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.
.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
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.
.
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.
.
Saturday, April 14, 2007
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.
.
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.
.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
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.
.
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.
.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
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.
.
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.
.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
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.
.
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.
.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
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.
.
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.
.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
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.
.
(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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