Kurt Busch Is An Asshole

So is Roger Penske.

I know. That's not news. What IS news is that NASCAR has announced that Kurt Busch will not be suspended for his little attempt to maim a jack-man.

Oh, they fined him 100 driver points and $100,000, and put him on probation for the remainder of the season. And gee, they also took 100 owner points away from Penske. But no suspension.

Their murky bullshit logic is that he sat out for the remainder of the Dover race, so he's already served something akin to a suspension. That's interesting rationalizing, except for the fact that his car was wrecked, so he wasn't going to be out on the track anyway.

But what's a pesky detail like that, when Kurt Busch got away scot-free with putting a man's life in danger? No, no, I don't want to hear the bullshit about the driver points and monetary fine. Those will teach Kurtsey nothing. He's a multi-millionaire, and the number of points lost wasn't sufficient to put him in a hole he can't climb out of.

So congratulations, Kurt. You are the new standard-bearer for what's acceptable behavior in NASCAR.

And you, Roger Penske... Shame, shame, SHAME on you. If you were any kind of owner, and any kind of man, you would have told Kurt to quit whining and suck it up. But instead, you went and sucked some NASCAR Honcho dick; begged, pleaded, threatened, cajoled, until they gave your sniveling, whiny ass its way. You must be so proud.

Loser.

NASCAR has a long and storied history of, um... differences of opinion between the various players. That sometimes led to such outcomes as fist fights in the garage. Hell, there was even a chick-fight last season, when Kurt Busch wrecked Greg Biffle at Texas Motor Speedway, and Biffle's woman went after Busch's. (Okay, that was some funny shit.)

But none of those scuffles, past or present, involved some psychotic mother-fucker trying to kill the jack-man. It's unprecedented in the sport.

And more to the point, NASCAR is changing. It's not strictly the province of redneck yahoos anymore. NASCAR has two choices: They can reject the new fans, and the shitload of cash that comes with them. Or they can embrace them, and understand that 85% of the fans thought Bat Ears Busch deserved a suspension.

The fans have a choice as well. We can actively work to change the sport, or we can stop following NASCAR. The big-titted secretary is in favor of everyone raising a united voice to take NASCAR in the direction it needs to go. I'm more inclined to tell them to kiss my hairy brown ass.

I guess since she's the one who does my typing for me, she wins. Wench.

Still, let's not gloss over what's really at issue here.



Jason Lee, crouched on the hood of a car, is what this is all about. Work to change NASCAR all you want, Little Miss Big Tits. But don't forget this incident when Kurt finally gets around to killing somebody.

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The Idiots At NASCAR

Seriously. The Powers That Be at NASCAR are either stupid, crazy, or on the take. There's no other explanation for what's going on.

Kurt Busch and Tony Stewart got into it at Dover. They were racing each other hard, and during a pass, they both ended up in the wall.

That's nothing new. Those two always race each other hard. Busch wrecked Stewart at Daytona this year, and they've had a few other less serious skirmishes along the way as well.

Both parties say the other is at fault. Looking at all the different camera angles, I'm inclined to say it's on Busch, or rather, on Busch's spotters. It's pretty obvious that he wasn't quite clear of Stewart when he headed back to the top.

Busch says Stewart should have given him some room, to which I say, "Bullshit."

But like most incidents of this nature, they should have scowled at each other, made some snarky comments to the press, and let it go. Problem is, Kurt Busch wouldn't. He pulled up beside Tony Stewart's car on pit road, lightly grazing it and almost hitting Stewart's jack-man.

Yes, you heard that right. If Jason Lee, who was inspecting the damage to Stewart's car when Busch came barreling in, hadn't seen him coming and jumped over the right front corner of the car, he would no longer be amongst the quick.

NASCAR made Busch sit out the rest of the race, and you can read what Stewart and his crew had to say about the incident here.

(Calling Busch a "bad apple" is kind of mild. I wish he'd ended up being called "found in the desert, bound and gagged, with a jack up his ass" instead. But I digress.)

So now, NASCAR is contemplating what penalty to issue Kurt Busch. Normally they would have made an announcement by now, but the race was rain-delayed until Monday, delaying the post-race meeting. Also, Bill France, the "father of modern NASCAR," passed away Sunday, and the focus of many in NASCAR was his pending memorial service. (Rest in peace, Bill.)

Anyway, NASCAR said they'd be announcing Busch's penalty late tonight. But they backed off on that, and now it's to be announced on Friday. The rumors on the internet are that he will be suspended for one race.

One race? ONE FUCKING RACE?!?! That better not be all he gets. To put this in perspective, take a look at this photo:



See that poor bastard on the hood of Stewart's car? He got there because he saw Busch coming, JUMPED FROM THE SIDE OF THE CAR WHERE HE WAS EXAMINING SHEET METAL DAMAGE TO THE FRONT OF THE CAR, then leapt up on the hood to shake his fist at Kurt Busch. (Congratulations to Tony Stewart's entire crew for exercising restraint. Well done, gentlemen.)

Busch could have killed Jason Lee. Or crushed his legs and made him a double amputee. If this incident happened in the Kroger parking lot, someone would be going to jail for assault or attempted murder. But it's NASCAR, so it only merits a one-race suspension? What the fuck?!?!

There are also rumors that the reason NASCAR is delaying the announcement about Busch's penalty is because Roger Penske, who swings a pretty big stick in the sport, is trying to talk them into an even lighter punishment than one race. If that's true, all I can say is, Penske is no Jack Roush. He - not NASCAR - parked Kurt Busch for two races for getting lippy with the cops after he was pulled over for speeding and suspected drunk driving.

Way to go, Jack. Roger could learn something from you.

Of course, it's also possible that it's the other way around: That Penske asked for more time, in order to assuage the #2 car's sponsor, Miller Lite. If that's the case, I hope they don't back down, and demand that Penske do something even if NASCAR won't.

Personally, I'm in favor of a lifetime ban. But I know that's not gonna happen. So how about a suspension for the rest of the season? Or maybe a six-race suspension, a multi-million dollar fine, 500 driver points, and an apology to Jason Lee?

Please, NASCAR... Don't treat this like it was no big deal. Because it WAS a big deal. Kurt Busch has amply demonstrated that he is a tragedy waiting to happen

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ODD - Now I've Officially Heard It All

ODD stands for Oppositional Defiance Disorder. You can read about it here.

You might want to wear a neck brace so you don't get whiplash from shaking your head so much.

Here's a partial list of symptoms from the American Academy of Child & Adolescent Psychiatry website:

- frequent temper tantrums
- excessive arguing with adults
- active defiance and refusal to comply with adult requests and rules
- deliberate attempts to annoy or upset people
- blaming others for his or her mistakes or misbehavior
- often being touchy or easily annoyed by others
- frequent anger and resentment
- mean and hateful talking when upset
- seeking revenge

Somebody correct me if I'm wrong, but back in the day before everything was classified as a "syndrome" or "disorder," weren't kids like this referred to by a much simpler and more accurate term?

Oh, yes, I remember it now. They were called "spoiled brats."

Interestingly, ODD (what a great acronym!) only appears to affect children with crappy parents and children with weird parents. The normal, middle class families with two parents in the home seem to be able to get through childhood without being diagnosed with ODD, ADD, ADHD, borderline personality disorder, depression, or any other neuroses or psychoses.

I first heard of this ODD shit because part of my mission is to scour the internet for crazy stuff to make fun of. I stumbled upon a heart-wrenching tale of an only child whose parents are older, and proudly self-proclaimed non-conformists. They compare teachers and administrators at a school to the masters on a slave plantation.

This, of course, leads little Bratley to exercise a unique brand of non-conformism at school against the oppressors - defying them at every turn. That results in such interesting outcomes as the parents asking for "enrichment" work for Bratley, under the pretext that the spoiled brat behavior means their little precious darling isn't being "challenged."

I see a happy ending in this kid's future, either as a school shooter or a serial killer.

It's nice that some folks have the luxury of going "disorder shopping" to explain away their piss-poor parenting techniques. Unfortunately, by the time it's a full-blown "disorder," it is too late to fix it.

But here are some helpful hints from the Danny A. Moose Foundation For Brat Prevention anyway:

- Learn to say no, and mean it.
- Don't hesitate to give your kid a good spanking when he/she is out of control.
- Don't argue with your child. You are the parent. What you say goes.
- Save your New Age bullshit for your fellow hippies when you get together on Saturday nights to twist up a fattie. Conventional parenting is the only hope you have of raising reasonably normal children.
- Laugh loudly at any diagnosis that's just an excuse for your kid's awful behavior.

And if you do all this from the start, you might even end up with a child who does well in life.

Good luck.

Oh, and... You're welcome.

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Maybe He Just Needs A Baby Jesus Butt Plug

Okay, this is just WRONG. A lady that worked as an organist at a church for thirty-five years, essentially for free, has been fired from her job for making her living selling sex toys and other "love aids." The priest who fired her claims the products she sells are "not consistent with Church teachings."

--A Catholic priest has removed his church's organist and choir director from her duties saying her sale of sex toys was not ''consistent with Church teachings.''

Linette Servais, 50, played the organ and sung with the choir for 35 years. Much of her work as choir director and organist was done without pay. When her parish priest asked to meet with her, she thought it was to say thank you.

Instead, she was told to quit her sales job with company known as Pure Romance or she would lose her position in the church.

Pure Romance in Loveland, Ohio, is a $60 million per year business that sells spa products and sex toys at homes parties attended by women. It has 15,000 consultants like Servais.--

So let me get this straight. Catholics want people to have lots of sex, and make lots of little Catholic babies. But they object to the sale of devices and lotions and oils and such that might help women actually ENJOY all that baby-making sex.

Has it occurred to priests like Father Dombroski that if sex is a chore on par with scrubbing the toilets to a woman, she might not be willing to put out very often? Has it dawned on him that the Pure Romance folks are performing a valuable service, by helping women work through whatever issues they might have with their sexuality? Who the fuck are these women SUPPOSED to talk to about their questions and concerns? Their priest, who knows roughly as much about sex as I know about playing the trombone?

That was a shitty thing to do to this woman who has given her life to her church. But why should anyone be surprised? Catholic priests are the sick bastards who molest altar boys, or the even sicker bastards who cover it up.

I'm telling you, she really should anonymously send Father Dobroski a Baby Jesus butt plug. That'll fix what ails him. While she's at it, she needs to tie him up and make him watch The Dildo Song a hundred or so times.

WARNING!!! If you click these links, you will see pictures of adult toys, and hear a song about dildos. I shouldn't have warn people about shit like this, but I don't need the aggravation of getting hate mail saying "That was a link to a picture of a Baby Jesus butt plug!" Duh. What did you think it was? A link to a recipe for beef stroganoff?

On a completely unrelated note, I was doing some reading in preparation for tonight's season premier of Hell's Kitchen. I was kinda shocked to run across a story about a contestant from last season, Rachel Brown. Apparently she has passed away.

--Rachel Brown, a 41-year-old personal chef who competed on the second season of Fox's Hell's Kitchen, was reportedly found dead in her family home in Bedford, TX on Wednesday, May 9.--

As vague as the story is, I'm guessing suicide. But whatever happened, it's kind of freaky and sad.

Other top stories on that particular reality TV site include the tale of Baldwin vs. Bull.

--Stephen Baldwin learned just how real reality television can be when he was reportedly bucked to the ground by a bull while filming CMT's Ty Murray's Celebrity Bull Riding Challenge last Thursday.

"I held on for about four jumps, and then I just ate a bunch of dirt," Baldwin told Reuters in a telephone interview Friday.

A safety helmet apparently didn't help Baldwin, as he told Reuters he suffered a broken left scapula as well as a broken rib when he "landed hard" and "got stepped on a little bit, too" during the training session that ended with his fall.

"We were supposed to be on these kind of dainty versions of [bulls] that weren't supposed to get too excited," he told Reuters. "But you never can tell what a bull's gonna do. So this particular one that I had kind of rose to the occasion."--

So in other words, it isn't just members of their own species that hate the Baldwin brothers. Pussyfied bulls hate them too. *snicker*

My jaw dropped when I saw who some of the other contestants are. Leif Garrett? He's been off the radar for about three decades. Vanilla Ice? Two decades. Rocket Ismail? Isn't that the dude who wrecked his career because he thought it was a good idea to play football in Canada instead of for the NFL? And the list gets less impressive from there.

The bottom of the barrel has officially been scraped. Baby Jesus butt plugs all around.

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Pole Wakes From Coma To See Soccer Fans Being Rowdy

The hot dogs were on the house.

Okay, that's not exactly what happened. These are three separate stories. But they're all kind of interesting, so here we go.

Some dude in Poland woke up from a nineteen year coma the other day.

--A 65-year-old railwayman who fell into a coma following an accident in communist Poland regained consciousness 19 years later to find democracy and a market economy, Polish media reported on Saturday.--

Wow. What a mind-fuck. Communism falls, the world goes through huge changes, and you sleep through the whole thing. Then you wake up, and have to take it all in.

I'm amazed that his wife stood by him all those years, but that's because I'm a cynical bastard. Bless your heart, Gertruda.

Next we have a truly shocking story: Soccer fans being rowdy.

--The European Championship qualifier between Sweden and Denmark was abandoned at 3-3 Saturday after a Danish fan tried to attack the referee for awarding a penalty kick in the 89th minute.

Danish soccer officials initially said referee Herbert Fandel had awarded Sweden a 3-0 victory, but European soccer's governing body said the result would have to be confirmed by an investigation.--

Shit, can't those idiots EVER hold a soccer match without anyone getiing out of line? It's a SOCCER GAME, people, not the future of the planet. Relaaaaax. Be mellow.

Incidents like this also illustrate the difference between Europeans and Americans. They riot when their team loses. American sports fans in places like Chicago, Detroit, and LA burn their cities down when their team wins a championship.

The Europeans don't get much right, but I think they've got Americans beat on that one.

And last but most importantly, the hot dog eating record long held by that little Japanese guy has been broken!

--A California man smashed the world record for hot dog eating at a contest Saturday, gobbling up more than 59 franks in 12 minutes.

Joey Chestnut, 22, of San Jose, shattered the record held by Takeru Kobayashi of Japan by downing 59 1/2 "HBDs" -- hot dogs and buns -- during the Southwest Regional Hot Dog Eating Championship at the Arizona Mills Mall in suburban Tempe.--

Coooooooool! Now let's hope he kicks the Asian dude's skinny ass at the Nathan's Famous annual Fourth Of July contest as well. Team America, FUCK YEAH!!!

I do have to add, however, that the idea of eating that many hot dogs makes me a little sick to my moose stomach. But hey, to each his own as far as hobbies go.

I also have to add that I have a giant moose wiener that's freely available to all the pretty ladies. Just thought I'd remind everyone of that.

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Haven't These Shitheads Ever Heard Of Birth Control?

This story made my head explode. I'm not kidding. There are bits of moose brain scattered over four counties.

--When it comes to children, one Dallas mother knows about having them in pairs.

The odds are one in 500,000 but she's giving birth today to her third set of twins at Baylor University Medical Center.

But with the joy comes great challenges.

Inside the wood frame house, life resembles the nursery rhyme of the old woman who lived in a shoe.

But here, young mom Amanda Gonzales cares for four-year-old Natalie, three-year-old twins Adam and Sebastian and two-year-old twins Rachel and Raquel.

Two more twin girls are scheduled for a c-section birth today.--

So wow. They must both have really good jobs to pay for all those kids, huh? Probably older parents with college degrees or something. Kind of like the Duggar family with their brood of sixteen, right?

Uh, no.

--But with neither the 21-year-old father nor the 20-year-old mother employed - all the children are supported by welfare - the young family faces financial and emotional obstacles.--

Well no shit.

You humans really are the stupidest species ever, aren't you? It really doesn't bother you that a twenty year old woman has seven (and counting) children age four and under, and that you will have to support them to adulthood because she will never get out of the situation she created for herself, does it? And you don't care that her seven (and counting) children will also fail at life just like she has, and you will end up supporting their children as well, does it?

I find it interesting that the father of the latest set of twins is not the father of the other five children. So where are the other three fathers that magnanimously dropped a load of jizz in Amanda's stretched-out-like-an-old-tube-sock cooter? Don't they have child support laws in Texas?

Why, imagine that! If the current depositor got a job, and the other three depositors paid child support, this woman could probably get off welfare! YAY!

But it ain't gonna happen, because this "family" has no interest in being off welfare. They're perfectly content to leech from the system, and let other people pay for their life choices. "I always wanted to have a lot of kids" indeed. Yes, because the world needs more stupid people raising their kids up to be just like them.

Of course, there are ways to dis-incentivize a woman from squirting out a whole passel of bastards before she's even of legal drinking age. But you guys won't even contemplate any of that nonsense. Cuz, ya know, this woman has a RIGHT to breed irresponsibly and wreck seven (and counting) children's lives.

Clearly, you are doomed. Might as well cancel yourselves and leave the whole thing to the cockroaches right now.

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Dancing With The No-Shows And The Bobos

Heather Mills is a classless piece of shit.

There. I said it. And I mean it. HateHer's departure last night from Dancing With The Stars was the most painful elimination ever in the history of the show. Furthermore, it was embarassing. And to top it all off, she was a no-show on Jimmy Kimmel and The View, apparently because she was mad that she got sent home.

I'm telling you, that woman is a serious fuitcake. She brought a prepared speech that she removed from the bosom of her ugly dress, where she chastised the viewers at home, and Carrie Ann, for her departure, because Jonathan won't get paid anymore.

What in the fuck? I seriously doubt her partner will have any trouble finding gigs. Plus, I'm pretty sure that he'll be on for the rest of the seaon intermittently for the pro numbers. Not to mention, his wife Anna is seriously hot, and if I were Jonathan, I'd be relieved that I had more time to give the ol' lady regular deep dickings.

So buck up, ugly Heather, Jonathan will be just fine without you. Better, even, because he doesn't have to look at your horse teeth and bug eyes and peg leg anymore.

Apparently HateHer isn't totally done with reality television despite her unfortunate Dancing With The Stars experience, anyway. She has expressed an interest in doing the UK version of the show, Strictly Come Dancing, or the UK version of Big Brother. That IS happy news, since it means she'll be annoying her fellow Brits rather than the good folks in America.

Buhbye, bitch.

Now that we've dispensed with the no-show, let's get on to talking about the bobo. Specifically, mine, which once again became so turgid that my pants nearly split when Julianne danced. She and Apolo did a steaming hot rumba that used a chiar as a prop, and SHIT HOWDY! I never wanted to be a chair so bad in my life.

Pssssssst! Len! Knock it off with the rude comments. I warned you last week. Just because you're a dirty old man doesn't mean it's okay for you to pick on Julianne about her artistic choices.

And Apolo? Dude? You can seriously knock it off with that "Julianne and I have a brother-sister type relationship" schtick. Unless your name is Joe Dirt, the wood she's making you have in your pants isn't the kind of reaction a normal man has to his sister. It's okay. Relax and enjoy your boner. We know neither of you are going to cross any lines.

Not that *I* wouldn't like to cross her lines, mind you.

*moose drool*

Ahem. To get myself back under control, I need only think about Lumpy Laila and her beaver shot. Yes, folks, our paragon of class did some kind of weird spread-legged thing in a very short dress, and the world saw her cooter.

Now why, you ask, is that any different that when the pros display their Taco Bell Grande? I dunno. I guess because they manage to do it in a way that's reminiscent of a dance studio rather than a porn shoot. Part of the problem may have been that it was Laila's choreography that incorporated the peep show, and she just doesn't know how to add her own steps without it looking crude.

In any case, her dress made her look lumpy, and I could cheerfully have gone my whole life without seeing her underpants and been perfectly happy.

My favorite Laila moment was when they were rehearsing for the group number, and the choreographer asked who the strongest man was. Everyone in the crowd, pros and stars alike, turned to look at Laila.

Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie.

I'm tired of Laila, I'm tired of Joey Fat One, and I'm tired of Ion Ziering. I wish they would all be abducted by aliens, so I can concentrate on the couples that are actually fun to watch: Apolo and Julianne, John and Edyta, and Billy Ray and Karina.

Oh, and Jimmy Kimmel and Guillermo. They're the best of all, especially when Guillermo is dressed like a lampshade as he was last night. I'll never look at the foxtrot the same way again.

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Dancing With The Gods And Goddesses

Apolo and Julianne have done it again. And this time, they were properly rewarded for it.

She was dressed in a little tiger-striped body suit that made my moose-meat so hard that it ached. Really. It was painful. All I wanted in the world was to be the fringe on the bottom of her tiger suit, rubbing up against her...

Never mind.

And she had her hair all done up in one of those 80s clip thingys that make it all stand up like the feathered crest on the head of a cock. Ooops. Did I just say cock? Did I just say head? Am I the most perverted moose ever?

But seriously, she could have worn a potato sack, and her and Apolo's samba still would have been amazing. They deserved every point of their perfect score of thirty.

Still, I want to punch that little half-Japanese perfect gentleman gold medalist out, and steal his dance partner. I feel like I'm cheating on my Edyta when I say that, but my lust for sweet Julianne was overwhelming, both during their original dance, and their encore on Tuesday.

Wubba.

Besides, I feel like my one true love Edyta is cheating on ME. She danced with the old fart to Love Is In The Air. And she looked like she was... sob... ENJOYING it. He even played the bongos on her perfect abs at the end. I feel so... violated.

(Hey, geezer, did you notice Edyta's dress was the same shade of blue as a Viagra pill? I bet that was intentional.)

Nah, I'm just funning with y'all. I want John to stay on the show as long as possible, so I can drool over his partner as well as my new-found lovely Julianne.

Laila and Maks did a rumba, and Laila looked, um... fleshy in her abdomen-revealing dress. I guess she's kind of fucked either way. I mean, it was nice to see her in something less dyke-ish than the culottes, but she needs to lose at least twenty pounds before she starts emulating Edyta's fashion sense.

To no one's surprise, the couple who got the heave-ho were Clyde and Elena. I hope Len takes Clyde's speech at the end to heart, because we was dead-nuts on in his comments. The celebrities AREN'T there to launch a dancing career. They're there to compete, and maybe have a little fun. If Len keeps up with his cranky, mean comments, the producers won't even be able to get Susan Lucci on the show.

And that would be a shame. No, not missing out on Susan Lucci, but seeing a fun and popular show being ruined by that grumpy old bastard Len.

So back off, Len, or I'll beat you bloody with my antlers.

One final comment: Billy Ray, next time they try to put you in ladies' lavender silk pajamas, Just Say No. Your nipple erection was nasty.

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What? A Union Violated RICO?

You MUST be kidding. Unions are all about the little guy, about the common man uniting for the greater good in the workplace. Right? RIGHT?!?!

Uh, I guess. Until they start with the harassment and arson and vandalism and attempted murder, that is.

There's a company called Maremont. They make after-market mufflers and other exhaust components for the automotive industry in Texas, as well as lovely Louden County, Tennessee. The TN location has been on strike since the 5th of February.

Their gripes sound pretty familiar: The company wanted them to pay a higher portion of their medical insurance costs, and the worker bees didn't want to, unless they received a bump in their hourly wages to cover the additional expense.

It's been happening in the auto industry for years. Unions basically seem to think that the enormous costs of providing medical insurance for a bunch of beer-guzzling, chain-smoking, McDonalds-eating, sedentary fat slobs, and their families, should be borne completely by "the company." And in general, it has been.

(Did you know that when you "buy American," your share of subsidizing all that medical care costs you more than the metal used to make the car does? I'm sorry, but that's insane. It's also a rant for another day.)

Anyway, Buford and Billy Bob's union, the International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers, demanded a significant increase in hourly wages, to pay a lower portion of the medical insurance costs, or preferably, both.

Ken Banks, who bought the plant a few years back when it was on the verge of closing due to financial troubles, just laughed at them. Why shouldn't he? Jobs are pretty hard to come by in Armpit, Tennessee, so he knew a strike would be but a minor blip.

And he was right. The union had no leverage, because we're talking about unskilled jobs. It took about a week to find a new set of trained monkeys to run the machines and make mufflers.

Which brings us to the RICO lawsuit. The union and its membership honestly thought they were harder to replace than they actually were. And when dozens and dozens of replacement workers crossed their picket line, they got pissed off. And they directed their anger at Ken Banks, the replacement workers, and the non-union office workers who had no obligation to honor the strike.

This article details a laundry list of acts of revenge, allegedly by the union and its members.

--The lawsuit lists predicate acts for the filing, including a Feb. 15 bomb threat that forced the evacuation of the plant. The suit claims the bomb threat was made by "a union member and/or other non-union members acting in concert with the union."

The second act listed is shots fired at the plant’s electrical system Feb. 20. Third on the list is the alleged arson of Richard Jenkins’ truck. According to the suit, "assailants" torched the truck at the owner’s residence. Jenkins had just returned to work at the plant following a layoff and elected not to participate in the strike, according to the court document.

The fourth item listed was an allegation of “arson of Christi Palmer’s house.” Palmer is described as a salaried Maremont employee who "crosses the Union picket line daily to come to work." The court document noted “on Feb. 23, assailants set Christi Palmer’s house on fire, causing extensive damage.”

The suit also alleges that union employees or their sympathizers fired shots into the home of Mark Farner, a permanent replacement employee at the plant, while he, his wife and three children were in the residence. Another incident cited involved shots fired at the Maremont electrical transformer March 3. According to the Maremont suit, replacing the transformer cost approximately $125,000.

The suit alleges union member Michael Duggan "fired projectiles at the Maremont plant from the striker’s southern encampment with a makeshift cannon that uses a black powder substance as an explosive propellant." According to the suit, this incident was witnessed by Loudon Police who immediately arrested Duggan.

The suit alleges that "union employees or non-union members acting in concert" fired shots into the home of replacement worker Glenn Johnson’s home March 18 and fired shots into Faye Wilson’s home March 21. Wilson is an employee who elected not to strike, the lawsuit noted.--

Not cool, guys. Way way WAY uncool, as a matter of fact.

Yes, yes, I know that these are merely allegations. But, everybody who HONESTLY believes that these incidents weren't all related to the strike, and caused by the union and its members, please raise your hand.

What?!?! No one believes that it was simply a series of unfortunate events, that just happened to only befall those who were perceived by the union as being on the "wrong side" of the strike?

Huh. I don't believe it either.

So finally, my point: The labor climate has changed a lot in the last twenty-five years. The days of getting ridiculously good wages and benefits for unskilled labor that any Tom, Dick, or Harriet could do are over. And the unions know it.

Which brings us to the million dollar question: Why do they keep blowing sunshine up the ass of their members, telling them that a strike is their best option? Shouldn't they, out of fairness, let their members know that a strike will most likely result in them ending up without a job to complain about?

Furthermore, why in the fuck is the union encouraging people to commit criminal acts? Surely they know that the rank and file who are doing the dirty work stand to lose everything if this lawsuit is successful. Isn't it a matter of social responsibility to make sure they understand that they could be wiped out financially, and then have to serve a lengthy prison term?

Wait, what am I saying? Demanding that unions act responsibly? I must be daft.

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Dancing With The Judges While They're On The Rag

Buy stock in Midol, because Carrie Ann Inaba, Bruno Tonioli, and especially Len Goodman were suffering from some serious PMS this week.

Call me a silly moose, but I thought the point of having judges there was to provide professional scoring, and to offer constructive criticism so the dancers know what they need to work on. And in the past, that's exactly what happened.

But it's sure not what went down this week. Consider Carrie Ann's comments to John Ratzenberger after his paso doble, which were along the lines of, "I was confused. I didn't know if you were trying to be serious or funny." Okay, yeah, Carrie Baby, that sure does give him some awesome clues as to how to improve his performance.

Or look at Len and Bruno's sage wisdom for Clyde after his waltz: "You're not trying hard enough." Okey dokey, guys, I'm sure Clyde will be much better next week since you gave him such specific items to work on.

(For the record, we all liked Clyde's waltz. It looked like a very tall uncle dancing with his niece at her wedding. It wasn't steaming hot, but as the big-titted secretary pointed out, the waltz isn't supposed to be. It's supposed to have an innocence and purity about it.)

All this PMS'ing happened because Len procured the records for how many hours each couple had practiced in the preceding week. Those who spent a lot of time got praised, and those who didn't clock the hours got anally reamed.

No doubt Clyde's asshole still hurts.

And his partner sure didn't do much to salve his inflamed rectal port. She pretty much threw him under the bus, whining about how "laid back" (that's pronounced "lazy" in Len-Land) he is, and bitching that he's often late.

Way to go, Elena! No wonder they keep giving you sucky partners. You don't know jack shit about teamwork.

Laila's ass-pounding was almost as bad as Clyde's, I guess because she was once again more focused on her Black Hitler Jugen rallies than on working out her issues with her partner, and fucking learning the paso doble.

In her and Maks' defense, their music was awful. It was from Carmen, but it sounded more like Looney Tunes. And she had a big, dopey, shit-eating grin on her face the whole time. That's not a very good paso mug, Laila.

You would think she could have managed a frown, because their antipathy was obvious again this week. It's like watching Who's Afraid Of Virginia Wolf? play out in the practice studio and on the stage. Their toxic chemistry makes them almost uncomfortable to watch.

Almost. But then there's that little part of you that is practically salivating in anticipation of the full-contact death match. May the best man win.

And once again, her costume was a disaster. I had read that she wasn't going to wear a dress again until she lost some weight, and she should have stuck to that, because the one she was wearing made her look lumpy. It was the color of various citrus fruits, and all she needed was a bowl of fruit on her head to complete the look.

I actually wonder what Laila Ali is going to do after this show. The boxing world doesn't much want her back, since she's protecting her titles by taking easy fights. Until she's ready to fight Ann Wolfe and Letitia Robinson, no one's really interested in her.

(And no, Laila, making the rounds of the talk shows claiming both women are afraid to fight you is not a substitute for copping to the truth about why those fights haven't taken place, which is all the obstacles you and your manager have put up. Nobody who knows the sport is buying your bullshit.)

So that leaves... what? A career as a dancer?

*snicker*

Some people have suggested that she have a talk show. Um... No. Women who look and sound like men don't get their own talk shows. Others have said she should be an actress. Right. Because there's a real market in Hollywood for her "type."

*double snicker*

But as always, there were high points in the show, that even the Judges On The Rag couldn't bring down. One was Apolo and Julianne's waltz. Coming on the heels of their most excellent Pulp Fiction tribute jive last week, it was even more refreshing.

Billy Ray's paso to Black Betty wasn't bad for a clompy guy. And I enjoyed it even more because he made Karina cry during rehearsals. (Yeah, I AM a bastard.)

And there was Bruno's unintentional funny when he called Ion "McStiffy." It was about to get even funnier when Carry Ann started to explain to him what a stiffy is, but they cut her off.

Speaking of stiffys, how do the male stars dancing with the female pros do it? I swear to god, if I had to try to keep hip contact with one of those babes, with their perfect bodies and itty bitty costumes, we'd have to leave a couple of feet of expansion space for my cock.

And on that note, just let me say, lighten up, judges. Your show isn't fun to watch when you're all bitchy and surly.

Thank you in advance for taking your Midol.

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Hey, Peeps! Happy Easter!

No, not this kind of peeps...



But rather, the "people" kind of peeps. You know, like when you speak ebonics. (I feel so black now.)

So Easter is supposedly the day Jesus rose from the dead. My first question would be, why is it that when such a thing happens in a horror movie, we call the formerly dead people zombies, but when it happens in the middle of the desert, we call it The Coming Of The Messiah? Enquiring minds want to know.

But what I really want to know is, how do Christians know they're right? I mean, I suppose that's the essence of what faith is. You just KNOW. It's a mystical thing, and all that jazz.

But since this resurrection gig happened so long ago, nobody knows that it actually HAPPENED. There weren't any camcorders back then, so all we have is second-hand knowledge from the people who claim to have seen it.

And certainly, Christianity is not the only religion to have a "special" person who is alleged to have done amazing things. If I were a Christian, or some other religion, that would bug me. I'd want some kind of PROOF that Jesus was The Guy, and Muhammad wasn't. Or that Mormonism, that odd amalgamation of Christianity and Other Stuff, wasn't The Way.

Of course, if you demand proof, then you don't have faith. And then they call you a heretic and burn you at the stake or something. I realize nobody does that much anymore, but given that Muslim fathers still kill their daughters for taking their veils off in public, I thought lack of faith was worth mentioning.

The other question that would bug me if I had faith is, what if I'm wrong? What's God's or Allah's or Yahweh's punishment for backing the wrong pony? The reality is, they can't ALL be right, so someone's wrong. What is the punishment in the after-life for being wrong?

I think that's kind of an important question because most people DON'T question their faith. They follow whatever religion their parents raised them with, and that's that. Which means, if there is indeed judgement in the hereafter for following the wrong set of gods, prophets, and rituals, a whole lotta people are going to be fucked eight ways from Sunday.

I guess I'd be rather pissed off if that happened to me. I'd feel like a "good" god should make allowances for the fact that a whole lot of people had never heard His particular message. So I'd figure the folks who led basically decent lives should be allowed into the good after-life instead of the bad one, in spite of not believing the "right" things, and saying the "right" words, and engaging in the "right" practices.

But I don't get the impression that most of the alleged gods out there are that forgiving of circumstances. Rather, they sound like "my way or the highway" sorts. Which doesn't seem quite fair, and also appears to me to be all the more reason that religious people should question their faith. Just to, you know, make SURE you picked the right one.

But ol' God would probably smite them for that, too.

Anyway, happy Zombie Jesus day, and can someone explain one more thing to me? How did a giant anthropomorphized rabbit who delivers candy end up becoming a symbol of Easter anyway? (Ha. I used a big word. Doesn't that make you want to rub my crotch?) Not that I don't think it's great, because Chocolate is great, but it really does seem sort of odd.

Not to mention, black jelly beans look like rabbit shit, and THAT is just nasty.

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Friends In Need, And The Agony Of The Sea

Let's talk about crabs.

No, not the social infestation that involved bugs in your pubes. The other kind of crabs, that are a multi-million dollar catch from the Bering Sea every year.

I write about dance reality shows a lot. But my newest reality show addiction has nothing to do with dance, unless you count the dance between man and nature.

The name of the show is Deadliest Catch. It's about those crazy motherfuckers who make sure you have King crab and snow crab available at your local Safeway and your favorite restaurant. It's a raw, gritty, intense, very exciting show. And I will wax philosophical about the highlights and lowlights another time.

For today, I'm going to talk about the friendship and comraderie of the fishermen. It's relevant to my life because right now, friendship is relevant to my life, and to the life of my big-titted secretary.

There's nothing wrong with being a friend in need; with asking for help with those things that are hosing up your life in a big way. Last night on Deadliest Catch, the boats got the call that some random boat, having nothing to do with the crab fishing, had capsized in the bad weather.

And strangely, miraculously, the fishing boats that were close by dropped everything they were doing, and went to help the Coast Guard find the ice cube floaters, hoping and praying to find them alive.

This is powerful stuff, folks. Potentially giving up thousands of dollars worth of crab, to assist in the search for men you don't even know.

But that's what friendship is. Every man who has ever faced down the menace of an angry ocean is a friend in spirit to every other man who has done that. It is a powerful, deep, almost mythical bond. And not one man who was anywhere near available to help betrayed that bond.

They understood that when a friend needs help, you do whatever is in your power to help them. If you have what they require, you give it, no questions asked. Whether it's just your eyes scanning the sea, your time at the expense of your bank balance, or just a hug when they are cold and hurting, you give it.

If you can't find it in your heart to do that, then you are not their friend. And you are not worthy to sail the same seas as the men who know the meaning of the word "friendship." For as the old aphorism goes, a friend in need is a friend indeed.

I raise my antlers to every true friend I've ever had, and every true friend my big-titted secretary has ever had. Friendship is a gift, and it's also a two-way street. Treasure your friends, even when they need you. Especially when they need you. Because you never know when you might need THEM.

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Dancing With The... Uh...

I'm honestly at a loss. I can't pick just one atrocious aspect of this week's Dancing With The Stars to focus on in a pithy title. There are far too many to choose from.

Let's start with Laila. First off, why is her face getting rounder, and her body getting fleshier, with each passing week? How in the blue hell can someone gain weight on this show, with all the dance training they do? Especially when you have arguably the hottest male pro on the show. Most women would want to look their best when Maks was holding them close.

I kinda knew their dance wouldn't go well this week when she went on and on about how busy her schedule is. It sounded like she was making excuses in advance. They showed one of her "appearances," which is what she was doing instead of practicing her tango, and it was creepy as hell. A whole bunch of little kids pumping their fist in the air and chanting, "Ali! Ali! Ali!"

Seriously, it was like a black version of the Hitler Jugen. Creeeeeeeepy.

Then they danced, and it was a horror. The tango is supposed to be about a love/hate relationship. You can tell by the way they look at each other that they've got the "hate" part nailed. It's really sort of discomfiting, especially since they spent about a third of their dance standing on opposite sides of the stage wiggling. I kept envisioning opposite sides of a boxing ring.

And Laila's costume was beyond bad. If you thought last week's mambo dress, which shouted, "Hey, World! I've got a pot-belly and dinner plate sized thighs!" was bad, you ain't seen nothing yet.

Um, Laila? The 70s called. They want their culottes back. And you should give them willingly, because they make your ass look big.

Other low-lights include strange music selections, such as Joey Fat One's tango to the Star Wars theme. They had the whole Jedi light saber bit going on, and I was like, "What in the FUCK?!?!"

Billy Ray's tango was done to Rockin' The Casbah, another, uh... interesting choice. And Karina was doing her kicks all weird, like she was flinging shit off her shoe. Then when she and Billy Ray were waiting for their scores, she kept licking her lips like a cross between a lizard and a porn star. It was disturbing.

Shandi and Brian did a jive to Crocodile Rock, and there was nothing wrong with it except it looked like two people dancing by themselves, who just happen to be on the same stage. Oh, and in other news, Brian still looks strange, acts strander, and wears too much make-up.

Heather went out and got a new leg for her jive, one that was "bouncier." I'm seriously fucking sick of hearing about HEATHER'S LEG. Matter of fact, HEATHER'S LEG reminds me of MITCH GREEN'S EYE.

For anyone who doesn't get that reference, Mike Tyson and Mitch Green fought in the mid-80s, and Tyson won. A couple of years later, they ran into each other at a clothing store. By ran into each other, I mean Mitch Green ran into Mike Tyson's fist. Green made the rounds of the talk shows, and his big puffy red and purple eye was the only thing anyone talked about or looked at. It was like, ENOUGH ABOUT MITCH GREEN'S EYE ALREADY.

I feel the same about HEATHER'S LEG. There's gotta be at least one other interesting thing about the woman that they can talk about. Jeez, if you're that desperate for material, ask her if she let Paul fuck her up the ass.

In short, there was so much bizarreness going on that it was almost impossible to appreciate the stuff that went well.

Wait, that's not totally true. Edyta's dress, and her slinky tango, gave me wood so big and hard that I nearly split my pants.

Thank you for being you, Edyta. And thank you for wearing so little clothing. My penis appreciates it.

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I Have A Tiny Penis!!!

April Fools!

(Excuse me for a minute while I adjust my massive moose-meat, while giving it the occasional love-rub. Ahhhhh, that's better. For a second there I thought I scared the guy into hiding.)

Anyway, today we are going to talk about God's April Fools joke on the lunatic fringe of the anti-abortion movement.

By lunatic fringe, I mean those froot loops who think it's okay to scrag doctors who perform abortions "in defense of the unborn." Another nut-ball bit the dust a week ago. Robert Ferguson. This on the heels of Paul deParrie kicking the bucket last year. Oh, and GAAAWD and Jeeeebus letting Paul Hill get executed.

Ferguson and deParrie, both men in their mid-fifties, died suddenly and unexpectedly from heart attacks. Paul went tits up after delivering a rousing speech at a meeting of the Constitution Party, where he told them he was taking his toys and going home because they thought it was okay to allow the Nevada branch of the Constitution Party to have the platform that abortion isn't precluded by the Constitution.

(Given that Nevada is right, deParrie's hissy-fit melt-down was a waste of time, effort, and heart function. But I suppose he never would have understood that even if he hadn't died an ignominious death in a Denny's after eating his last Grand Slam.)

He was very weasel-ish on the issue of killing doctors, nurses, and clinic escorts. Sort of took the "I wouldn't do it myself, but I'm okay with other people doing it" position.

Robert could be found all over the internet, making bizarre claims about the legality of the use of deadly force in the defense of others. This is akin to killing your neighbor because his wife is riding the poolboy's baloney pony, and you fear that when he finds out, he will kill both of them. The law just doesn't cover that sort of "defensive action."

But you couldn't convince him of that, because just like the folks who make Hebrew National hotdogs, he claimed to answer to a Higher Power. (I wonder if GAAAWD talked to Ferguson the way he did to that chubby dude in the "I have a hot dog, and it's for YOU!" commercial.)

Anyway, while he talked a good game of "defensive action," he never took any himself. Maybe because he felt he could be more effective convincing others to drink the kool-aid, or perhaps he thought he had mor time. Then again, maybe he was a big ol' chicken.

Whatever his reasons, his kool-aid or his clucker, he checked out before he could put his Mossberg where his mouth is. But before he bought the farm, he convinced a lot of people to attempt to put on a "justifiable use of force to prevent harm to others" defense.

Anyone who actually listened to him on that score didn't come to a good end. Paul Hill, for example, was executed by the state of Florida when they declined to let him argue that he had murdered in defense of others. Gee, Paul, I wonder why. Maybe because fetuses aren't persons under the law, so abortion is legal?

A couple of other folks entered guilty pleas for their homicidal tendencies when they found out they wouldn't be allowed to argue the "defensive action" bullshit. They are now serving life without parole.

But back to deParrie and Furgeson. It could be that they are right about the actions of the murderous freaks, and that GAAAWD called them home early to give them a special reward.

Or it could be GAAAWD's idea of an on-going April Fools joke. He might not take it too kindly when mere mortals are out there pretending to know His will, and shooting people in His name. I mean, let's face it. If you were GAAAWD, wouldn't you find crazy fucks like this to be sort of an embarrassment?

Of course, the most likely explanation is that they were over-fed, under-exercised, over-stressed fat middle aged assclowns whose number came up.

That doesn't explain GAAAWD not saving Paul Hill from execution, of course. But it's a start. Now if He would only call that nut-roll Neal Horsley home to glory, my day would be made. Oh, and Don Spitz. He's a loony douche too.

Really, though, what I wouldn't give for it to all be a cosmic joke, where they show up at the pearly gates, and St. Peter hollers, "April Fools!"

Now, back to your regularly scheduled spring penis-rubbing.

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Dancing With The Heros (And The Zeros)

Ladies and gentlemen, mark your calenders, because I have a confession that I don't often make:

I was wrong.

In my last comments about Dancing With The Stars, I said Julianne Hough and Apolo Anton Ohno's dancing would lack maturity, and they would be leaving the show early.

I was so wrong that I feel like Janet Reno. (Okay, maybe not THAT wrong.) But still, it is shocking to me that the young, adorable Apolo and Julianne delivered the finest quickstep that Dancing With The Stars has ever seen, or will likely ever see again.

This is the couple to beat, folks. Two very grounded, yet fiercely competitive young people, who light the fucking floor on fire. He's like this little super ninja Fist Of Legend guy. Take a look at the photo on his website and you'll see what I mean. And her... Well, she's just a doll. My lust for Edyta remains intact, but this one is special too.

And to top it all off, Apolo is just an awesome guy. Check this out. He won a gold medal in the 1500 meters at the World Championships in Milan (while training for the show), on his way to winning the bronze overall. And guess what he did with that gold medal?

He gave it to his coach.

Apolo, you rock, you roll, you rule. Me and the big-titted secretary are behind you all the way.

So we've covered the heros. Let's move on to the zeros. Heather Mills is still in the competition. This is at the expense of the lovely Paulina Porizkova, who was handed her walking papers Tuesday night.

(Note to ABC: Please get rid of that sorry excuse for a co-host Samantha Boring, or whatever the fuck her name is, and hire Paulina. She's better looking, she has an actual personality, and she won't stumble over those long eastern European names with too many consonants.)

Anyway, back to HateHer Mills. Her costume was stupid. It looked like something you'd see at a sit-in, if there were any hippies left, and if they weren't too brain damaged from all the drugs to stage a sit-in. She seriously makes my moose-meat wilt more than Hillary Clinton does, and THAT is saying a lot.

And her dancing is as wooden as her leg. (Yeah, I know they don't make peg-legs out of wood anymore, but humor me.) She shook her tits like a stripper, but from the waist down, she was pure Murphy's Oil Soap gone wrong.

And not that her personal life matters, but...

Oh, fuck it. Her personal life DOES matter, because she put the fucking thing on display. So, it's fair game.

And the most creep-o-tronic thing so far about said personal life isn't the prostitution. It isn't the nudie pictures from the "sex manual." No, the creepiest thing so far is...

Wait for it...

Back in the 90s, she impersonated an investigative journalist who is also named Heather Mills.

Now THAT is a true "What the FUCK?!?!" moment. How could she think she wouldn't get caught? What made her think such a ruse was a good idea? Is she totally out of her fucking mind?

Now, Ms. Mills is working on her exit strategy from the show. She's said she can't rehearse because of back pain. She's all pissed that she was assigned the jive instead of the tango. She's fucked, and she knows it.

So the moose predicts an early withdrawal, so to speak. Heather's plan to make America love her has backfired in a spectacular way, and the only method of flushing her shit down the drain is to say, "Sorry, Jonathan. I simply cannot go on. The pain is too much."

Buhbye, bitch.

The other soon-to-be buhbye is Shandi and Brian, our other zeros of the night. She can't dance for shit, and he...

Let's put it this way. If Apolo Ohno is Fist Of Legend, Brian Fortuna is Fist Of Salami. As in, he wants that Fist Of Salami driving right up his Hershey Highway. He's so fuckin' gay that he makes Oscar Wilde look straight. Deep deep DEEP in the closet, no doubt, but gay gay GAY.

But wait, there's more. He has a creepy mother. She's got some comments about the show on her website. A couple of highlights:

Brian and Shandi - WHERE IS HIS COSTUME??????????????????? Did they give him something ridicuous and then he wouldn't wear it????? That's my guess. Or did he ask for something ridiculous and then they wouldn't allow him to wear it? Or did part of the costume get in the way of the dance? He told me he would be wearing a jacket. Why isn't she wearing a skirt with enough fabric to MOVE??????? What's with the hairdo - time for something NEW!!!!!!!!!!

And:

I am up to here with the publicity, PR, promos, etc, that show my son in a bad light.

Um, is it just me, or is that Norman Bates in the background, saying "A boy's best friend is his mother."

Creeeeeeepy.

So there you have it. A hero, some zeros, and... and...

And my lovely Edyta is doing well with HIM. Yes, HIM. That retard old guy Cliff the mailman. I hope he dies from priapism.

Then I can bone... er, I mean, love, my Edyta forever.

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Mea Culpa

That's Latin for "I sorry things be hosed up."

The Moose Antenna Cafe is experiencing some temporary technical difficulties. Please be patient while the big-titted secretary restores the postings that have been repeatedly nuked.

(Have you ever noticed that if you pronounce "nuked" as "nuke-ed" it sounds a lot like the word "naked"? That makes me feel a little better. Not much, but a little.)

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It's The End Of The World As We Know It!

Also known as When Capitalism And Girl Power Collide.

This is a story about brand identity, consumerism, little girls, and perspective. An anguished mother made a blog entry about her daughter's experience at American Girl Place. To say that experience was less than positive would be like saying Charles Manson is a little bit of a homicidal maniac. The whole thing was a cluster-fuck.

You see, little Etta was invited by a friend to bring her doll to a hairstyling event at a store in Manhattan dedicated to American Girl dolls. The hairstyling was for the dolls, not the little girls, which is kind of creepy. Who seriously pays twenty bucks to get their doll's hair styled?

But that's beside the point. The problem arose because little Etta's doll, Gracie, is not an American Girl doll. American Girl dolls are about a hundred bucks a piece, and Gracie is a $29.99 doll from Target.

The doll hair stylist said the Target doll wasn't "real." I'm sure she meant that it was an inexpensive, crude knock-off of the "official" American Girl dolls, but it seems the way the girl took it was, "This isn't a real doll."

Now frankly, when I think of "real dolls," I think of...

WARNING! Do not open this link if your boss is looking over your shoulder, or you may find yourself unemployed. The boobies are made of latex, but they're still there.

Anyway, to me, there's only one Real Doll. But then again, I'm a pervert and constantly horny, so of COURSE that's what would pop up in my head. (Hee. I said "pop up in my head.")

Ahem. Then all the Snobby Mommies made snobby comments, the girl cried and decided she didn't love Gracie anymore, and her mother wrote about it. (Yo, American Girl Place. I understand why you won't service dolls other than your own. It's to preserve the elitism of your brand. But it would be nice if you pointed that out on your website, so this doesn't happen again.)

Next, the sad story of Etta and Gracie was posted on consumerist.com, where even more people expressed outrage at the way this incident went down.

And it does suck that a little girl was mistreated by a bunch of twats with a stick up their ass. I know all about wanting something, and being disappointed when you don't get it.

But isn't the outrage a bit, uh... disproportionate to the actual events? I mean, are today's little hatchlings really so under-stimulated and over-indulged that a screw-up at a doll hair salon is a life-altering (or life-destroying) event?

Seriously, kid. There's sproggies out there with REAL problems. Like leukemia, or getting run over by a bus, or being molested by their grandfather. Your issue really IS trivial by comparison. I know it feels like the end of the world right now, but seriously, it isn't. You (and your doll) will live.

As I look into my crystal ball while stroking my telepathic penis, I will make the following prediction:

American Girl Place will try to make this right by giving the kid a "real" American Girl doll, and a shit-pile of clothes and accessories for it. And thus she will learn... What? That if you whine and cry about the unfairness of life, a relatively trivial matter will be mitigated in a splashy, expensive, overboard way?

Yeah, that's a lesson every kid needs.

And I still can't fucking believe anyone would cough up twenty bucks to get their doll's hair styled. But hey, that's the convergence of capitalism and odd priorities for ya.

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What A Cocksucker

Some assclown columnist with an agenda, in unholy cooperation with the publisher of the Roanoke Times, decided it would be a good idea to illustrate the wonders of Freedom Of Information laws by putting the names and home addresses of all the holders of concealed carry permits in a database on the paper's website. The information was removed the very next day amid a shit-storm of critcism.

It all started with this editorial in the Roanoke Times about Freedom Of Information laws. The snark factor was pretty high.

This is not about being for or against guns. There are plenty of reasons people choose to carry weapons: fear of a violent ex-lover, concern about criminals or worry that the king of England might try to get into your house. There are plenty of reasons to question the wisdom of widespread gun ownership, too.

But that's a debate for another time.

And:

A state that eagerly puts sex offender data online complete with an interactive map could easily do the same with gun permits, but it does not.

The article then provided a link to a searchable database of every person in the state of Virginia who had been issued a concealed carry permit.

Now, leaving aside that this rocket scientist compared gun owners to sex offenders, there were names on that list that belong to women who were hiding from an abusive ex, or from someone else who had victimized them. To me, publishing those addresses doesn't seem like a good idea.

Nor, really, does providing burglars with an "interactive map" of where they need to go to steal guns seem like wise thinking.

And the notion that publishing this information would allow parents to see if the other parents driving the carpool are packing heat is just moronic. If you want to know if they're armed, fucking ASK them. If you don't know them well enough to broach the subject, is it really a good idea to be sending your kids off with them every day?

The paper is mostly unapologetic for this mess, essentially saying that they didn't break any laws with their bone-headed move, and they've now shut the barn door when the horse is three miles up the road by taking the database down, so what's the problem?

I don't have a pony in the race, since I'm a moose, and mooses can't get CCW permits in any state that I know of. (I've always wondered, however, why my constant state of extreme arousal doesn't qualify me for a permit, since I've heard people say that guns are phallic symbols.) And none of my people live in Virginia. But I can see why CCW holders in that state are pissed off. This sort of invasion of privacy was NOT the intention behind Freedom Of Information laws.

On the positive side, the state legislature is going to consider the issue of whether the names and addresses of those who have a permit to carry concealed weapons should be a matter of public record in the first place. Also, the assclowns who decided it was a good idea to put the database on line will be fending off several very expensive lawsuits.

But what of the people who will have to re-arrange their whole lives because some smart-ass thought this was a good exercise in exploring the benefits and short-comings of Freedom Of Information laws? Is Mr. Trejbal going to use his paltry Roanoke Times salary to personally compensate them for their moving expenses and other costs associated with this clusterfuck? Somehow I doubt it.

Which is why that cocksucker needs to eat shit and die.

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Maybe They Should Have Gone With "Hoo-hoo" Or "Twat" Instead

Three high school girls were suspended for their contributions to a school event.

Saying the word "vagina" during a reading at a John Jay High School open mic session has resulted in suspension for three female students and has sparked a debate about censorship throughout the community.

School administrators had warned the girls it would be inappropriate to say the word while reading a selection from Eve Ensler's "The Vagina Monologues," but the students were willing to suffer the consequences.

Read the rest of the articlehere.

Okay, not seeing the problem here. The girls involved were told not to use the word because there were going to be young children in the audience, and they agreed not to. They changed their minds, and chose to say it anyway and accept the consequences.

So why are all these other people getting involved? It seems like a closed issue to me.

Not to mention, all this whining about "censorship" is pretty damned stupid. It's not about censorship. It's about the fact that there were going to be children of all ages at this little shindig. They really don't need to be hearing about vaginas.

More specifically, they don't need to be hearing shit like this:

"My short skirt is a liberation flag in the women's army. I declare these streets, any streets, my vagina's country."

Telling your little daughter, "This is your vagina. Tell me if it hurts or if somebody touches it" is one thing. Reading to her from The Vagina Monologues is quite another.

But I guess concepts like selecting "age-appropriate material" for family-oriented school functions went out of fashion with beehive hairdos.

I gotta wonder who told these ding-a-lings this was a good idea. And no, I don't believe they came up with that one their own. I'm picture a single mother of one bratty girl, a "feminist," of course. Expensive streaks in her hair, expensive manicure and pedicure. The kind of chick who whines about how "opressed" she is because she's a woman, complaining long and loud all the way to the bank to cash her $6,000 a month alimony check.

I could be wrong, of course, but somehow I doubt it. Only those kind of "feminists" have enough time on their hands to fit in both gazing at their navel and indoctrinating their daughter.

Anyway, man up, girls. Serve your suspension, call off the protests, and get on with your "liberated" little lives.

Oh, and next time you make a promise... Keep it.

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Or They Could Just Leave The Little Freak Out For The Buzzards...

We've talked about the Peanut Nazis a few times in the past. I love reading about them, because they and their children are so often such bizarre people, leading such bizarre lives. For kids with mild allergies, it's like Munchausen's By Peanut. The Peanut Mommy's entire life is consumed with trying to eradicate the tasty legume from little Bratleigh's environment, when it's really not that big a deal.

Then there's kids that really DO have a problem. Check out the following, which is apparently a real list of what some elementary school aged child is allergic to.

Severe (can be anaphylactic) Allergies:

Dairy
Eggs
Peanut
Wheat

Moderate Allergies:

Soy
Barley
Yeast
Rye
ALL grains EXCEPT rice, millet, amaranth, quinoa, corn and infrequently oats
Pork
Beef
All other red meat, except Duck and Venison
Chocolate (also allergic to dairy-free chocolate)
Citric Acid and Citric Fruits (Citrus fruits include: Citron, grapefruit, kumquat, lemon, lime, orange, pomelo, tangelo, tangerine)
Garlic
Any sort of BEAN or other legume (Alfalfa, bean (kidney, lentil, lima, mung, navy, pinto, soy, string), carob, guar gum, gum acacia, kudzu, licorice, pea (black-eyed, chick-pea, green) PEANUT)
Any SEEDS (including, sesame, sunflower, pumpkin, etc.)
All Nuts
Melon
Grapes
Raisins
Mustard
Vinegar
Dates
Tomatoes and tomato sauce
Mushrooms


Do not give the following as they are highly allergenic:

Strawberries
Kiwi Fruit
Goat’s Milk
ShellFish (including prawns, scallops, etc.)

Can have the following no more than once a week:

Bananas
Fresh Fish (select a type with few bones)
Canned Tuna

Can have the following once or twice a month:

Oats

Other Allergies:

Dogs
Cats
Most other hairy animals
Dust mites (SEVERE)
Grass and weeds (SEVERE)
Strong household cleaners will induce eczema
Aerosols can induce asthma
Latex

(I find it amusing that he's not allergic to millet. Maybe he could eat lots of millet paste like the Nigerians do, and end up looking like one of those kids in the "Just seventeen dollars a month will feed little Roshumba" commercials.)

Anyway, are you shaking your head and mumbling, "Holy SHIT! What the fuck does this kid eat?!?!" Yeah, me too. And does the poor thing ever even leave his house, with all the other stuff besides food that he's allergic to?

I'm not a completely heartless bastard. I feel really sorry for this kid. He's never going to have anything even approaching a normal life.

But his moomie sounds like a real nutbag. (Tee hee. Nutbag. Get it?) She honestly expects to be able to send her sproggie to public school, where he will not be singled out in any way.

How could he NOT be? The kid should be wearing a haz-mat suit to keep him away from the gazillion things he's allergic to, ferfuck'ssake.

But no, she wants him to be able to make friends, and be able to sit with his friends, no matter what they have in their lunch. Leaving aside the fact that the freaky kid with the neurotic mother usually doesn't HAVE any friends, Mom's plan essentially requires the school to be the Lunch Police.

And that is both impractical and unfair.

Yeah, yeah, I understand that THE LAW says a child must be educated in the "least restrictive environment." But look how well THAT has worked out. The poor diabetic kid is relegated to the principal's office to eat his peanut butter, in order to accomodate one peanut freak in the cafeteria. Meanwhile, the autistic tard's parents threaten to sue because their violent, destructive progeny isn't welcome in with the normal kids.

And the children whose parents are too poor to afford anything BUT peanut butter, and too proud to enroll them in the free lunch dole? Eh, fuck 'em. They deserve to go hungry all day, right?

No, not right. Any law that says dozens or hundreds of children have to suffer so one or two Peanut Mommies can pretend their immono-defective offspring are normal is a bad law.

And the parents of a kidlet who's allergic to fucking EVERYTHING need to buy said kidlet a nice computer, and enroll him in a cyber charter school. There's some excellent ones out there, and the state pays and everything.

Isn't that better than a failed experiment in normalcy that leaves your young'un blue and dead?

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Now That's Sticking To Your Guns...

Today, it's all about the bang-bangs. (No, I didn't say gang-bangs, you perverts. Get your mind out of the gutter.) We're going to talk about firearms.

Let's start with the story of a man who used his 9mm in self-defense during a home invasion.

--One of two men who allegedly invaded a residence in Boyd County Wednesday night has died of wounds inflicted by a man who lived at the house. The dead man is identified as 50-year-old Robert Chapman of Greenup.

The Boyd County sheriff's department reports 23-year-old Jason Daniels was tied up by two men who had impersonated police officers and pounded on the door. When Daniels didn't open the door, the two smashed the door open. Sheriff Terry Keelin says they tied up Daniels in the bathroom and began ransacking the house, but Daniels was able to free himself and obtain his 9-millimeter pistol.--

Good for him.Anyone who tries to gain entry to your house by impersonating a police officer, busts down the door, then ties you up, probably isn't there for grilled cheese, tomato soup, and cartoons.

I didn't understand this part, though.

--Justice was charged with burglary and impersonating a police officer. A grand jury will be asked to decide if Daniels will be charged, but Keelin says none have been filed so far.--

What in the fuck would they charge Mr. Daniels with? Refusing to be a panty-waist victim? Chlorinating the gene pool? Failure to cancel both the dirtbags rather than just one?

The dead guy's family is apparently making some noise about Daniels being a "bad" man. Supposedly he was a drug dealer. You know what? I don't really give a shit if he was peddling more dope than anyone else in Kentucky. If you invade a man's home, you'd best expect to be kilt.

On to a couple of good ol' boys in Tennessee who quelled an armed road rager.

--Police in Memphis say a gunman firing a pistol beside a busy city street was subdued by two passers-by who were also armed. No one was hurt during the incident that apparently began with a minor traffic accident, but one passing car was believed hit by a bullet.

Brothers William Webber and Paul Webber told police they stopped their car and pulled their own pistols when they saw a man firing a handgun yesterday. The brothers said they ordered the man to drop his weapon and then held him at gunpoint until police arrived a few minutes later. Police say the Webbers did not fire their pistols.--

Well done, gentlemen.

Every time I read about people who are "concerned" about concealed carry, I think of stories like this. Had the Webber brothers not been armed, who nows what sort of unfortunate outcome could have resulted.

And I don't fucking want to hear the whole "If guns weren't legal..." line of bullshit. I seriously dobt that the criminals worry too much about that when they are obtaining THEIR guns.

(By the by, my big-titted secretary looks totally hot when she's shooting a gun. Just thought I'd share that.)

And today's last gunrelated story is fucking HUGE. I mean, bigger than my massive moose-meat huge. Some federal judge struck down Washington DC's handgun ban.

--A federal appeals court overturned the District of Columbia's long-standing handgun ban Friday, rejecting the city's argument that the Second Amendment right to bear arms applied only to militias.

In a 2-1 decision, the judges held that the activities protected by the Second Amendment "are not limited to militia service, nor is an individual's enjoyment of the right contingent" on enrollment in a militia.

The U.S. Court of Appeals for the District of Columbia Circuit ruled that the city cannot prevent people from keeping handguns in their homes. The ruling also struck down a requirement that owners of registered firearms keep them unloaded and disassembled. The court did not address provisions that prohibit people from carrying unregistered guns outside the home.

The decision marks the first time a federal appeals court has struck down a portion of a gun law on Second Amendment grounds.--

Ya know what this means? The Supreme Court is going to hear a REAL Second Amendment case. No, I don't think they'll take a pass. John Roberts has balls. He's not afraid of the tough cases.

Thus, perhaps the question of what the Second Amendment REALLY means will become a matter of settled case law. And that's a good thing.

Now if they would only undo that idiotic Kelo decision, we'd be all set.

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He's Close Enough To Perfect...

That's why he won't run for President.

I'm talking about Fred Dalton Thompson. FOX News ran a story saying he's thinking about it.

--Former Tennessee Sen. Fred Thompson is facing increased calls to get into the 2008 GOP nomination race.

Sources told FOX News that Thompson, 62, now one of the stars of the popular NBC prime time series "Law & Order," has not ruled out a presidential bid, and has authorized advisers and supporters to continue to gauge support.--

This guy's got it all. He's a self-made man, who has been a shoe salesman, a truck driver, a lawyer (but we won't hold that against him), a Senator representing Tennessee, and an actor, most recently on Law & Order. He believes in small government, low taxes, a strong military, school vouchers, the Second Amendment, and personal responsibility.

See? I told you he was perfect.

He even left the Senate voluntarily, because he doesn't think politics should be a career, but instead a temporary service that a man performs for his country. *Swoon.* (Shut up. I'm not gay, just politically aroused.)

Thompson doesn't have the baggage of the Republican front-runners, either. He's not crazy like John McCain, or beset with personal scandals like Rudy Giuliani. (C'mon, Rudy, serving the old lady with divorce papers while she's battling cancer? That's just RUDE.)

At 6'6", he's an imposing man. He's got a deep, commanding voice, and is wonderfully articulate. He even LOOKS like a President, something that can't be said for Rudy, McCain, Hillary, or Osamabama.

Seriously. Could he possibly be any more tailor-made for the job?

If there's anything working against him, it's his age. He will turn 66 by the time the elsection rolls around, and lately, the trend has been towards younger Presidents. I question the wisdom of that trend, though. One cannot say with a straight face that Bill Clinton didn't have certain, shall we say, maturity issues. To a lesser extent, so did Dubya when he took office. Those eight years shouldn't be the time when a man grows up. He should come to the Oval Office loaded for ber and ready to solve the world's problems, like Ronald Reagan did.

If there's anything else working against him, it's that he thinks politicians are all a bunch of dishonest, sleazy bastards. While he's absolutely correct about that, it might make working with the Beltway Assclowns somewhat... How you say? Extrêmement difficile? (Yeah, I know you love it when I speak French. Anyone want to pet my "french tickler"?)

Ahem. The third issue might be, acting pays a damn sight better than being the Big Cheese does. My hope would be that ol' Fred would, if enough people want to see him run for President, be willing to make that sacrifice as sort of a, I don't know, duty to his country?

We can only hope.

Dude, you're my hero. I'm begging ya. Run, Fred, run!

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A Wrongful Life Lawsuit?

Finally, the impossible has happened. I am speechless.

--A Boston woman who gave birth after a failed abortion has filed a lawsuit against two doctors and Planned Parenthood seeking the costs of raising her child.

The complaint was filed by Jennifer Raper, 45, last week in Suffolk Superior Court and still must be screened by a special panel before it can proceed to trial.

Raper claimed in the three-page medical malpractice suit that she found out she was pregnant in March 2004 and decided to have an abortion for financial reasons.

Dr. Allison Bryant, a physician working for Planned Parenthood at the time, performed the procedure on April 9, 2004, but it "was not done properly, causing the plaintiff to remain pregnant," according to the complaint.

Raper then went to see Dr. Benjamin Eleonu at Boston Medical Center in July 2004, and he failed to detect the pregnancy even though she was 20 weeks pregnant at the time, the lawsuit alleges.

It was only when Raper went to the New England Medical Center emergency room for treatment of pelvic pain in late September that year that she found out she was pregnant, the suit said.

She gave birth to a daughter on Dec. 7, 2004.

She is seeking damages, including child-rearing costs.

Read the whole story here. Keep your barf bags handy.

Okay, first things first. Jennifer Raper has been wronged. I mean, I can't tell for sure, but is the part about that doctor who failed to diagnose her pregnancy at twenty weeks lawsuit-speak for "Dr. Benjamin Eleonu knew she was pregnant, but didn't tell her because abortion was still an option at that point and he's anti-choice"? If so, that sucks.

However, no matter how wronged she feels, this lawsuit is a bad bad BAD idea. Because, win or lose, her kid is going to find out about it someday, and there aren't enough psychotropic drugs on the planet to prevent the explosion when THAT happens.

Besides, she doesn't sound like she's all that keen on the "parenting" gig anyway. Otherwise she wouldn't have tried to abort her pregnancy in the first place, let alone filed a lawsuit asking for child-rearing costs.

So, in Seven Habits Of Highly Effective People parlance, I'm thinking there's an excellent "third alternative" here. Howzabout the hospitals and doctors involved give her a little money for her trouble, and she places the kid for adoption, so it can have a loving home and good parents.

Is that an awesome idea, or what? Yeah, I thought so too.

Let's just hope Ms. Raper sees the wisdom of using some portion of her nominal settlement for a tubal ligation.

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Jesus Is Dead, And It's All Capitalism's Fault!

I do a lot of reading in a lot of places on the internet. Besides knowing what's going on, I also like to know what people have to say about what's going on.

So, there were a bunch of hens and harpies babbling on about how socialized medicine would have saved Deamonte Driver (NOT!), and one of them mentioned a kid who had died for lack of proper medical care, and what a travesty that was in the richest country in the world.

He was poor, you see, and uninsured. He came from a non-English speaking immigrant family. A simple dose of antibiotics could have saved him, but the doctors were cruel and heartless. She even mentioned the victim of capitalist-based medical care by name: Jesus Adrian Aguina Gonzalez.

It really would be a heart-breaking story if it wasn't utter and complete bullshit.

See, there's this thing called Google. And it is a veritable cornucopia of information. So I typed in the dead kid's name, and lookie what I found.

--The type of rare blood poisoning that killed 16-year-old Jesus Aguina-Gonzalez of San Jose is extremely difficult to diagnose, according to experts in infectious disease.

``It's every pediatrician's nightmare,'' said Dr. Peggy Weintrub, a pediatric infectious disease expert with the University of California-San Francisco who said she was not familiar with this specific case.

``There is not a rapid good test'' for the meningococcus bacteria that caused the infection, she said. ``There are times when symptoms are not definitive and treatment is a judgment call. It depends how sick they are. It is very hard to differentiate from a bad case of the flu.''--

As the young and hip are wont to say nowadays, OH SNAP!

Let's be serious here, people. Having insurance wouldn't have saved this kid. He had some kind of freaky infection that mimics the flu. The doctors poked around in his blood, piss, shit, and spinal fluid. And they found nothing. So logically, they presumed it was the flu.

And this is a bacteria where you go from zero to dead in twenty-four hours. No one knows why. It just happens to some people, while the vast majority of folks who have the germ in their schnozz or gullet don't get sick and die.

Would the three hours he spent at home before his family brought him back to the hospital have made a difference? Probably not. He'd already been dead a couple of days when the doctors/coroner/family figured out what killed him.

Yes, this is a sad story. Jesus died, and his family is hurting. I have no doubt that their pain has prompted them to file a multi-million dollar lawsuit alleging that medical malpractice killed their cash cow... er, I mean, Jesus.

But that won't bring him back, and there was no malpractice. Nobody can say for certain why this tragedy happened, but it has happened to rich White kids with excellent insurance too. The only difference is, they perhaps got to spend three more of their final hours in the hospital than Jesus did, with Nurse Ratched trying to pawn rubbery green jello off on them so she could bill their insurance fifty bucks.

Jesus was better off having spent that time with his family, away from the hospital.

And they will have their dollar bills to dry their tears after a jury fatuously awards them millions.

By the by, am I the only one who thinks the school is wildly fucking stupid to let a kid that has no medical insurance play football? Who the hell pays if Jesus breaks his ankle or something? Oh, that's right. The taxpayers do.

You guys are such suckers.

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WHAT?! Michael Moore Is A FAKE?!?!

Say it isn't so!

A couple of nice Canadians set out to do a tribute piece expressing their admiration for the Moore-On. And it kinda sorta backfired.

--THE hunter has become the hunted. Michael Moore, the celebrated left-wing film-maker, has become the unwilling subject of a new documentary that raises damaging questions about the credibility of his work.

The director and star of successful documentaries such as Roger & Me, Bowling for Columbine and Fahrenheit 9/11, Moore has repeatedly been accused by his right-wing enemies of distorting or manipulating the material in his films. On his website he dismisses his critics as “wacko attackos”.

Yet the latest assault on Moore’s film-making techniques has come from an unexpected quarter. In Manufacturing Dissent, a documentary to be shown for the first time at a Texas film festival on Saturday, a pair of left-wing Canadian film-makers take Moore to task for what they describe as a disturbing pattern of fact-fudging and misrepresentation.--

Oh, uh, OOPS.

Leaving aside the obvious...

No, let's NOT leave aside the obvious. Michael Moore's "product" is not documentaries.

There's a genre of bad films that you can find on Pussy TV (Lifetime, WE, and other "women's networks") called a docu-drama. That's where you get to see a story that's basically true, but they punch it up by altering some of the events to make them more dramatic.

That's kind of what Michael Moore does, and if he were an honest man, it would actually be quite a funny schtick. I mean, walking into a bank, and walking out with a gun instead of a toaster as your reward for opening an account? That's a fucking riot. And if it was presented for what it is - comedy - there would be no problem.

But it's not presented as comedy. Moore wants you to believe that he's showing you reality. And that's when it stops being funny.

Journalists who play fast and loose with the truth end up disgraced and unemployed. That should also be the fate of documentarians who make it up as they go. ANd that is, in fact, what Michael Moore does.

There are still true believers out there who deny it. There's also people out there who think we didn't land on the moon, the World Trade Center was brought down by explosives, and Pancho Villa's skull is in the basement of a frat house at Yale.

Over the years, such people have had many names, including lunatics, moonbats, wearers of the tinfoil hat, Moore-ons, "special" people, and California liberals. They have always existed, and they really are harmless.

I suspect that once this documentary chronicling the Moore-on's duplicity is released, the number of true believers will dwindle even further. But they will never completely go away, because there really was a shooter on the grassy knoll. I've heard rumors that it was a bionic rock star built by the government from the remains of Buddy Holly, the Big Bopper, and Richie Valens, in the bowels of a building at Area 51. (Tee hee. I just said bowels.)

I have to include this picture, because it makes me giggle more than the word "bowels" does:



*snicker*

So yeah, I'm thinking this nice Canadian couple needs to change the title of their film from Manufacturing Dissent to When Tribute Documentaries Go Horribly Wrong. And I do have some parting words for the Moore-on:

I love the way you confused and confounded a man suffering from Alzheimer's disease in Bowling For Columbine. You're a real class act. May your inevitable myocardial infarction show you more mercy than you showed Charlton Heston.

GOD you are a pathetic asshole.

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