Reconsidering Children

As someone who never really wanted children, expecting them to be spoiled, drooling, fun vacuums.

I must now change my tune.

That is as long as the people who own this little darling bastard are willing to part with him.

Come home with me little ideajones and we will take over the world.

love,

-ideajones

Cockula

For the past few days, I've been trying to get my friend Brennan to go as Count Chocula for Halloween (because they look alike) and my friend Chris to accompany him as Frankenberry (because he owns two purple shirts). But, as with many other things in my life that were good, pure, and mocking, porn has gone and ruined it.

Now I won't be able to think of Count Chocula without immediately flashing to the Count Cockula, which is apparently the must-have the sex toy for anyone who wants to get their dick bitten off.

Should Elton John Be Allowed to Adopt?

Lots of celebrities want to adopt kids from foreign countries. An adopted black babay is the must-have accessory in Hollywood right now. Between Madonna and Angelina Jolie
and all the media attention they got, celebs figure it's great PR. Now Even Elton John wants in on the action. There is some debate going on as to whether or not he should be allowed to adopt. Let me answer that question......

Simply put…HELL NO! And it is has nothing to do with his sexual preference at all. The reason he should not adopt is that he is 62 years old. There is no practical way he can keep up with a kid at that age. Look, my father was 46 when I was born. By the time I was old enough to where I would want my dad to play ball with me, he was on his first bypass surgery. We watched a lot of 60 Minutes together though. So if Sir Elton were allowed to adopt there could be a point where both he and his kid are wearing diapers and eating soft food. Plus how can the kid ever understand Halloween when your dad’s understated outfit is a Donald Duck suit.

17th and Growing (possibly NSFW)

According to (ahem) Manhunt Daily, Washington D.C. is the American state region with the biggest dicks. Anatomically speaking, I mean, not just in terms of personality. The results were tallied based on Manhunt members' (ha, members! uh...I'm really easy) profiles, which recently were updated with a penis size option.

So if we accept that a fair amount of LYING is going on, Missouri is either 17th on the list (says Manhunt) or anywhere between the 12th and 20th (based on my own dating history). Which is good to know, especially when you consider that those size-obsessed idiots in Texas may be bigger(15th), but all the Jersey douchebags out there are decidedly smaller (40th).

The President is Near

I truly cannot understand why people are upset that the President of the United States will be addressing students. I cannot think of a sole reason why the leader of our country should not. Sitting presidents have always reached out to the students of our country encouraging them to read, stay in school, keep off drugs, etc.. In fact, remember where George W. Bush was when the 9/11 attacks took place? At a school reading to kids.

It’s sad that there are enough people who are taking their queues from people like Glenn Beck, who is doing the best angry journalist act since Peter Finch in Network. There is no way Beck believes the crap he spews. I could go on all day about that but Chez at Deus ex Malcontent did it way better than I can. I’ll just say that Beck is a better actor than Edward Norton and Gary Oldman, times ten. When you say that the president is trying to indoctrinate the youth into his socialist agenda, it tells me you do not know what socialism truly is. I think I know the true motivation behind why people are upset about the President is speaking to kids. Just watch this:

They can't all be winners.

Not every endeavor is a successful one and today I would like to share with you one of my birds that never took flight, perhaps because it was ahead of its time, illegal, dangerous or downright offensive.

My Eureka event or as I like to call it "Peanut Butter & Jelly", was born out of my friends and I sitting around in college doing bong hits. The smoke from which I have never really enjoyed do to the harshness, but if my memory serves me and it tends not to for about a five year period there I did enjoy the after effect.

That day I realized that I would take two things dear to me and create a pathway to heaven.

Bong + Nitrous = Cool super smooth bong hit that makes you into a visionary. Or so I thought.

Well, I went down to my laboratory and fashioned something the kids call a Cracker (for opening small nitrous canisters or whippets) to the side of a plexi-glass bong with a little rubber cement, and we were in business.

Here came the challenge, with even my most burnt out of cohorts shuddering at the thought of mixing these two drugs together. As if GOD himself might smite them for figuring out the hidden secret to the universe.

Then Holly came to mind.

Holly had been a friend of mine and even a roommate for sometime. A tiny little goof ball of a druggy chick that would pretty much do whatever I asked, except sleep with me. Which by most accounts would be more dangerous than trying out one of my inventions? So with a little reassuring of its safety, she was in.

We set the mood with some Rev. Horton Heat, gathered around our favorite front porch coffee table and proceeded to find God. We even made plans to travel the world teaching others about our new religion.

Then we packed the bowl, lit the lighter, and cracked the nitrous.

Holly grinned from ear to ear as though she had seen the face of our creator, and inner peace washed over her, as she hit her face on the coffee table drooling.

Can somebody help me find a shovel?

love,

-ideajones

Gayest Headline Ever

ideajones IS WRITING AGAIN! Haha I'm just kidding (I'm not), that's not the headline (but it should be). Actually, it's this:


Wow. Just wow.

According to NBC Miami, Brian Dotort went to a gay bar called Georgie's Alibi (worst alibi ever) and took his chihuahua, Hudson Hayward Hemingway, with him. Because Hudson Hayward Hemingway was dressed in pretty pink clothing, some queen with a Britney Spears tattoo asked if he could could him. Brian said okay, turned around to look at some guy's package, and by the time he turned back to his dog and Mr. Spears, both had disappeared.

As a pet owner, I think this is a particularly sad story, but it's important to remember what my parents taught me back when I was young, trusting, and still hadn't realized that I lived in one of the most dangerous cities in America -- don't display anything that you don't want stolen. This edict is malleable, of course, because I have to display some things in order to get others. Example: at reputable establishments, money must be exchanged for booze.

The underlying point was that I should prepare for theft relative to the venue. If I bragged about my large stash of chewing tobacco at a Toby Keith concert, for example, I should not expect to retain ownership for very long. (NOTE: I would never use chewing tobacco or be seen at a Toby Keith concert.) Likewise, if I carried my punt-able, dressed-in-pastels dog into a South Florida gay bar, I would soon find myself dragging an empty leash along the beach and crying about how my special little friend isn't around to watch Golden Girls re-runs with me anymore.

I could always give ideajones a call, though.

Finding Perspective

For those of you who don't know, ideajones once wanted to be a body builder.

I don't know where it all started. I think it might have been trying to impress a young lady. One whom I soon replaced with my well oiled chest and bikini wax.

As time went on I thought that the bigger I got the sexier I looked.

Then one morning while doing a private pose off for myself I noticed something shocking. My "Package" was smaller. Immediately I became paranoid about all the chemicals I had been taking.

How could this be? I had read all the warning labels on the snake oils I had purchased at the local SELF-IMPROVEMENT WAREHOUSE. Not one of them mentioned a penis shrinking side affect.


How could this be self-improvement? My perfectly polished muscle car had a tiny hood ornament all of a sudden.

Well, at first I was just angry which turned to depressed and crying. By the way not a pretty picture (Super muscular man naked and crying with a tiny penis in one hand and a bottle of Bronzer in the other). Later however I did read on one of my supplements that I might have mood swings.

Once I calmed down and had a Raspberry, Banana, Kumquat, Apple, and Ginseng protein shake. I made my way over to the strip mall where I purchased my new physique to demand retribution.

My penis is Tiny! Was my battle cry as I burst through the front door, causing the two young ladies behind the counter to break into a flurry of TEE HEES and scurry into the storeroom.

"I WANT TO SPEAK TO THE MANGER" I exclaimed.

Enter: A short muscular man wearing a sleeveless cutoff sweatshirt and spandex shorts.

'"Look here you Olivia Newton John reject, I have been taking your pills and powders for longer than I care to remember and now I can't find my member".

"Calm down sir, your scaring my customers" the man said.

Then he suggested we discuss this in the back, which of course I was OK with considering I had just told everyone in store I had a chicklet in my pants.

Now, I could go on and on about the dialogue between myself and this self-loather, but I don't want to bore.

What I can tell you is our conversation was a little embarrassing and involved a ruler and a minor discussion about the artistic properties of "Perspective".

So, after helping me realize that I had built a barn around a front door that was once the entrance to a 2nd story walk up. He directed me to a whole section of his store devoted to men with similar problems.

Needless to say I abandoned my barn, returned to my 2nd story walk up and never had to worry about "Perspective" again. I did however pick-up one of those penis enlargement pumps on my way out.

love,

-ideajones

Need to feel inadequate

So, I have not written anything in a while, and I owe you all an explanation. I've been jerking off every time I sit down at the computer (sorry public library computer lab users).

Anyway,

As a married man and a frequent customer of the local pharmacy, I often find myself wandering the medicinal stacks. Taking the opportunity to peruse the myriad of contraceptives and sexual aids. A world that I haven't inhabited in sometime, a world full of VD and a need for pina colada scented butt lube. This world has expanded by the way, whether it be your basic flavored condoms, lube that makes your private parts burn (On purpose really?) or for the really adventurous a condom that vibrates.

Being an inquisitive type, as I go to leave said isle I always check out how much dust has collected on the Magnum condom boxes, just to see if someone actually buys these. For those of you who don't know, these are for people with a birth defect.

Well, much to my chagrin there is actually now an even BIGGER CONDOM, The Magnum XL. Not only is there bigger dicks out there, they are actually enough of them that they have added a shift at the factory.

Now don't get me wrong. Who am I to begrudge another man his need for contraceptives or the fact that his mother was a heroin mule while pregnant with him. My problem is with the Manufacturer.

Manufacturer? You might ask.

We'll, I just would like to know why the Huge Penis brigade gets a condom named after a Clint Eastwood Movie. Like they need more self-esteem.

I have an Idea for Trojan since Clint Eastwood seems to be there muse.

How about a condom for guys who date whores " Any Which Way But Loose" OR condoms with extra lube meant for that extra input " Dirty Hairy". Maybe even a condom for that guy who has a girl whose vagina is like a prison "Escape from Alcatraz" for that bitch who just won't let go.

love,

-ideajones

Pass the Bong and Hit the Gas

Brooke Hogan released a new album the other day. I don't know when her first one came out, or if there were any between the first and this one. Doesn't matter. She's Brooke Hogan. All she needs to do is sit back, spend her father's money, and wait for the day drag queens start dressing up like her.

This may happen sooner than she thought, thanks to the airbrushed custom van design that is her new album cover. If she'd released that record anywhere between 1973 and 1986, the only reason people would have bought it would have been to give it to their older brother's friend "Poncho" or "Snake" or something to tape up on the side of their van and trace freehand. They would have paid him with some Mexican dirt weed and a bottle of Night Train. Possibly also some rolling papers. But only if they'd just gotten their check that day.

Seeing as though this is 2009, pretty much no one will buy it for any reason.

The Cock of the Walk

Canadian trivia master Alex Trebek turned 69 this week. Perhaps it was in anticipation of this innuendo-ish birthday that he had the accompanying shirtless publicity photo taken back when he still had, to quote fake Sean Connery, a "dago mustache."

Rolling For the Crave

A White Castle in St. Paul, Minnesota refused to serve a woman who rolled on up to their drive thru in a motorized scooter. Like any fast food restaurant concerned with safety, this particular White Castle restricts any business after 11pm to the drive thru window. Either that or they are scared of Gremlins. Also like most fast food restaurants, White Castle restricts their drive thru to licensed motor vehicles.

** This is true. Once in junior high, my friends and I got baked and tried to navigate a shopping cart through the drive thru of McDonald's. It wasn't as ambitious (and therefore contradictory to stoner behavior) as it seems; the shopping cart had been abandoned not 50 feet from the drive thru. And come to think of it, that McDonald's was basically next door to a White Castle. A bar was the only business between the two. **

Anyway, Ariel Wade motored over to her local White Castle for some after midnight eats and was "madder than fish grease" when she was turned away. She is now petitioning the Minnesota Disability Law Center for help in suing White Castle, but according to Justin Page, a staff attorney, this is an "unsettled" area of law.

I would argue that the signs clearly posted in the White Castle drive thru advising that only licensed motor vehicles will be served would have been the giveaway (and don't give me any of that I couldn't see them bullshit, I see those things even when I'm drunk and not wearing my glasses). I would also argue that Ariel Wade is quite large*, and although she claims to use the scooter due to "degenerative arthritis in her back," she may be one of those "I'm really fucking lazy and eat fast food in the middle of the night" people.

Possibly she developed the arthritis while working as "a onetime exotic dancer in New Orleans who until recently worked selling bingo tickets at a St. Paul bar." That's from the Minneapolis-St. Paul Star Tribune, okay, not me.

It certainly doesn't help my opinion of her when she takes a stand by stating, "You can try to butter me up all you want to. Free meals aint going to work."

And when the reporter shut off the recorder, she said, "Mmmmmm, butter."


*Ariel Wade not pictured. That is a much smaller woman riding her Hoveround on a unicorn.

The Bitch Who Won't Eat Ham

I've called out Gwyneth Paltrow before. I've ranted about her asinine GOOP newsletter, her diet, and most of all, the giant stick up her ass. But Gwyneth doesn't know me and I'm not famous, so since then I've been waiting around for someone better to say the same thing.

Anthony Bourdain, you remain one of my heroes.

(And not just because Brad describes me as "Like Anthony Bourdain with a great rack.")

On the topic of Spain...On the Road Again, the travel/food show she's on with Bourdain's friend Mario Batali, Bourdain said "Why would you go to Spain with the one bitch who refuses to eat ham?"

According to Perez Hilton, Gwyneth's macrobiotic diet forbids her from eating meat and she has claimed that she will not eat meat during the show. Which is about food. In Spain. Where one of their proudest culinary traditions is curing pork.

Why would Gwyneth be there at all? She's allegedly friends with Mario Batali, but I can't imagine her eating or drinking anything worthwhile at all, let alone any of the delicious, fatty, creative, decidedly un-blessed-by-a-Kabbalah-leader stuff in Spain and be fun enough to be a travel companion. I mean, she'd be great to take with you to a colonic spa, but Spain? Mario, wtf?

A Real Douche Bag Move

See the photo below? What you are witnessing is a real douche bag move.


No, I am not calling George H. W. Bush a douche, but the guy who took this picture of the former president and sold it to the media is a DB of the highest order. Let me explain: Seems the Bush’s were having party for Barbara’s birthday and they invited some of the cast from A Chorus Line to their beach house, so it would be appropriate that people would be clothed in swim wear, right? And if you meet someone famous like a former president you might want to get your picture taken with him, right? So far so good.

There is a code between men. You don’t rat another man out when it comes to has activity with women, especially when the woman is question is not your wife or girlfriend. What happens in the strip club stays there. Same happens when you are at party in your own home and something like this goes on. He’s an old man and entitled to have a hot chick on his lap if he wants. I am no fan of the former president but I do know what releasing this photo is a violation of the man code

It Killed Bill

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Love Me Tenga

Damn those wily Japanese. They win at everything. Automotives. Dance Dance Revolution. Eating hot dogs. And now masturbation.

The photo you see up top is of Masanobu Sato, the winner of the 2009 Masturbate-A-Thon held in San Francisco this past weekend. Masanobu jacked it for over 9 hours to win the title and apparently had the help of a device called a Tenga. Although I have a Good Vibes profile, I've never seen or purchased the Tenga, but from what I hear it's like a rubber, egg-shaped pocket pussy.

Maybe it's because I'm not very competitive, but I can't imagine what would compel a person to enter a longterm masturbation contest. Personally, I turn to whacking off when I want to knock one out in a hurry. Do I have 90 seconds and some batteries to spare? Excellent. I'm busy at the moment, I'll have to call you back.

For a very NSFW photo of Masanobu training with his Tenga (along with his coach, maybe?), please click here.

Genius

The genius of Tracy Morgan. By the way, he is not acting on 30 Rock.

What Fascinates Me

A short list of what fascinates me: religious cults, spontaneous human combustions, and hookers. And because some strippers are hookers and all pole dancers are strippers, please enjoy the below clip from the 2009 Miss Pole Dance World competition.



Go Felix Cane go.

What's Disturbing Is..

...that some dude out there gets turned on by the bitch on the left.


And since when did Heather Graham start impersonating Bret Michaels?

The Cocked Eye of Justice

I got called for jury duty once. Because I figured it was part of my civic duty, I got the letter, showed up on time, and sat there. And sat there. And sat there. And sat there. It wasn't until around 4:30pm on the second day of sitting that my number was called, and by then I'd finished two books and developed one hell of an ass cramp.

I showed up the next day to begin jury selection with some of the stupidest potential jurors in the entire city. One girl dressed entirely in denim, was cockeyed, and had a plastic wig that kept falling off. She got out because she claimed that "aint nobody but God can be judgin' other peoples." Well done, ma'am. Well done.

I got out because I grew up in St. Louis City and people have tried to steal my car and break into my house a staggering number of times. It wasn't hard. When the defense attorney asked questions about the types of crimes perpetrated against me or my family members, I simply raised my hand. No thanks, Juror Number 26, thanks for fulfilling your duty and have a nice day. Sorry for your troubles and, apparently, your ill fortune when it comes to getting robbed.

I was paid a whopping $28 dollars for three days of sitting around and reading in the vicinity of a cockeye. I knew it was a gyp at the time, and I wish I'd had the balls to write what Erik Slye wrote to his local judicial board.
A better visual and the whole story is after the jump, but Erik the Dog Ball Wrinkle Counter's notarized letter to the state of Montana reads:

"Apparently you morons didn't understand me the first time. I CANNOT take time off from work. I'm not putting my family's wellbeing at stake to participate in this crap. I don't believe in our "justice system" and I don't want to have a goddamn thing to do with it. Jury duty is a complete waste of time. I would rather count the wrinkles on my dog's balls than sit on a jury. Get it through your thick skulls. Leave me the F--CK alone."

Explanation Reverse Engineered

If you were a heterosexual male in the 1980’s you liked Top Gun. Sure, you may deny it today but at one point in your life you either wanted to be Maverick or even Iceman. You traded in your Ray Ban Risky Business sunglasses for some tinted aviator shades and you know you looked at bomber jackets too. You also wanted to bang Kelly McGillis. And why not? She was sexy, smart, and had a great body. Hey, she made Amish chicks seem hot so of course you fantasized about giving it to her. Well my brothers, that window of opportunity is gone.

She said in a recent interview that after a couple of divorces and other bad experiences with men she realized that she was a lesbian at the age of 51. Sounds reasonable perhaps but I would like to offer up an alternate explanation. Let’s say you get a call from a friend. He says that he is going to set you up on a blind date and of course you ask what she looks like, right? So your friend says she looks exactly like Kelly McGillis. All of sudden you picture yourself as Maverick with her on the back of your motorcycle. “Dreams do come true” you think as you hang up the phone. You go to pick up your date and are greeted at the door by this:

I think you now have a much clearer picture as to why no man is dating her. Explanation reverse engineered.

Thank You For Being a Friend

Bea Arthur died this weekend at the age of 86. Her family spokesperson said she had cancer but didn't specify what type. Anyone could make fun of Bea Arthur for being kind of mannish, but those of us with a true sense of humor could see how funny and smart she was, as well as having a brilliant gift for comic timing.

Sophia may have been my favorite Golden Girl, but Dorothy could sure kick some ass.

And In Other News

And in other news.....Mark Anthony's phone number keeps appearing on local suicude hotline's caller ID.

Also, Jennifer Lopez likes tacos and burritos.

The Impossible Breathalyzer

Some English group called Fast Company is opening Alcoholic Architecture, a building where you can breathe in gin fumes. After putting on a plastic suit and standing around for 40 minutes, each patron will have breathed the equivalent of one gin cocktail.

Think about that for a minute.

Forty minutes.

One gin cocktail.

And it costs about ten bucks an hour. I know that everything in London is way expensive, but wouldn't it be ultimately more cost-effective and more, uh, drunkening?...maybe?...to just sit down in a bar and drink three or four gin cocktails in forty minutes? Or am I just being alcoholic again?

Size 2 My Giant Ass

Kim Kardashian was outraged when US Weekly damn rightly incorrectly labeled her as a size 12. Not only does Kim deny this, she apparently thinks that a size 12 reflects obesity. According to her, a size 12 means that she is a "fuller-figured" woman of "extra large size."

Also according to her, she's a size 2.

Bitch, please.

I guess if want the truth, I guess I'll have to ask someone who hasn't been peed on by Ray J.

I'll Pass On the Big Taste Bailout

Earlier this week, two of Domino's most idiotic employees somehow managed to turn on their computers and upload videos of themselves doing disgusting things to disgusting food, therefore making it and their place of employ disgustinger.

I won't post the video here for a few reasons:

1. Everyone (including my grandmother) has already seen it;
2. It's really fucking gross, and;
3. Blogger's being really annoying about video embed sizes. See post below.

Anyway, the two Employees of the Week were revealed to be the now-arrested 32-year-old Michael Setzer and 31-year-old Kristy Hammonds. Both have been arrested. Now, I don't want to stereotype all service industry employees (because, err, I'm one of them), but should it be at all surprising that two people stupid enough to do revolting things to food and videotape it and put it on YouTube while still employed by the location in which the revolting things were done and are in their 30s are working at a shitty pizza chain?

Christ. These people are even dumber than those morons who took a bath in the sink at KFC. Clearly they are not degree-holding citizens of industry.

Oh, right, I should also mention that Kristy Hammonds has been arrested on previous occasions for burglary, assault, and sex with a minor.

I appreciate Domino's president's public apology and all, but wouldn't it be easier to -- ahem -- swallow if we knew there were more extensive background checks (or maybe any background checks at all) for future employees? It's already a pain in the ass when my delivery guy can't count change (literally, he's so incapable that it's become a sort of policy for whomever takes the order to make me aware of the problem), now I have to worry about snot cheese and sex offenders, too?

I Knows What I Likes

There are three things in this world that I truly get pleasure from:
1. A nice hoppy IPA
2. Tall, intelligent women with big boobs
3. When wild animals attack people.

So yesterday was the holy trinity for me. I was drinking beer (fulfills #1) with my wife (fulfills #2) and some friends when this gem came on TV.



Ahh, number three. When nature puts stupid humans back in their place what could be better?

Mrs. Brown, Suddenly I Wish To Leave Your Island

As if the world needed another racist bitch, Betty Brown, a (surprise!) Republican representative from (surprise surprise!) Texas thinks that Asian-Americans should change their names so that Americans can "deal with" them better.

While speaking at a voter identification hearing, Rep. Brown said, "Rather than everyone here having to learn Chinese -- I understand it's a rather difficult language -- do you think it would behoove you and your citizens to adopt a name that we could more readily deal with here?"

She also said, "Can't you see that this is something that would make it a lot easier for you and the people who are poll workers if you could adopt a name just for identification purposes that's easier for Americans to deal with?"

Oh no she didn't.

Although I'm tempted to applaud her for using "behoove" because it always makes me smile, it should be noted that Rep. Brown made her statement to Ramey Ko, representative of the Organization of Chinese Americans. That's Chinese Americans, meaning people who live in and are citizens of America yet happen to be Chinese in heritage. This is apparently not enough for Rep. Brown, because only people with last names like Smith, Jones, Brown, etc. are worthy of living in uh-MARE-kuh and also the great state o' Texas.

Rep. Brown has also so far refused to apologize for her remarks, instead delegating her spokesperson to blame the Democrats. Oh, shit, I forgot to put "surprise!" in parentheses that time. Anyway, instead of owning up to her supremely ignorant and racist point of view, Rep. Brown's spokesperson claims that her statement was only meant to illustrate that Asian-Americans frequently receive incorrect IDs and that the Democrats "want this to just be about race."

Right. That's it. It's just about race. It has nothing to do with yet another Texas Republican trying to eradicate someone's cultural identity. It has nothing to do with attempting to strip someone of their name, ethnicity, and constant struggle to be seen as an American citizen with the right to vote. Lastly, it has absolutely nothing to do with the millions of white Americans whose family names were changed once upon a time upon arriving to America. You may think "Brown" is as American as can be, but you just might be a "Von Braunschfel" without knowing it. Isn't it awesome not knowing where you came from?

So thanks, Rep. Brown. Thanks for continuing to fuck up your political party, your state, and white people by proxy. Because unlike how you evidently view Asians, thankfully, we are not all the same.

(photo courtesy of Junichi)

Fool Me Once, You're Still a Bitch

As if anyone needed more proof than Ann Coulter is a racist bitch with no sense of humor, she totally bought into Car & Driver magazine's April Fools Day prank about President Obama banning GM and Chrysler's participation in NASCAR due to rednecks watching cars make left turns for three hours being an "unnecessary expenditure" in these troubled economic times.

(NASCAR description mine, not C&D's.)

Wrote Eva Braun Ann on her blog regarding the news she was fully convinced was accurate (true to form, without further research or anything else approximating real knowledge), "If Obama can tell GM and Chrysler that their participation in NASCAR is an "unnecessary expenditure," isn't having public schools force students to perform Muslim rituals and plan jihads also an unnecessary expenditure?"

Uh. Wait, what?

Obvious prank notwithstanding, what in the world is Ann Coulter thinking? (Obvious questions, sorry.) Since when has Obama (or any other U.S. President, for that matter) ever had the public school system force students into performing Muslim rituals and planning jihads? Or is she just one of the 20% of evangelical Christians who still believes that President Obama is a radical Muslim (thus making up a large portion of the 11% of all Americans total) despite loads of information to the contrary?

I would ask if she is ignoring the (successful) steps the Bush administration took to have public schools force students to perform Christian rituals and plan curriculums based around teaching Creationism, but I already know the answer to that and asking would simply make the universe implode.

Happy April Fools Day, you cunt.

Hassle It More Than Twice and You're Playing With It

David Hasselhoff is trying to get his daughters into the music business and calls their two-girl group "The Hoff Drops." No one can be certain this early in their hahaha oh I just can't careers, but Germans will probably love them.

I wish Kitt would have a sit down with David. The voice I know as Mr. Feeny's would calmly, rationally, and sort-of Britishly say to him "Now, David. I know you're not shitfaced and I don't have a Wendy's hamburger to convince you completely, but don't you think "Hoff Drops" is kind of...well...gross?"

Seriously, dude. Hoff Drops? Was that some sort of slang for whatever the hell you used to leave behind after West German concerts back in '87? Did people collect them and smuggle them to East Germany? Could they cure livestock diseases nd infant maladies and serve as religious relics when pieces of the True Cross weren't available? While you're at it, think you could market their stuff on bottles of Purell and maybe Plan B boxes?

And once more, just because it's so creepy....

Dog Goes Exterminatin'

During my drunken Monday night viewings of Intervention, I sometimes see previews for a show called Exterminators. It's about exterminators. Specifically, it's about the crew of Vexcon, a Louisiana pest control company run by Billy Bretherton and his hillbilly ass family.


I know Dog the Bounty Hunter was an inexplicably enormous hit for A&E (I'm not going to lie, I get sucked in occasionally...Beth, if you're reading this, I know this sounds weird but do you use White Rain shampoo? You seem like you would.), but was there such a demand for the white trash gothic trucker look that a show about bayou critter gitters was greenlighted? Does the world really need another program about people who can barely exhibit good sense in their professional lives, let alone the ability to purchase anything not covered in studs and pleather?

And the hair. Billy and Family, wtf. I'm serious. Dog and Beth are pioneers in the awful hair movement, but you guys are like their drowned rat cousins who aren't lucky enough to live in Hawaii. You're stuck crawling around the swamps of Louisiana trapping (and possibly barbecuing) godknowswhat. Gators. Possums. Britney. You guys are freaking me out and A&E is not doing itself any favors.

Allison excepted.

Live Stroooooohhhhhh

Lance Armstrong fall down and go boom. As if winning 7 Tour de Frances and banging Cheryl Crow were not enough, Armstrong is back on the bike competing with people half of his age trying to recapture something. Today, he fell of his bike and broke his collar bone while competing in Spain. While some speculate the crash was due to him listing to the left because of lack of ball weight on that side, witnesses said they heard Armstrong yelling at competitors just before the crash that “You kids and your fancy speed cycles better slow down!” Outside the hospital after being treated and released Armstrong waived to reporters and yelled “Get off my lawn!”

Being Real at Guido Beach

While I am from and currently live in the Midwest, I've paid rent on both coasts and traveled around quite a bit. With that said, out of all the people I've been able to meet, there are few species as unique and, frankly, a bit horrifying as the Jersey Douche. A subspecies of the Jersey Douche, the Jersey Guido, is even more deserving of laboratory research (by techs wearing Haz-Mat, of course). See here....



"Pet peeve? I don't know what the fuck that means."

Who Would You Rather?

In response to the question posed by Perez Hilton, I'd have to say "whaaaaa?" That's a hard one, and I'm not talking about where it counts. Although I wouldn't be excited about Joaquin Phoenix's or Mickey Rourke's lips coming anywhere near either of mine, I'm going to have to go with Mickey Rourke on this one. I've gone 26 years without getting crotch lice so far, so I don't think I want to risk it with Mr. "I'm a Rapper" Phoenix's face pubes now.

I Love My Dead Gay Son

I don't smoke. Although everyone in my family and most of my friends are smokers, my lifetime cigarette consumption is maybe a single pack. And those barely count because I was either piss ass drunk or breaking up with someone while I was smoking them.

There are a ton of reasons to be glad that I never started smoking. Obvious cancer issues. Cigarettes are expensive. I have asthma and if I'm going to exacerbate it by smoking anything, it had better be weed. So yeah, mostly it's a good thing that I don't smoke.

There are, however, two situations (barring the aforementioned piss ass drunk and breakups, that is) that cause me to wish I did smoke:

-- To have something to do with my hands, and...

-- When I watch Heathers.

For anyone who a) didn't grow up in the 80s, b) isn't a female, and/or c) doesn't think being mean is awesome, Heathers was a movie about mean girls. This wasn't the post-2000, Lindsay Lohan-style mean girl, either, the Heathers were mean fucking girls. See, back in the bad old 80s, everyone had big hair, ostentatious outfits, and knew adolescence was all about making other people feel shitty about themselves. There were no self-esteem workshops. There was no Adderall. No, there was being an asshole and doing blow, and this is why Heathers is great.

Not only are the Heathers a clique of bitches named Heather (except for Winona Ryder, who is only slightly less loveable than she was in Beetlejuice), they torture one another with violent croquet games and call one of their overweight classmates "Dumptruck." Yeah. Bitches.

So Winona Ryder's character, the only non-Heather in the group, gets pissed and starts offing her friends with the help of Christian Slater back when he was young and hot. The actual circumstances are a bit more complicated, but basically the Heathers get what's coming to them and Christian Slater goes crazy and, in a creepy pre-Columbine trenchcoat situation, tries to kill Winona and blow up the school during a pep rally.

Which Winona Ryder survives, but not before sticking an unlit cigarette in her mouth and standing at the exact perfect distance from the explosion so that the cigarette gets lit and she coolly smokes it down, knowing that Christian Slater is dead and the Heathers won't bother her anymore.

GOD. If I could guarantee that every cigarette I smoked from here on out would be lit in such a fashion, I'd have a voicebox by the time I hit 40.

Until then, I'll have to settle for Heathers being remade for Broadway. I love this just like I love my dead gay son. If I had one.

I'm Lovin' It

Although it's not something I like to admit, I do go to McDonald's occasionally. Once a month at the very most. Usually at a time when lesser females would inhale the entire freezer section of the grocery store and claim hormonal irresponsibility for that type of behavior.

While my order of a cheeseburger and small fry is never out of stock, apparently, one of the most repellent McDonald's items, the amorphous and terrifying McNuggets, can sell out from time to time. For those of us living in the 21st century, the McDonald's menu is old hat and it wouldn't be hard to just order something else. But for Latreasa Goodman, choosing another item was too much to handle. Also, the McPloyee manning the register had already charged her and offered neither a refund nor a substitution for the tasty dish.

So Latreasa did what any concerned citizen would do. She called 911. Three times.

Now Latreasa has been charged with abusing an emergency service and McDonald's has offered an apology. In the form of a free meal coupon and a refund for the original McNuggets order. I'm not sure if Latreasa is pleased with the offer, but hopefully she'll think twice before confusing reconstituted chicken parts with a life-threatening emergency.

FUCKERY

NO. Noooooo. No no no no oh hell fucking no. According to the Hollywood Reporter, Warner Brothers is in talks to remake The NeverEnding Story.

WHY, movie people? Why can't you let sleeping dogs lie? Giant, sleeping, pink, feathered, flying, wish-granting dogs called Luck Dragons? Why can't you leave my childhood alone? I may not be able to accompany Michael K., but just tell me who I have to kick in the nuts and I will fly to L.A. myself.

There were already remakes of The NeverEnding Story, okay, they were called sequels and only one of them was even halfway good and that was only because I was in love with Jonathan Brandis back in the day. Goddammit. This makes me want to hike on out to the Swamps of Sadness and just give the fuck up. Artex must have seen this coming.

To Catch A Scumbag Part 5

Finally, it is my turn to speak. I introduced myself and Kat and gave some background about our house, the break in, and the house next door. Then I complimented the chief on the great job his officers have been doing. I figured starting off with something positive was smart, particularly after what just occurred. Then the chief goes “You’re Brad Wheeling? Marianne’s brother?” Of course the answer was yes. I have known Chief Dowling sine I was very little. His wife was my sister’s best friend in high school, but I had not seen him in 25 years. Then he says “Man, I used to love hanging out at your parents house with that heated pool and going Christmas caroling every year.” Caroling was a tradition in my family in the 70’s and 80’s. I almost said “let the minutes reflect my parent’s pool kicked ass!” but I didn’t. Now I figured I was in. I said that I came here hoping the city could do something about the condition of the house next door and get the property secured. Then the chief said they had a strong suspect and that he thought they recovered some property. He said don’t hold him to that but he was pretty sure. Then the mayor said that they would call the Realtor and have the property cleaned up ASAP. That’s how you do it Al Sharpton wannabe!

So I walked out of there feeling pretty good. It felt like we were heard, our concerns were taken seriously, and action was forthcoming. So on that following Monday, January 19 we called Detective Wethington to see if what chief said so correct – they had a suspect and recovered property. We got his voice mail and left a message. Come Wednesday, there was no return call. Also, the house still had not been secured or cleaned up so I was feeling like maybe we were only paid lip service. We called the detective Wednesday and again Friday, still no call back. Then on Saturday, I heard some commotion happening next door. I jumped up and was ready to spring into action and I saw it was St Louis’ worst Realtor Tom Azar. He was there cleaning up is broke-ass sign in the yard and looked to have a handyman with him. I was tempted to go over and confront him but I figured no good would come from it. It would probably devolve into me taunting him and making fun of him, and that’s what this blog is for.

Now I felt like I was getting some action, but was still disappointed that I had not heard back from the detective. We called again on Monday and one more time that week, but still no call back. I made a plan to call the chief on what would be Monday, Feb 2. Early that morning Kat called me at work and said she just got off the phone with Detective Wethington. He had arrested 6 people in connection with the break in of our house. They were all juveniles and only 4 were old enough to be charged. Also, he said that they had all of the stuff we listed as stolen and we could come by the police station and pick it up anytime we wanted. YES! He also told us he had been on vacation for two weeks and that he was sorry no one told us that he was out. Note to all secretaries/administrators: Let customers know if someone will not be able to return your call for some time and offer to let them talk to someone else. We said we would come by on Wednesday, Feb 4.

Kat and I each arranged to leave work a little early and we met at the police station. We meet with the detective and he gives us a brief synopsis of what happened. It was indeed kids from the neighborhood, but as he put it “They were busy little dirtbags” who were responsible for a number of crimes in the neighborhood. They had come through the window and grabbed our stuff. We got back my stereo, my Sirius receiver, and best of all, Kat’s new autographed leather Dale Earnhardt Jr. jacket – a most prized possession she did not even get the chance to wear yet. There was also a pile of other stuff there. As I looked at it I realized it was a cooler we had in our garage. I opened it up and looked inside and there were some die cast cars I had been storing, some games, and a case of DVD movies and software I had. We didn’t even know that stuff was missing! So not only did we get back everything we hoped, we got a bonus of getting back things we didn’t even know we lost.

We were really happy to get out things back but more importantly, it brought a little piece of mind and renewed confidence that our government and our police departments really do work. I know that sounds hokey, but we both truly felt that. I think it helps that we participated in the process; we didn’t just sit back and wait for city hall or the police to magically solve the problem. Did you know that nationwide, only 13% of burglaries are ever solved? Kat’s keen power of observation really helped. If she had not noticed the bike, the police may have never caught the little scumbags because I would have never set up the webcam that gave them the ID they needed. We watched the house for signs of activity and called the police when we saw something suspicious. We didn’t just wait for the police to do their job.

While the police had the photos I gave them, there were two other things that solidified who the suspects were. I told you that one of the things we lost was a big jar of change. Every day when we come home, we throw any change we have in the jar and at the end of the year we cash it in. It’s typically $200. Amazing how much change you accumulate in the course of a day. Det Wethington went to all of the area Coinstar machines to check if anyone turned in that amount of change. Turns out shortly after our break in, some cashed in $198.75 worth of change. Guess who it was? The same scumbags in the photos. The icing on the cake was that on one the little scumbags’ trips to the house next door, they left a cell phone. That gave the police the names and phone numbers of everyone in the gang. This reinforces my theory that most criminal are criminals because they are stupid and lazy.

So if you find yourself a victim, take a stand and get involved. Do not just sit around and wait for the police or government to solve your problem. Proactively participate in finding a solution. Setting up the web cam was really easy. Calling the police when we saw something was even easier. In the past, I would have just assumed that if I saw something that looked odd or suspicious that I would just be bothering the police because if something was really happening, SOMEONE ELSE would call the police. I can tell you that I am now a hero in my local police department for simply getting involved and helping do the job they like doing – catching scumbags. Hopefully that will buy a look the other way when I come home at 1:30 in the morning some day.

So that’s the tale of how were burglarized and caught the scumbags who did and got our stuff back. While it sucked in the moment, I can actually say this has been a positive experience. I do have a few more details to share with you that I will put in an epilogue. They didn’t fit neatly in the story, but they are worth sharing. I also owe you the story of how I got some revenge on craptastic Realtor Tom Azar. There are also a few friends who stepped up from out of nowhere to lend us a hand too. Finally and most recently, we had another “incident” involving this little gang of scumbags that may lead to another chapter in this story. Stay tuned for the epilogue.

Put Your Boobs Away, Grandma

So the Oscars were this Sunday. So. I watched but mostly flipped the stations only stopping on ABC to see the top categories announced. And since I am a heterosexual male, I do not watch the pre/post/during fashion commentary. I did, however, come across this picture of Sharon Stone today. Yes, at one time she was the epitome of sexy. That was the 80's. There comes a time when a woman has to look in the mirror and realize her age and dress appropriately. I like seeing boobs as much as the next guy, likely more. This is just a desperate cry for attention.



She claims to be 50. You judge.

Saved By The Weave

When I was in high school, I worked at the ghetto YMCA. You know what I mean. Depending on the city's size, each city has the following YMCAs: the Ghetto Y, the Rich Y, the Gay Y, the Family Y, and the Cop Y. These Ys can sometimes overlap (for instance, the Rich Y may also be the Family Y, depending on median neighborhood income) and sometimes other Y types are involved, but overall, I think you get the idea.

Anyway, I worked at the Ghetto Y. I was the only white girl on staff who wasn't one of the directors, meaning I didn't get to hide in my office from the clientele. This didn't bother me. When I wasn't busy, I spent my time looking up the ghettoest child names I could find in the member database. This was probably the best part of my job. Thanks to my research, my coworkers and I found out that our Ghetto Y was home to children named Chardonnay, Cabernet, Alize, Lo'real (which I originally thought was low-REAL but was actually the cosmetics company), D'Jamildo, Kartwinisha, and probably half the menu at Taco Bell.

Another great part of my job was the Weave Watch. Now, at the Rich Y, women show up to work out carrying thousand dollar handbags and wearing full makeup. At the Ghetto Y, ladies show up with their hair did. They don't get in the pool and they won't use a machine that requires them to recline, but they will show up fly. And sometimes they will fight each other.

One night I was working at the front desk, where I could see the swimming pool viewing area. A few adults were sitting around while their kids did a lesson, and although they didn't seem to be talking, apparently, a few of them had once been friendly. What I understood from the sudden "Bitch, you best" outburst was that one woman had once slept with the other woman's boyfriend, who also happened to be there. Words were exchanged, threats were made, and as we watched, something flew through the air.

I didn't even see it at first. I was too busy trying to decipher what the hell was going on. What made me stop was that one woman's hair got smaller. Where there was once a lacquered plastic swoop of stuff was now a tiny little frayed nub. I looked at the floor, and there it was. Removed from the head, the weave looked negelected and sad, possibly like a discarded rag or drowned rat. The woman who had just recently been attached to the weave didn't seem to notice that the other had ripped it from her head, and both had to be removed from the Y.

While my story is certainly awesome, it doesn't compare to the woman who was saved from a gunshot by her bulletproof weave. YES. As Fox 4 News in Kansas City said, it's unbeWEAVEable!