth Avenue watering hole is pouring a delightfully sinful drink named after Republican presidential hopeful Rick Santorum — and the dirty Google problem that has haunted him ever since he irked syndicated sex columnist Dan Savage.

“People really like it even though it’s named after something gross — both the person and the Dan Savage meaning,” said John Rauschenberg, co-owner of Pacific Standard. “It’ll be an election fixture at least until primary season is over.”

The duo behind the beer hole near St. Mark’s Place often put out cocktails with suggestive names, such as the Corn Holed Fashioned or Mike Gallego’s Cup.

But the Santorum, a milky mixture of Baileys, orange vodka, bitters and chocolate flakes, seems to be sticking.

We won’t explain how the drink matches up with an alternate definition of the word “Santorum,” as The Brooklyn Paper is a family publication — but the bar’s liberal proprietors are certain it’ll satisfy any boozy desires.

Hmm, on second thought, cancel that Martini. I'm going to have a Santorum, instead.

I'm Biff Loman, and I Approve of This Message

How To Get A Guy To Notice You While You're Having Sex With Him

Jim Haggerty: Ladies, have you ever had this problem: You're into a fellow, but you feel like you're just not catching his eye?

Tracy Gill: Don't worry. Relationship Guru Rebeccah Rachel is here to tell us how to get the attention of a man while you're having sex with him.

Together: Good morning, Rebeccah!

Rebeccah Rachel: Hi, guys! Well, we've all been there, right? You have a crush on a guy, he's thrusting his erection into you, but you're laying there wondering, Does he even know I exist?

Tracy: Definitely! What do we do?

Rebeccah: Well, you have to make him notice you. Don't just bounce around on his penis hoping he's going to compliment you on your new earrings.

Jim: [Playfully] That's not going to happen.

Rebeccah: So you want to try something subtle to get his attention, like accidentally brushing your hand against his while he's pounding you or make up some excuse to ask him a question, something to just get him to break his normal routine so you can share a moment.

Tracy: Gives you a moment to flirt.

Rebeccah: Bingo! You have to stand out from the crowd.

When he stops to adjust his condom, flash him a little I-think-you're-cute smile before he slides himself back into you, something to just plant the thought of you in the back of his mind....

Tracy: Love it!

All right, there are a few questions from our viewers. The first ones from Hillary in Brooklyn, NY:

Hilary Leichter: Hi, guys.

I can't seem to get the guy I'm sleeping with to pay any attention to me. He never even makes eye contact.

Jim: Oh, good question.

Rebeccah: Try throwing a ball or small object at him. It's a great excuse to start a conversation, like, “Hey, where did that ball come from?”

Jim: Ooh, sassy!

Rebeccah: The most important tip is to just be yourself. Men love blowing their load into a confident woman.

Wow. It's like I think it, and she says it.

Wait. That's a psychosis, isn't it?

That's a Fine Sack o' Potatoes, Mary Margaret. Are You Working the Fry Station at McDonald's Today?

For a brief time in the early '70s, Ronald blackened his face and his 'fro to promote McDonald's Chocolate Soul on Ice Cream Sundae for the the nascent Black History month. This may be even more racist.