BANNED IN THE U.S.A.

There are places in the United States where this comic cannot be sold.  

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And rightly so: this comic book is part of the liberal conspiracy to brainwash the youth of America into committing the ungodly acts of sex outside of marriage and outside of race.

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Do you think Archie is carrying a condom?  You bet he is. Do you think that negress (don’t let her light skin color fool you) Archie is clearly in the process of carrying off to his bed is on the birth control pill? Of course she is.  She is clearly utterly unafraid of pregnancy, which encourages her willingness to have sex with Archie, thereby subverting the truth of God’s word.

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And although this mulatto hussy apparently lives the decadent and anti-Christian “rock and roll lifestyle,” Archie still lives with his parents in a Christian home.  So this comic book cover communicates directly into our pure and untainted children’s minds Satan’s message that it is “okay” for two unmarried teens to have interracial sex -purely for the pleasure of it and not for the purposes of procreation – in their parent’s house using tax payer subsidized birth control.

Vote Republican this November and we will put a stop to this evil.

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A Grim Fairy Tale – BOXING DAY

Hello, children. I am Brother Grim. Would you like to hear a true story?

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BOXING DAY

Once upon a time there was a young woman named Jennifer. Jennifer lived in a place known far and wide as the City of Angels, which Jennifer liked because she considered herself a Born Again Christian, and living in a city of angels was fine by her.

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Jennifer lived with a man named Robert.  They met in church and were married a year later.  The day after their first Christmas together, she found Robert’s secret briefcase hidden in the apartment bedroom closet.

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The briefcase was large, hard shelled and had a combination lock with three numbers on rotating dials set side by side.  It was very heavy. She shook it gently, but didn’t notice any peculiar movement. She had no idea what was in it.

She tried to open it (of course), but it was locked and she could not open it. That is when she realized the brief case belonged to Robert, because she would have remembered buying something that could lock.  

She put the briefcase back where she found it and walked away.

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But the next day she was in the closet again looking at the secret briefcase. She looked closely and noticed that the numbers on the combination had changed. She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew. She memorized the number combination showing – 0-8-7 – and placed the briefcase back in the closet.

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A week later, she checked and saw that the numbers had changed to 4-2-7. This meant that at least twice in as many weeks, Robert had opened the lock, gone into the briefcase, and jumbled the numbers when he relocked it.  So Jennifer began to check the briefcase every day. Every day she tried to open it, just in case Robert forgot to jumble the numbers to set the lock.

One day the briefcase opened.

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Inside, Jennifer found a pair of musty, sweaty boxing gloves, a stack of magazines and some video cassettes. Tucked into one of the organizer pockets inside the briefcase, Jennifer found a bunch of letters from men addressed to Robert at his office.

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Jennifer read the letters and looked through the magazines. She even watched one of the videos. The magazines and videos showed men – and sometimes women – boxing and wrestling.

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Jennifer learned from the letters that Robert would regularly go to the Olympic Gym near Downtown L.A., rent a boxing ring, and box with strange men—rarely the same man twice.

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The Olympic Auditorium then.

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They’d punch and pound and smack each other and then afterwards they would perform unnatural, sinful acts upon themselves as the other watched.  The letters would end with promises that the writer would inflict great bodily harm upon Robert the next time they met at the gym.

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Naturally Jennifer confronted Robert about her awful discovery. She let him come home to find her sitting on their bed with the briefcase open, reading his letters.

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Robert admitted everything—the boxing and the unspeakable, sinful acts. He admitted that he lied to Jennifer – that when he said he was working on weekends he was really meeting strange men at the Olympic Gym.

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Robert admitted lying about playing rugby as a subterfuge to explain the injuries he sustained boxing.

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That night Jennifer slept at her friend’s house and the next day she moved her things out of the apartment she shared with Robert.  She resolved that her marriage with Robert was over because lying, Jennifer knew, is a sin. 

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The Olympic Auditorium now.

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HEADLINE – Man With 100 Pound Scrotum Seeks Donations

Henry Spliff

MUNCIE, Indiana – A man famous for sporting a 100 pound scrotum (45.45 kg) has announced that he will be seeking donations for a wide-variety of charities all related to his environmental concerns.

“I care deeply about the earth on which we all live,” said Henry Spliff from his home in Reno, Nevada. “It is up to us to leave our planet in better shape than we found it.”

Friends of the Earth and the World Wildlife Fund welcome Mr. Spliff’s efforts on their behalf.

Source: 
http://www.searchtheearth.com/2011/10/18/man-with-100-pound-scrotum-seeks-donations/
 

From the Christmas Season’s heart, I Smile at Thee!!!

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A Grim Fairy Tale: BUMPKIN THE COUNTRY PUMPKIN

So I am sitting in this tavern in Melbourne with my mates Flinthart, Banger, Melbo, Mayhem and Catty, eating and drinking and otherwise faffing up a storm, exploring the random furphy and otherwise having a grand time, when the topic of writing comes up.

I mentioned the inappropriate series of children’s stories I wrote many years ago told by my alter-ego, an evil old man named Brother Grim.

One of my dining companions actually encouraged me to post those awful stories here. I think all of them are secretly laughing at me.  Australians are inscrutable.  I can’t think of any way they can be scruted. But, what the heck, it is nearly Halloween, so why not trot out Bumpkin the Country Pumpkin – posted a couple of years ago at the Mini Burger.  I’ve added illustrations.  I recommend that all of you read it to your children, the younger the better.

So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you

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BUMPKIN THE COUNTRY PUMPKIN

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Once upon a time there was a little pumpkin named Bumpkin.

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He lived in the country, far away from the Big City, on the side of the road next to the pumpkin patch.  He was a bit scrawny and small.  He began as a stray seed that accidentally flew to the roadside to sprout and grow without the benefit of regular water, fertilizer and pesticides. 

So he sat by the side of the road, watching the pumpkins in the pumpkin patch grow big and orange and proud.

“We are Halloween pumpkins!” the pumpkin patch pumpkins would say to Bumpkin.  “Children will buy us and make us into Jack-o-lanterns for Halloween!” they bragged shamelessly.

Bumpkin wished he, too, could be a Jack-O-Lantern for Halloween, but the pumpkin patch pumpkins laughed when he confessed his deepest desire.

“We are big and orange,” they would point out.  “We will be picked at harvest and taken to the supermarket where we will be examined and fawned over and picked by children, who will carve us into scary and silly faces.  We will be illuminated by flickering candles, glowing yellow out from our carved eyes.  We will be remembered forever by children who grow into adults, who will take their children in turn to the supermarket to pick a Halloween pumpkin.”

“Maybe I will become a Jack-o-lantern too!” Bumpkin squeaked from the roadside, interrupting the litany of self-admiration.

“You?” the other pumpkins sneered. “Who would pick you?  You are funny-looking, and besides, you are growing out by the roadside, away from the pumpkin patch.  You will never be harvested and taken to the supermarket.”

When harvest came, Bumpkins saw that it was true.  The truck loads of migrant workers were paid by the pound, so they concentrated on the bigger, oranger pumpkins in the pumpkin patch.  They didn’t even notice little, scrawny, misshaped Bumpkin.

But then one of the workers, for reasons unknown, and to the righteous shock of the finer pumpkins, reached out and picked Bumpkin and placed him on the pile with the other pumpkins.

And so Bumpkin was taken to the supermarket and placed on display. 

But no one picked him.  Many children came and looked.  Some touched and weighed, some seriously considered, but they all ended up choosing the bigger, oranger pumpkins.

On Halloween Eve Bumpkin found himself all alone on the wooden display sitting between two rotting pumpkins.  He felt it was all over when he heard a woman’s voice ask:

“How much for the pumpkins?”

“I’ll give you all three for a penny a piece,” the voice of the produce manager said.

And so the woman bought Bumpkin and the two rotting pumpkins and brought them to her home.

The woman lived in a bad neighborhood in a small appartment near a busy street.  When she got home, she took all three pumpkins out of the bag and began cutting and cleaning the two rotting pumpkins, who had died from despair many days earlier.

“I guess I’m going to be a pie,” Bumpkin said to himself in bitter disappointment. 

But then a little boy walked into the kitchen.  His name was Timmy, and Timmy wanted – more than anything in the world – to carve a jack-o-lantern for Halloween.  He saw Bumpkin lying on the counter beside the sink, and Timmy fell in love.  Bumpkin was the most beautiful pumpkin Timmy had ever seen.

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“Please, Mamma. Please, can I have that little pumpkin?” he asked.

“No,” his mother said.  “We are very poor, and we need these pumpkins for food.  It is wrong to play with food.”

“Oh, please Mamma!  If you give me the pumpkin, I promise to get a job and work real hard to earn enough money to buy another pumpkin so you can cook it!  Please!”  Timmy said, and began to cry, because he knew full well that there were no jobs for poor little boys like him.

His mother knew it, too, but she gave Timmy the little pumpkin anyway. She really didn’t want to cook it.  She was suspicious of Bumpkin’s sickly color and odd shape.  She thought Bumpkin might be diseased.  So she gave it to Timmy.

“Make sure to wash your hands afterwards,” Timmy’s mother instructed.

Timmy didn’t care what Bumpkin looked like or the risk of pathogen contamination associated with cutting into Bumpkin’s flesh.  Timmy was overjoyed.

And Bumpkin was overjoyed.  He was going to be a jack-o-lantern!  At last, his dream was coming true.

Bumpkin became a little hesitant when he saw Timmy spread some newspaper on the floor and take hold of a long carving knife.

 

And it hurt a lot when Timmy clumsily stabbed into Bumpkin’s flesh, cutting a hole in Bumpkin’s top and reaching in to scoop out Bumpkin’s guts.

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Bumpkin fainted more than once.  And, as Timmy’s little hand scooped out Bumpkin’s insides, reaching in over and over again,  Bumpkin screamed over and over again, screams that only other pumpkins could hear – as well as the occasional banana squash.

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Between fainting and screaming, Bumpkin could hear, out in the black night, the howling screams of the bigger, oranger pumpkins who, like Bumpkin, were being eviscerated by smiling, laughing children, as well as the occasional perverted adult.

After what seemed to be a timeless eternity of suffering without end, Bumpkin was transformed into a jack-o-lantern.  Timmy beamed as he placed a candle in Bumpkin, lit the candle and set Bumpkin in front of the apartment door.

Bumpkin’s pride overshadowed his excruciating pain.  He looked up and down the street at the other jack-o-lanterns carved from the fine, cultivated pumpkins.   Bumpkin could feel their surprise – and a little outrage – when they noticed him.  Bumpkin decided that he was just as good as any of them.  And he was.

The magic of that night went on and on.  Bumpkin watched as the costumed children went door to door yelling “trick or treat!” holding out their bags for candy.

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And then it was Timmy’s turn.  Bumpkin watched as Timmy and his mother left the apartment to go trick or treating.

“Isn’t my jack-o-lantern beautiful?” Timmy beamed.

“Yes, dear,” his mother said, and they walked off.

It wasn’t long before more children came to the door.  But no one was home to give them candy, and the children walked away, dissappointed. Some of them said foul and impolite things, angered by the lack of candy caused by Timmy and his mother’s absence.   Then one group of boys came by who weren’t dressed in costumes.

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When no one responded to their baritone cries of “trick or treat!,” the boys threw eggs at Timmy’s apartment and wrote rude remarks with bars of soap on the apartment windows.  Then they picked up Bumpkin and ran off.

Bumpkin remained with those terrible boys through the night.  He was with them when they threw more eggs, sprayed shaving cream, and frightened other children.  The boys even used Bumpkin to terrify the littlest kids.  The boys would thrust Bumpkin into the faces of children and yell “boo!”  The little kids would look at Bumpkin, scream and run away crying.

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Just before midnight, the boys climbed to the top of a building, ran over to the edge of the roof and threw Bumpkin down to the pavement below.  Bumpkin smashed into a million pieces.

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But he didn’t die. 

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In the morning someone swept up the pieces of Bumpkin and threw them into a garbage can.

As the pieces of Bumpkin lay there in the dark, smelly garbage can, Bumpkin heard a little boy crying.  It was Timmy, and he was crying because someone had stolen his first and most favorite jack-o-lantern.  Timmy’s mother came to comfort him.

“Don’t cry, dear. It was only a vegetable,” she said.

And then, alone in the trash, Bumpkin died.  

THE END

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HEADLINE – Scarlett Johansson cellphone pictures aren’t all that smart phone hackers are after

Actress Scarlett Johansson

SANTA MONICA, California – Hackers who broke into movie star Scarlett Johansson’s cellphone and stole nude photos of her admit that they want more than just pictures showing Johansson naked.

“We also want to have sex with her,” admits Ted Hinklehoffer, hacker spokesperson.

Hinklehoffer provided the statement from his secret lair in his mother’s basement.

Source:  http://news.yahoo.com/scarlett-johansson-cellphone-pictures-arent-smart-phone-hackers-164343913.html

BECAUSE YOU INSISTED

CHICKS WITH DICKS

Jess McCann with Richard Branson

KC Concepcion with Richard Gutierrez

Dick and Liz Cheney

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HEADLINE – Daily activities could trigger an aneurysms

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They are the things adults do on any given day: exercise, drink coffee, breathe, stand up, sit down, blink, urinate, scratch, eat.

They can also be the very things that cause a lurking brain aneurysm to rupture.

Researchers at the Institute for the Promotion of Irrational Fears and Anxieties in the Netherlands asked patients with brain aneurysms what they were doing shortly before those weakened and bulging blood vessels burst.

They found relatively mundane things like drinking soda, blowing one’s nose, exercising, drinking coffee, breathing, standing up, sitting down, blinking, urinating, scratching or eating often preceded the rupture.

“Anything can cause bad things,” explains Dr. Tad Greenblat.

Greenblat recommends minimizing your risk of suffering a brain aneurysm by doing nothing. ” Don’t exercise, don’t drink soda, don’t drink coffee, don’t breathe, don’t stand up, don’t sit down, don’t blink, don’t urinate, don’t scratch and most definitely don’t eat. Eating is very dangerous,” Greenblat said moving as little as possible.

“Avoiding an aneurysm may mean dying of starvation, but at least a blood vessel won’t explode in your head,” Greenblat concluded.

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Source:  
http://www.kob.com/article/stories/html

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HEADLINE – FDA claims no need to test Pacific fish for radioactivity

FDA spokesperson Vinny Slimp

WASHINGTON D.C. – North Pacific fish are so unlikely to be contaminated by radioactive material from the crippled nuclear plant in Japan that there’s no reason to test them, state and federal officials said this week.

“I personally smelled a fish that came out of the Pacific that looked like it could have been Japanese and could detect no radiation whatsoever,” said FDA spokesperson Vinny Slimp. The Food and Drug Administration has oversight of the nation’s food supplies.

“Based on the work they’re doing, no sampling or monitoring of our fish is necessary,” Slimp said. “We also consulted with a really good psychic that works for the North Pacific Fish Foundation who told us to tell everyone to eat all the Pacific fish they want and that no testing is necessary.”  The North Pacific Fish Foundation is an advocacy and lobbying group that represents the sea food industry and works closely with the FDA to provide guidance on sea food safety regulations. 

“Fish is good for you even if it is radioactive,” said Rocko Vincenchi, Associate Director of the Food Safety Advisory Board. “Like the chemicals in drinking water from plastic bottles and dyes in foods, there is nothing bad, per se, about radiation.  We got radiation everywhere. You walk outside and you get hit with radiation from the sun. That’s right, from the sun. Solar energy and radiation are the same thing.  Besides, fish got all that healthy fish oil in them, so the more radiated fish you eat the more you will be protected from radiation in the fish!” Vincenchi said, then quickly added “but I’m not saying there is any radiation in any fish. The FDA says there is no need for testing so that means there ain’t no radiation,  right?”

Rocko Vincenchi

The Food Safety Advisory Board is an advocacy/lobbying organization supported financially by the food industry and is dedicated to repealing food safety regulations.

Source:

http://www.thenewstribune.com/2011/04/16/1629400/fda-claims-no-need-to-test-pacific.html#ixzz1JnSXmTVC

HEADLINE – Japan vows to review nuclear safety standards

In response to charges of criminal regulatory negligence that resulted in the clearly apparent failure to build and maintain safe nuclear reactors, the Japanese government vowed to review Japan’s nuclear safety standards.

“We will review them, if we can find them,” promised Ken Fujikuma, Head of the Japanese Nuclear Industry Regulatory Commission and Late Night Drinking Games.

Fujikuma also pledged to “look into” the wisdom of running while holding scissors and playing Russian Roulette with fully loaded hand guns.

Source: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20110329/ap_on_bi_ge/as_japan_earthquake;_ylt=AqGOpu9PvKLz0Dh77MPCoIys0NUE;_ylu=X3oDMTFoOGJ1Ymw0BHBvcwMyNwRzZWMDYWNjb3JkaW9uX3RvcF9zdG9yaWVzBHNsawNqYXBhbnZvd3N0b3I-

Declaration of Sentiments and Resolutions – and Ray Gun Girls

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By now you know I kind of dig Space Chicks.

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In addition to writing substantively on the historical, sociological and geopolitical aspects of Space Chicks, my purely scholarly passion led me to become the worlds leading authority on subject.

Professor Boylan presenting a paper on Space Chicks at the University of Johannesburg, South Africa, in 2006

When I first determined the importance of Space Chicks as a pop culture phenomenon,  I soon observed that there is an important Space Chick subset that is best described as “Ray Gun Girls.”  Simply put, a Ray Gun Girl is a girl often, but not always, wearing a space suit in close proximity to a ray gun, often, but not always holding the ray gun.

Like Space Chicks in general, Ray Gun Girls first appeared on the cover of pulp magazines.

And when Space Chicks migrated from pulp novel covers to film and television, Ray Gun Girls began showing up there, too.

In all honesty, most Ray Gun Girl images are fetish driven manifestations of arrested male adolescent wish fulfillment, amounting to little more than soft core pornography.

However, as the years went by science fiction matured, and Space Chick images began to include strong, capable women who were fully realized heroic figures as complex and detailed as any male hero. As this happened, the images of Ray Gun Girls also evolved into something more serious and less sexist.

To me, the entire phenomenon is really quite fascinating. I don’t have the time or inclination to explore in this blog why there is such a driving interest to depict women holding ray guns.  The psycho-sexual implications alone would fill more space than I have to work with here. However, it is worth noting that the Ray Gun Girl concept is distancing itself from sex object utility and is increasingly being seen as a sign of feminist empowerment.

I’m taking the time here to provide you with the opportunity to judge for yourself.  Below is a gallery of Ray Gun Girl drawings and photos representing only what I was able to download in a few minutes before I gave up and went on to more serious business.  Nevertheless, this incomplete sample is the most comprehensive collection of Ray Gun Girl pics anywhere on or off the internet.

I present them in the order my computer imposed due to file title.

[If you don't see any gallery below, then you need to go back up to the top and click on the link entitled something like "The Ultimate Ray Gun Girl Gallery."

I take no responsibility for any offense that may result from anyone accessing and scrutinizing any of the photos in that gallery.]

A FANTASY REALIZED

Today I fulfilled a fantasy, and I just had to share it with y’all.

Every year, my wife throws an “Oscar party.”  If you know what that is, skip ahead in the story to where I go to the hardware store in my hit man outfit. If you don’t know what an Oscar party is, allow me to explain:

Every year the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences holds a gala event where they hand out awards for excellence in motion pictures arts and sciences.

The award is nicknamed the “Oscar.”  The United States is a movie culture (wrap your head around that one, if you can) and many, many Americans celebrate this pinnacle of commercialism and hold parties where groups of people watch the televised masturbatory splendor, eat, drink, make snide comments about the celebrities and hope that Anne Hathaway, Scarlett Johansson or Gabrielle Union experience a spectacular wardrobe malfunction. Preferably all three simultaneously.

A Gabrielle Union impersonator

My lovely wife is one of these Oscarphiles, and every year we throw an Oscar party.

This year, as part of her party preparations, my wife purchased meat via the internet.  Not just any meat. When I opened the enormous box left at my front door and dug through the space age insulation, I found an enormous pork roast – so large that it won’t fit the largest roasting pan in existence, which we own and keep in the garage because it frightens small children and upsets our two cats when it is left unattended.

I can hear you saying “So what?  Just take a sharp knife and cut off a chunk so it will fit in the roasting pan.”

That is not an option – not with this roast.  There is bone running through it.  To cut off a chunk I need to cut through that bone, and I don’t have anything suited to do the cutting.

I called my local butcher, who declined my request to cut a chunk off of that big hunk of pork.  I offered to pay him. He still refused saying “We have a policy not to cut meat that wasn’t purchased from our store.”

Won't cut strange meat.

 

So my only option was to go to my local hardware store and buy a hacksaw and do it myself.

And that’s when I realized this was a rare opportunity to fulfill a fantasy.  Before I drove to Ace Hardware, I found and put on an old double breasted suit, a white tie and a pair of sunglasses.

 

I looked a lot like this.

 

I drove to the hardware store, walked in and approached the first employee I could find.

 

He looked a lot like this.

“Can I help you?”  the hardware store clerk inquired.

“Yeah. Sure. Maybe,” I said.  “See, I got this problem.  I need to cut through a large piece of bone.”

“Bone?” the clerk asked.

“Yeah, bone,” I replied, looking around to make sure no one was eavesdropping.  “I never realized until very recently just how difficult it is to cut bone. My usual apparatus isn’t up to it,” I continued.  “You got any type of bone saw or something?”

“I – “

“You know, I figured a hacksaw would do, but if you got anything better, let me know.  I don’t mind paying for quality, if you know what I mean.”

Quality bone saws.

“I – I’m not sure we –“

“I bet you know what I mean. Know what I mean? Quality. Something I can hang onto just in case I need to cut through a couple of bones and I got a deadline and a car boot space problem, if you know what I mean. You do know what I mean, don’t you?”

By this point the nice gentleman was clearly upset and I was afraid he was going to run, so I laughed and told him I was kidding, and I told him the whole story about the huge piece of meat my wife bought on the internet and the bone I had to cut to reduce the size of the roast so it would fit my roasting pan.

And would you believe it? I ended up buying a genuine bone saw. They had one behind the counter in the back.

“I WISH IS COULD TALK IN TECHNICOLOR…”

 

I just watched a video of an ordinary 1950′s housewife take LSD.   Here is what she looked like:

Here is the link:

 

http://news.yahoo.com/s/yblog_thelookout/author-discovers-footage-of-50s-housewife-in-lsd-experiment;_ylt=Ap4VOiwZ343Im4WbTM5_Q9.s0NUE;_ylu=X3oDMTVkOGlzZ3VjBGFzc2V0A3libG9nX3RoZWxvb2tvdXQvMjAxMTAxMTgvYXV0aG9yLWRpc2NvdmVycy1mb290YWdlLW9mLTUwcy1ob3VzZXdpZmUtaW4tbHNkLWV4cGVyaW1lbnQEY2NvZGUDbW9zdHBvcHVsYXIEY3BvcwM5BHBvcwM2BHB0A2hvbWVfY29rZQRzZWMDeW5faGVhZGxpbmVfbGlzdARzbGsDZm9vdGFnZW9mNTBz

 

I’m not sure what to say.

HEADLINE – Toxic Waste Bars Have Hazardous Levels Of Lead, Recalled

LOS ANGELES –  Candy bars called “Toxic Waste Chew Bars” have been recalled because a sample lot was found to have high levels of lead – 0.24 parts per million, as opposed to the FDA tolerance of 0.1ppm.

“We clearly labeled those candy bars as Toxic Waste,” said Vinnie Slimp, Vice President of Marketing for Circle City Marketing and Distributors, producers of Toxic Waste Chew Bars.

Vinnie Slimp

“It states quite clearly on the wrapper that the ingredients include three kinds of lead, arsenic, dioxin, chromium 6, spent nuclear fuel and there is also a clear warning that the candy may contain traces of tree or ground nuts,” Slimp said.

“It isn’t our fault when someone ignores these clear warnings and actually eats that stuff,” Slimp concluded.

Circle City Marketing and Distributors  is also recalling  ”Deadly Poison Gum Drops” which they also produce and market.

Both Toxic Waste Chew Bars and Deadly Poison Gum Drops are manufactured in China.

Source: http://www.ecoworld.com/agriculture/toxic-candy-bars-recalled-for-lead-content.html

‘Tis the Season

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Many Americans shop for Christmas gifts using catalogues. At this time of year, my home mail box is stuffed-full with catalogues and brochures trying to sell me everything and anything.

And I do mean anything.  Here is one my wife pointed out today:

I would never buy this item. Ever. But the catalogue producers think someone will rush to get theirs before they are all gone, and I bet they have thousands of units on hand to meet the expected demand for vodka shot glasses featuring the pictures of four Russian leaders – and not even the most interesting ones.  I might think twice if I saw an advert for vodka shot glasses featuring the faces of Czar Nicholas, Ivan the Terrible and Joseph Stalin. Now those are vodka shot glasses I can appreciate, and I don’t even like vodka, but I would be too frightened not to drink it. But the glasses offered just don’t create any impulse for me to part with my hard earned cash. The thought of drinking out of a Boris Yeltsin glass actually makes me slightly nauseous.

When  I review catalogues featuring Christmas shlok I also am always on the look-out for the inevitable attempt to sell something via an inappropriate visual mechanism.  And today I wasn’t disappointed.  In a different catalogue I found an add for an “Tickle Me Elmo Extreme.”

Everyone knows what Elmo is: it is a cute doll with an infantile personality. Most recently, the “Tickle Me Elmo” version was a huge commercial success.

That version giggled with you tickled it.  How very cute.

But what on earth could be “extreme” about Elmo?  Take a look at the advertisement and see if you can’t determine the audience it is targeting and the prurient interest it is seeking to exploit for monetary profit:

 

Apparently, the “tickle me” theme has taken an extreme and somewhat dark detour.

Extreme tickle, indeed.

MY BLOG IN GERMAN!!

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THIRTY-FIVE people just used google to translate my blog into German:

http://translate.google.com/translate?hl=de&langpair=en%7Cde&u=http://paulboylan.wordpress.com/page/3/&twu=1

Überraschen! Unglaublich! Wunderbar! Es macht mich fühle wie ein kleines mädchen.

I hope it isn’t these people:

 

Studious and thoughtful Germans.

I would, however, welcome this fine individual being among them:

From the 2003 Berlin Love Parade.

Ich habe auf Beleidigen von meinem teutonischen Bruder und Schwestern nicht vor, aber wenn ich Zeit mit Ihnen verbringen muss, zu sein, bevorzugt ich dann, mit schönen Frauen. (Entschuldigen Sie bitte mich; mein Deutsch ist sehr, sehr schlecht. Fair dinkum.)

Headline – CAT GETS NEW HIGH TECH FEET

LONDON (Ass.Press) – A cat which lost both back paws after a traumatic accidentinvolving a combine harvester has regained a spring in its step after being fitted with state-of-the-art bionic prosthetic limbs, costing millions of dollars to develop and surgically install to the cat’s back stumps.

Meanwhile, the world economy is on the brink of collapse, the ecosystem of the earth’s oceans is about to crash and global climate change is happening at a faster rate than scientists ever anticipated, threatening untold millions with starvation as changing weather patterns disrupt expected rainfalls causing global crop failures to an extent never before experienced in human history.

“Yeah, but science can help a cat walk again. At least we have that,” said Dr. Stanley Putzdorf, the head of Distracting Studies at the Sam Houston Institute of Technology.

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HEADLINE – TESTICLE FESTIVAL HUGE SUCCESTICLE

Photographer: Karen Combs 2010

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OLEAN, MO. – The Olean Festival Commission has declared this year’s Testicle Festival to be most successful testicle festival in the 17 years that Olean has hosted a testicle festival. “Attendance this year broke all prior attendance records,” said Gunther Haas, the primary organizer of this year’s Testicle Festival. “People traveled from as far away as Henley to participate in the testicle themed festivities.”

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Good, clean testicle related fun.

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In addition to the many testicle related food items being offered, this year’s Testicle Festival featured a Testicle Festival Parade, a Testicle Festival Pancake Breakfast, with testicle shaped pancakes and free testicle shaped balloons for the kids, and a testicle eating contest.

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A number of testicle-themed rides and educational exhibits also contributed to this year’s Testicle Festival’s unprecedented success.

“We got a roller-coaster called the Testicle Express that is sure to give a thrill,” said Travis Jode, Honorary Mayor of Olean’s 17^th Annual Testicle Festival. “And for the kids we have a giant testicle you can walk through and learn all about testicles.”

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But the one thing that sets this year’s Testicle Festival apart from all other testicle festivals was the variety of testicles offered for consumption.

“Bull testicles are great,” said Sue Ellen Plavin, this year’s Testicle Queen.

“But you can get bull testicles at any testicle festival.  That’s where we’re different.  At the Olean Testicle Festival you can enjoy all sorts of testicles ranging from goat and sheep and pig and turkey to more exotic testes like squirrel, possum and frog, which I can tell you are simply delicious.  And I hear tell that somewhere around here you can score some kangaroo balls,” Plavin said and smiled. “I bet you can’t get kangaroo ‘nads at the Russelville Testicle Festival. No siree bob.”

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Good, clean testicle related fun.

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REMEMBERING THE 2000 SAG COMMERCIAL ACTORS STRIKE

If you are anything like me, then every so often – when the winter wind blows clean and fresh from the north – you are overcome by nolstagia for the halcyon days of the 2000 Screen Actors Guild Commercial Actors Strike.

Ah, those halcyon days! – when men selling things on television had to do without actors because actors who acted in television commercials wanted more money for their labor, but the major studios wouldn’t give them more money.  And so they went on strike.

Commercials got made and were broadcast without professional acting, and sometimes the results were simply wonderful.

The Discovery Channel used accounting and technical employees to act in a series of commercials that have since become legend, the first of which I feature below.

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AHHH!!!   THE ATMOSPHERE!!!!  AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!

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SNEAK PEEK: JAMES CAMERON’S AVATAR

PEOPLE OF EARTH has been granted a preview of James Cameron’s new film Avatar, the first block buster, high budget studio film shot in 3D.

James Cameron

Cameron’s prior films –  including Terminator, Aliens, the Abyss and True Lies – have been some of the biggest money making movies in cinematic history.  His prior film, Titanic, remains the largest grossing film of all time, earning a mind-boggling $2.8 billion.

Made a lot of money.

POE was offered a sneak preview of Avatar on the condition that no “spoilers” were provided to POE’s readers.  So I won’t be describing the film’s plot or revealing the surprise Hollywood dance routine ending, so I will restrict my review to one subject:

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Space Chicks, man!  This movie is all about Space Chicks!

Alien Space Chicks with tails!

So, go for the 3D.  Stay for the Space Chicks.

And for you ladies out there who, perhaps, are not as interested in Space Chicks, this film – like so many of Cameron’s prior films – is all about relationships – which makes it a chick flick.

A chick flick with Space Chicks!  What on earth could be better?

DEEP THOUGHTS: UPON MY MORTALITY

As some of you may have noticed, this column has been missing from you local newspaper for the last few months.  Let me tell you why.

I’ve spent my time away trying to put my life in perspective.  I am at that age when the days ahead are fated to be fewer than the days behind.

Younger men don’t worry about time running out.  Boys are always blind to their own mortality and, as a consequence, they rarely think ahead.  Deep down, young men just don’t believe they are ever going to die, and so they live from day to day, moment to moment. They drive fast, live fast, and – like my son – waste huge amounts of time playing video games instead of looking for a job.

But the older a man get, the more he begins to see the world differently.  He tends to begin slowing down when he drives because he knows how easy and suddenly it can all end.  And, more often than not, he begins leaving the turn signal on.

And even if he remembers to turn the turn signal off, he cannot help but realize his time on this earth is limited.  He begins to see himself as Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, trapped in the Wicked Witch’s castle as the sands within the big hourglass slowly run out.

Okay, not exactly like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.  Older men don’t see themselves as teenage girls.  Some may, but I truly believe that most do not.  I am not saying there is anything wrong with it.  If a guy wants to be a teenage girl from Kansas that’s his business.  But, if so, I certainly hope he keeps it to himself.  Don’t ask, don’t tell. That’s my motto when it comes to such things.

The less said about it the better.

I admit I am being a bit selfish in not wanting to hear about any Dorothy fantasies, but I have enough problems dealing with a sudden sense of encroaching mortality to manage the social awkwardness that would surely follow if any guy I know tells me in confidence that he wishes he was a girl from Kansas who befriended a talking scare crow, a lion and a tin woodsman, whatever that is.  I mean, really, what IS a tin woodsman?  Ever see one?  Not me.

But I digress.  The point is that the older a man gets, the more he sees the days of his life as sands running through an hourglass.  And that is what happened to me.

So as I enter the last phase of my time on this planet, I spent some of that time reevaluating how I spend my time.  After careful reflection, I concluded I use my time poorly – especially the time I spend writing.

Most of what I write is, in all honesty, kind of silly.  For example, just look at my most recent article about homosexuals. Who really cares which homosexuals I favor and which ones I disapprove of – like that awful Rosie O’Donnell?  I mean, seriously, Rosie O’Donnell’s celebrity and resulting wealth is proof that there is something fundamentally wrong with the universe.

Rosie O’Donnell’s mere existence causes me to ask questions I never, ever asked before. Every time I see or hear Rosie O’Donnell I ask myself “what kind of a God would shape reality to include Rosie O’Donnell?  Can a truly loving God do such a thing?  And if so, why?  Why would the Ruler of the Universe say to himself  “I, the Creator of Everything, the Prime Mover, have decided to begin a chain of events that will result in the rise of a really, really annoying lesbian who will, in addition to being fat will also be a slob, and yea, verily, she will have her own talk show.”

I just can’t accept that God would do such a thing. The very concept of Rosie O’Donnell has upset me so much that, out of spiritual desperation, I consulted with my priest, Father Stavros.  I asked him “Father, if God loves us so, why did God send Rosie O’Donnell to live among us?”

Father Stavros is a wise, old man with a long beard and a funny hat.  Well, it looks funny if you aren’t Greek Orthodox.  To us, it looks fine.  But, to those of different faiths, the hats Greek priests wear can look sort of weird and their names can be difficult to pronounce.  I knew a priest named Father Papahartogeorgoudisfylakakopoulos. I felt bad for the guy.

Father Papahartogeorgoudisfylakakopoulos

 

Well, Father Stavros (who’s last name is thankfully easy to pronounce) listened to me and then said “maybe God put Rosie O’Donnell on earth to test the faithful.”

But I digress.  The point I am trying to make is that I have spent the last few months reevaluating my life, and have decided that, if I am going to continue writing this column, I need to concentrate on more important things.  Our world and our nation are facing dark times.  I want to make a difference.

So get ready, People of Earth, for the greatest and most meaningful series of articles you have ever experienced.

I will begin by exploring the hidden wonders and important parables for our times revealed through professional Mexican wrestling.

I CHANGE MY MIND ABOUT STARGATE UNIVERSE

I know I’ve been fairly critical of Stargate Universe.

I’ve complained about how it is too much soap opera

and not enough space opera.

but…

I am watching the latest episode of SG-U and I just got to the part where that guy from the spaceship switched bodies with the Lou Diamond Philips character and went back to his wife and she took him back and they were getting busy and then the body transfer reversed for a moment and that guy from the spaceship was back on board the spaceship and the Lou Diamond Philips guy was under the other guys wife and then the body transfer kicked back in and the first guy was under his wife again – and his wife was acting like she never got it that way before – which has to make her husband (the guy from the spaceship) fell a bit awkward – and the Lou Diamond Philips guy was back on on earth and asks “what the hell just happened?”

The Lou Diamond Philips character.

It was great!  I love this show now!

And there is even a chance fat nerd may score with the Senator’s drunk daughter!

The dead Senator's daughter.

The fat guy and an asian chick.

It’s back on. Gotta run-

HALLOWEEN AT MY PLACE

Culturally speaking, the United States has contributed two things to the world – popular barbecue and Halloween.

Why not both at the same time?

By “popular” I mean widespread.  No people on earth have popularized cooking outdoors over live fire the way we Americans have. For a more serious discussion, please click here. l

Considered good eating in Perth.

By “Halloween” I mean an unabashed annual celebration of the spooky.

Other cultures celebrate death.  They do it in China. They do it in Mexico.  But those celebrations are essentially spiritual and/or religious.  But not Halloween.  Halloween has nothing to do with the spiritual. It has nothing to do with religion.  It has everything to do with fun.

Every year on October 31st – when the wall between the worlds is thinnest and most easily crossed – kids and adults dress up in costumes and, when it gets dark, they go door to door essentially begging for candy – which they receive in large, monstrous handfuls.

This completely non religious festival is becoming part of the international scene.  American style Halloween is now celebrated all over the world.

Halloween in Costa Rica

Halloween in Singapore

My favorite expression of this spread is Sandra’s haunted balcony in Hamburg, Germany.

It makes sense that the Germans in particular would embrace Halloween.

Admirable Teutonic exuberance.

But I digress.  I am here to tell you – to show you – what Halloween is like here in Northern California in the small town where I live.

For me Halloween began with a knock on my door early in the morning.  My neighbor and his son came by to ask is they could install a portal into a dimension of evil in my front yard.  My lawn was destroyed when my home was remodeled, so I figured, heck, when would there be a better time to have a portal into a dimension of evil installed in my front yard?

A hole was dug.

The device was installed.

While my neighbors tinkered with the field densities between the universes, a flock of wild turkeys strolled down my street foraging and decided to spend some time on a roof at the end of the block.

It was a good omen.

I decided to carve a pumpkin, but the pumpkin bin at my local market was somewhat bare with slim pickings left.

Nevertheless, I was able to find a reasonably decent pumpkin and was able to exercise the minimal artistic talent every American is born with and which is useful only for carving faces in pumpkins.

The dirt from the hole that housed the portal into the dimension of evil made a couple of fine impromptu graves.

All we had to do was wait for darkness and some unsuspecting Trick or Treaters.

Actual Trick or Treaters who came to my door.

I went out and bought candy to give away to the little boys and gouls who would come to my door that evening.

In addition to the usual treats, I included in my selection the very finest fake glow in the dark sour worms I could find.

The perfect Halloween treat.

And then it was time to get our collective freak on.

The device in my front yard worked nicely.  I had a switch inside the house that triggered the device whenever someone rang the door bell, causing much shouting and the occasional scream.

It was a most satisfying Halloween.  But I’m beginning to wonder if that portal is going to harm the value of my property.

 

WHY I TEACH (IN FRANCE)

As many of you know, I am more than just an attorney.

In addition to being an amateur gas dynamics engineer, cheese fermentation expert and an antique podiatry tool enthusiast, once a year I travel to France to teach negotiations to law and business students at the University of Poitiers.  I am leaving at the end of this week to do it again.

On first impression, it seems like a bad idea.  It takes a few weeks to prepare my lectures.  My classes last two weeks. Together, this means I must put my legal practice on hold for a month or more.  The University of Poitiers pays me a little for my efforts, but it doesn’t make up for the income I lose during that month.

In addition to an income drop, I feel a profound sense of isolation when I am in France.

I don’t speak much French (my students are from all over the world and my classes are taught in English).  Poitiers is off the beaten path for English speaking people, which means that, for the most part, my time in France is very lonely. Sometimes I find myself asking directions to destinations I know just for the interaction.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I cannot locate the train station on my map."

And then there is the weight problem.  Every time I teach in France, I come home weighing 10 pounds more.

French food tastes great and, frankly, when I am there I eat a lot of it.

You have no idea how good it is.

So why do I do it? Why not teach closer to home and avoid loneliness, jet lag, weight gain and income loss?  Well, I tried that but I didn’t like it very much because my American law students were just too darned lazy.

The L1 class I taught at Harvard

Over these years I’ve experimented with many teaching methods.  I’ve discovered that the best way to teach negotiations is through lectures combined with exercises where groups of students practice negotiating.  This method works extremely well to teach negotiations theory and practice.  However, my American students constantly complained about it. They grumbled about the effort the exercises require and repeatedly asked: “why don’t you just give us the answers?”

None of my foreign law or business students ever asked for easy answers. None of them ever complained about the amount of effort it takes to learn how to negotiate effectively.  All of them are in class on time and participate enthusiastically – and they do it in a foreign language: English.  A big reason why I go to France to teach – and am willing to experience sleep deprivation, weigh-gain, income loss and isolation – is because I prefer teaching non-American students.  I wish it weren’t true, but they are just better students.

There is another reason why I travel so far to teach. I believe that the American Empire is in decline. In addition to being an amateur gas dynamics engineer, cheese fermentation expert, antique podiatry tool enthusiast and a teacher, I am also a student of history – and history shows that the great empires of the world declined and atrophied when their governments became so corrupt that they became unable to solve even simple problems.  It happened to Imperial Persia. It happened to Imperial Rome. It happened to Imperial China. It happened to Imperial Brittan.

And it is happening to us.  Lobbyists for special interests are so influential that our local, regional and national elected officials cannot get anything meaningful done.  For example, there is no question that our health care system needs fixing. We spend more for less than even some Third World nations. But there is no chance our health care system will be fixed because there are too many people making money off of the system, and they are using this money – billions and billions of dollars – to pay lobbyists to buy politicians who work hard to keep thing exactly the way they are.

The same is true for any number of important, pressing problems. Name it: if it is important and pressing, nothing will be done about it.  There will be plenty of talk and maybe a law or two will be enacted, but nothing will change and the problem will definitely not be remedied. Our political system is corrupt, the corruption cannot be fixed, and so we have no chance of effectively solving the important problems facing our nation.  Our standard of living is falling. Our international power is slowly slipping away.

However, where we are falling, I believe that Europe [lead by France, Germany and Britain] is rising.  I am included in the faculty of one of the oldest and best universities in Europe.  My students will be decision makers in business, law and government. In my own small way, I am trying to influence these new Masters of the Earth.  When they are voting on treaties and drafting trade agreements that will affect American lives, I want them to remember Professor Boylan and, hopefully, judge Americans more kindly than they would have if not for my example.

I realize this sounds simplistic, even hubristic, probably illusory. But it is why I do it.

And so, once again, I will be tolerating the many indignities of international travel.

I will rent a car in Paris and make the 3 hour drive down the A-10 past Orleans, past Tours to Poitiers. That night I will have dinner (salad, duck, a glass of wine and profiteroles for dessert) at Le Serrurier, my favorite café.

Let the weight gain begin.

“YOU LIE!”

JOE WILSON AND THE AMERICAN WAY

I want to talk to you about Joe Wilson, the guy who heckled Barak Obama by yelling “you lie!” when the president was addressing a joint session of congress.

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He looks retarded, but he is more than that.

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The liberal media has expressed extreme outrage over this incident, accusing Wilson of being everything from a boorish idiot to a racist.

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Victim of the liberal media

Don’t let that outrage fool you. What Wilson did is no big deal – especially when viewed through the lens of American history.  A congressman yelling “you lie!” at the president during a presentation to congress is not only a trivial event, the event itself fits well within the American traditions of political free speech.

The American Way

To begin with, allow me to remind you what it means to be an American.  More than anything else, being an American means having the constitutional right to speak your mind.  Many Americans take this important freedom for granted.  But those outside our great nation know how special and precious it is. During the great wave of immigration that took place near the beginning of the 20^th Century – the time my Greek ancestors came to this country – immigrants wrote home saying that the streets of American cities were “paved with gold.”

In a literal sense this wasn’t true.  But to people escaping tyranny, oppression and poverty, the freedoms and opportunities that came with merely walking on American soil were priceless.  Where they came from, no matter how hard they worked they could never hope for a better life for their children.  In America, men and women who are willing to work hard can shape their own futures.  In their homelands, these immigrants could be arrested and imprisoned for saying the wrong thing.  But in America they could argue in the streets and express their opinions freely.

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What the liberal media wants us to forget is that the right of free speech includes the right to get angry.  When Joe Wilson interrupted the President of the United States by shouting “you lie!” Citizen Joe was merely exercising his rights as an American and was taking part in a tradition that spans our nation’s noble history.

The American Founding Fathers were notoriously cranky, rude, angry men who openly hated each other.  Benjamin Franklin hated Thomas Paine. Thomas Paine hated George Washington. George Washington hated all French intellectuals – who, in a very real sense, gave birth to the American Revolution.

Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr hated each other so much they fought a duel – and Burr killed Hamilton with a bullet that pierced Hamilton’s liver.  Thomas Jefferson – the man given credit with drafting the American Declaration of Independence – made loud, unmistakable noises simulating flatulence – often using his hand and armpit – every time he encountered his political rival John Adams.  Adams never hesitated to accuse Jefferson of “preferring the company of young boys” and of stealing the design for the swivel chair from Nathaniel Swivel, a Boston furniture maker and brewer.

Nathaniel Swivel

As our republic grew and matured, so did the salty nature of American political discourse.  Martin Van Buren – our 8^th president – and the first American president born in the United States – won the 1832 election in a landslide.  But the Whig Party (now defunct) despised Van Buren and refused to recognize his legitimacy.  They spread rumors that he was born in Holland and that he was secretly a Quaker.

Quaker

In conjunction with this rumor campaign, the Whigs engaged in a rhetorical attack utilizing misleading vocabulary. For example, Winfield Scott – a Whig Party organizer – gave a speech in Buffalo, New York accusing Van Buren of vague charges that no one understood but everyone believed.  Scott is quoted as saying:

“In addition to the many crimes Martin Van Buren has committed against the American people as a whole – nay humanity – perhaps most disturbing, if not revolting, is the indisputable fact that Van Buren is a notorious masticator.   Reliable sources close to Van Buren – if that is his real name – confirm that he masticates at least three times a day, often in the presence of his wife. As monstrous as this may seem, Van Buren has also been known to vacillate on numerous occasions.  I put it to you that, not only is Van Buren a vacillator AND a masticator, he vacillates WHILE he masticates! The man has practiced vacillation and chronic mastication ever since he was a small child in Holland!”

These Whig tactics worked: the public turned against Van Buren, with many refusing to shake his hand for fear of where it may have been.  Whig congressmen and senators began pelting Van Buren with rotten vegetables whenever he spoke publically. The threat of violence became so pronounced that Van Buren would carry two loaded pistols whenever he addressed congress.

Packing heat

More recently, Republicans unhappy with Franklin Delano Roosevelt – a polio victim confined to a wheel chair – accused Roosevelt of being born in Norway and of secretly being a Free Mason. They would yell “cripple!” and “gimp!” during Roosevelt’s State of the Union addresses, pretending that they were sneezing.

He killed and ate this child.

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So, when seen through the lens of history, Joe Wilson’s yelling, “you lie!” at Obama during the the President’s State of the Union Address, or Arizona Governor Jan Brewer jabbing her finger into the President’s face while yelling at him, or even a reporter heckling Obama during a press conference, it really isn’t very important.

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This never happened when a white president was giving a speech.

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This would never happen to a white president, and never has.

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Perhaps they feel free to disrespect him because he isn’t white, so he can’t really be the president, so they don’t owe him any respect.

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 It is just part of the American way.

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HEADLINE – Ugandan gorillas join Facebook

Endangered Ugandan gorillas join Facebook, MySpace

By Rhappi Khanasta, Ass. Press Writer – Sat Sep 26, 10:53 am ET

KAMPALA, Uganda – Around 340 mountain gorillas — nearly half of the 740 remaining worldwide — have joined Facebook, Myspace and Twitter in an attempt to live it up before the end.

“I figured, what the hell?” explains M’bitah, a male silverback weighing 400 pounds (180 kilograms) who lives in Uganda’s lush Bwindi Impenetrable Forest National Park. “Maybe I can hook up with a willing female and have a little fun before I am shot, killed and eaten,” M’bitah said.

Despite their size — a male silverback can reach over 7 feet (2.1 meters) — the gorillas are threatened by poachers who kill them for meat, farmers and charcoal-burners who encroach on their habitat, and the indiscriminate bullets of rebels on the run.

“We Mountain Gorillas will probably be eaten into extinction within a year or two,” said Kampanga, a female adult mountain gorilla. “But I just got friended by five people on Facebook and 28 people responded to my tweet about scratching my stomach,” she said. “How cool is that?”

“We support efforts to include gorillas within internet based social networks,” said N’kita “Ernie” Ruzigandekwa, President and former Treasurer for the Ugandan Bush Meat Advisory Board, a nonprofit, corporate sponsored interest group that promotes eating gorillas. “The Ugandan mountain gorilla is an elusive creature that is much, much easier to sneak up on when concentrating on updating their Facebook profile,” Ruzigandekwa said.

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MY FAVORITE HOMOSEXUALS

Today I couldn’t help but notice homosexuals all over the place.

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I noticed three homosexuals while I watched television as I made coffee for my wife. I saw half a dozen more as I drove my son to school. I saw another two or three in the supermarket where I stopped to buy milk on my way back home. And, when I parked outside my house, I waved to Ted, my gay neighbor, as he was leaving his house to go to work.

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My gay neighbor, Ted.

We chatted a bit and both agreed that the weather was fabulous for this time of year.

It wasn’t always this way.  At one time, not so long ago, I could go for months without encountering a homosexual or even noticing one on the street. Other than Richard Simmons, you almost never saw one on TV.

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Richard Simmons. Very gay.

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But things have changed.  The media today seems jam-packed with homosexuals – both real and imaginary. For example, on the television show Will and Grace, Eric McCormack – a fine, upstanding heterosexual actor – plays the part of a homosexual lawyer.

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Eric McCormack: not gay.

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While on the television show How I Met Your Mother Neil Patrick Harris, who is gay, plays the part of Barney, who isn’t.

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Neil Patrick Harris: totally gay.

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(Harris also played the part of Doogie Howser, which disturbs me.  Somehow I cannot accept that Doogie is gay.)

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What the hell?

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It wasn’t always this way.  In the old days, you could go your whole life without noticing a homosexual.  You could be in the middle of a crowd without realizing you were surrounded by them. Your best friends could have been gay – and probably were – but you would never have known it because they did everything they could to look, sound, dress and live like heterosexuals.  And they were pretty good at it.  Some – like Senator Larry Craig – got married and even had kids just to avoid anyone knowing they were gay. You gotta admire that kind of effort.

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Republican Senator Larry Craig.   Imagine the effort.

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But now it seems that more and more homosexuals go out of their way to appear “gay” by embodying gay stereotypes.  I see lesbians every day with short hair, often wearing bandanas on their heads, dressed in flannel shirts, wearing extra-long baggy cargo/plaid/khaki shorts and walking in Doc Martins or Birkenstocks.

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(If you are a woman and I just described what you look like, and you are not gay, I’m sorry, but it isn’t my fault: you look like a lesbian).

Every day I see effeminate, lisping, mincing, fastidious, fashion-forward, musical theater loving guys who “simply adore” Betty Davis, and who go out of their way to demonstrate that they throw like a girl. (“Here! Catch!  Don’t I throw like a girl?”)

But I am not one to judge.  I mean that in a literal sense.  I tried it, and I was a terrible judge.  I couldn’t really accept the whole “innocent until proven guilty” slogan.  I mean, if the accused might be innocent, then why were they in jail?  They must have done something wrong, right?  When I found out judges are supposed to be “impartial” I realized I am not one to judge.

Not as easy as it looks.

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Neither am I here to debate the issue.  I am not here to say whether the advent of open homosexuality is good or bad.  The last thing I want to do is get involved in a argument over whether homosexuality is a naturally occurring condition – like red hair and freckles – or a mental disease like acute schizophrenia that can be treated with intensive psychotherapy or drugs or even institutionalization.

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As far as I am concerned, both positions have merit, but I don’t want to get involved.

In all honesty, there is a limit to my ability to embrace this brave new world.  I feel I speak for many heterosexuals when I say that there is a certain “ick” factor associated with the concept, if not the practice, of homosexuality.

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We heterosexuals are trying to keep open minds, but we are wired this way and cannot help finding the picture below sort of unsettling on a visceral level.

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And let’s not forget the problems inherent in the persistent argument that the gay lifestyle is an abomination in the eyes of God.  I mean, Leviticus 18:23 really complicates the whole discussion, doesn’t it?

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Repressed homosexual (the one holding the signs).

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But I digress.  The point I am trying to make is that there are lots of homosexuals out there and I might as well point out the ones I like.  Here is a quick list of the homosexuals I approve of:

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Ellen DeGeneres:

Ellen is American’s Gay Sweetheart.

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She is smart.  She is funny.   She replaced Paula Abdul on American Idol.

When you see Ellen it is easy to overlook that she prefers to have sex with women.

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Karl Rove:

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Karl is one of my favorite homosexuals because he defeats the gay stereotype that male homosexuals are fastidious, well groomed and fashionable.  He does this by being fat and sloppy.  Snap! You go, Karl!

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And, to give balance to this column, my least favorite homosexuals are….

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Elton John:

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Elton hasn’t had a hit for years and that thing on his head is clearly a toupee.  Come on, Elton: spend the money.

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Rosie O’Donnell:

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I detest Rosie O’Donnell.  She is a loud-mouthed, annoying, pompous, self-important, corpulent idiot.  She discredits all homosexuals – especially the fat, ugly ones.

Well, that’s it for my thoughts on homosexuality.  I think I’ll have a beer and watch High School Musical. That show is totally gay.

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SARAH PALIN AND THE GOP RENAISSANCE – Part 3

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It has been a while since I’ve appeared here. During my absence I’ve paid close attention to the increasingly hostile national debate that is now focused on health care reform. The way the topic is being debated reinforces my belief the Republican Party is poised for renaissance and that Sarah Palin is key to the GOP’s rebirth.

As I’ve said, I am not addressing these comments to everyone out there who considers themselves conservative Republicans.  As I’ve explained previously, over the last 30 years the term “conservative Republican” has become warped and twisted to include people that hold positions contrary to what the GOP has historically championed.

Considers himself a conservative, and is probably a registered Republican

Let me make it simple:  if you believe that Barak Obama can’t be president because he was born in Kenya, or if you think Obama’s health care reform proposals are similar to anything Hitler did,  then stop reading.

Yeah. You. Stop reading. It will only make your brain hurt.

Go watch Glenn Beck on Fox.

Proof there is a flaw in the First Amendment.

Enjoy yourself.

But stop reading this. You lack the intellectual and/or emotional capacity and/or stability to join the effort to fix what is broken and to help guide the GOP back to national prominence.

I am writing to conservative Republicans who, like me, reluctantly supported Obama because a McCain win that included Palin as his Vice President was too horrifying to event think about.

I am writing to you out there who are watching with equal horror as crazy people disrupt town hall meetings – and then are interviewed on cable news.

I am here to tell you not to worry. The screaming crazies are part of a chain of events that will transform the GOP from its current status as a “rump” political party into a new and stronger national force.  And Sarah Palin is the key to this rebirth.

But before that can happen, we need to admit some basic truths – like the undeniable fact that crazy, stupid people have taken over the GOP.

Ronald Reagan invited them in.

We need to recognize that this was a mistake.

Republican candidates lose votes every time some middle-aged fat, poorly dressed woman screams “I want my country back!” at a nationally televised town hall meeting or some wild-eyed attorney (who is also a dentist and real estate agent) demonizes Obama by comparing him to Joseph Stalin or Adolf Hitler and calls for the army to revolt against our national government.

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She really said that (the one in the middle).

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When John McCain chose Sarah Palin as his running mate, he did so with the hopes of pleasing social conservatives/fundamentalist.  He succeeded.

They flocked to McCain/Palin rallies where they did what they always do at their local school board meetings, city council meetings and county board of supervisor meetings – they screamed and shook their fists in anger.  They demonized their opponents.  They proudly proclaimed their intellectual, educational and worldly ignorance.

Palin encouraged this because she was and is, essentially, a small town politician. She did what she knows, and that included saying and doing really dumb things, and then lying about it.  She pretended to be moral when her record revealed entrenched corruption.  She exploited her Down Syndrome baby because that plays well to small town crowds.

Small town crowds just adore retarded babies.

Plays GREAT in Wasilla!

A photo op at home!

Possibly the most exploited child in America. I'm not saying they should be ashamed of him or hide him. I am saying they actively exploited that poor kid.

I take that back. These were the most exploited children in America. Remember: marriage is a sacred institution between two unwilling teenagers.

But it did not play well to the national American audience.  McCain, to his credit, tried to manage the damage, but it was too late. Palin gave the crazies a reason, a platform, a place to do their crazy political thing in front of the whole world.

And that is why McCain lost. Although he is a true conservative, he had no choice but to choose Palin as his running mate because the GOP is dependent on the lunatic fringe’s money and support in the same way a drug addict is dependent on his or her supplier.  But when moderate conservatives saw the lunatics screaming at Palin rallies, McCain lost the moderate vote, which lost him the election.

Don't think it didn't hurt.

Don't think it doesn't still hurt. Don't you understand? The GOP left us no choice.

Palin’s resignation as Alaska’s governor freed her to reach out to the crazies who support her.  In essence, she is forming a new political party.

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Traditional conservatives should welcome this.  The crazies need a place to go – and stay.  They are welcomed to exert local and regional influence, but, if the GOP has a chance of returning to national prominence, the crazies cannot be allowed to hijack  the national debate.

Palin will continue saying outrageous things that the media cannot resist reporting.

Each time this happens, more and more screaming crazies will join her organization. Close to the next election, Palin will approach the GOP leadership – probably at the national convention – and try to make a deal. She will offer money and support in exchange for influence behind the scenes on the national stage.

We need to say no.  If we accept the deal, we will be repeating the mistake Reagan made, which will alienate the moderate votes we need to regain the White House and majorities in congress.  We need to say no when the devil comes again to our door with promises of power in exchange for just a little bit of our soul.

Yeah, its a little like this.

It won’t be easy. Politicians often cannot resist the lure of easy money or the promise of guaranteed votes. But if our Republican leaders can resist this temptation, then the GOP will again become the voice of and for the American majority.

HEADLINE – MICHAEL JACKSON’S MOTHER LOSES CONTROL OF ESTATE

By Rhapee Kanasta, Ass. Press Reporter

Today at the Neverland Ranch, Michael Jackson’s pet German Sheppard, Estate, slipped his leash and knocked down a child, shocking fans and paparazzi alike.

“It all happened so fast,” said Jackson’s mother, Katherine, who was  out walking the dog when the incident occurred.  “Michael’s Estate was behaving just fine, but when he saw that little boy, he got all excited, broke free, ran over, and began humping his leg.”

“Estate is a dog who loves children,” said Vinny Slimp, spokesperson for Estate. “It is believed that he is compensating for his deep feelings of not experiencing a happy puppyhood. He has been trying to make up for that ever since.”

“I am not sure what the humping is all about,” Slimp continued, “but I am sure it can be traced to trauma Estate experienced when, as a puppy, Joe Jackson – Michael’s father – forced Estate to perform tricks and left him alone for long periods of time with adult men.”

The dog is scheduled to be euthanized on July 8, 2009.

THE 100,000 MARK

I’ve passed my 100,000^th visitor. I know that 100,000 is a drop in the bucket for you uber bloggers out there,  but is it even smaller than that.  When you look at the kinds of google searches that lead people to my site, the following  search terms are the ones that keep bringing people to this page:

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Smiley - 53,424

 

 

 

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Smiley face – 20,013

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Sarah Palin – 11,301

 

 

 

 

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Sarah Palin nude – 3,175

 

 

 

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Martin Van Buren  - 1,007

 

 

 

 

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Martin Van Buren nude – 1,005

 

 

 

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Katie Couric cleavage – 728

 

 

 

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Redneck -366

 

 

 

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Stupid people – 359

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Oops – 254

 

 

 

 

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Steampunk office – 249

 

 

 

 

 

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Mean smiley – 208

 

 

 

 

 

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Morons eating pie – 119

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Jews in the news – 103

 

 

 

 

 

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Taye Diggs Wife – 99

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Beastiality – 97

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I very much appreciate the 10 or 20 people that seem to habitually drop by. But the vast majority of those visiting here pass through looking for something else (pics of nude politicians) or land here utterly by mistake (‘oops”).

I’m not complaining – just grooving on the goofiness of the whole thing.

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