Iran is ticked at Hollywood – Plus, why movie stars make wonderful diplomats

Considering the News…

It’s rather delightful to learn Iran finally has its priorities in a peaceful place, and it can only be a matter of time before relations with the West are repaired for the collective good of all. Indeed, good times await us yet.

The occasionally troublesome nation took earnest strides this past weekend by warmly hosting a team of Hollywood directors, producers and actors who ventured to the surging American vacation destination for a film-making seminar.

Here they were kindly greeted by President Ahmadinejad’s personal film and cinema adviser – that such a cabinet position even exists has yet to spawn any headlines, although surely this will change in time – who politely and respectfully requested some form of apology for Hollywood’s brazen role in the production of “300″ and “The Wrestler”, two movies Iran contends to be blatantly anti-Persian and with very good reason.

Thank God Warren Beatty’s wonderful wife Annette Bening was present to defuse the awkward situation.

The stunning and graceful starlet, best known for her moving performances in the Hollywood blockbuster “Mars Attacks” and one particular 1987 episode of “Miami Vice”, did not reportedly say or doing anything prolific, however, neither are there any reports of her abduction or imprisonment – which, of course, is a positive thing. So as I stated before, thank God she was there.

The trip is part of a grand strategy to breed peace between Iran and America through the universal love and appreciation for movies. As all forms of Iranian mass media are closely overlooked by Ahmadinejad’s regime, the eventual benevolence between the two nations seems incredibly likely, if not inexorable.

Ahmadinejad did not issue an immediate response to the joyous gathering, but he is believed to be a wholehearted fan of “Bugsy”, which for obvious reasons bodes well for Bening’s safe return to America. Perhaps not.

Either way, it’s encouraging to know Iran didn’t make an ugly mess of this otherwise harmless trip. Lord knows Hollywood stars can be rather difficult at times.

Michael Jackson’s nose is gone – No one surprised

Considering the News…

Michael Jackson is a man of confidence. A selfless guy. One who captivates a room of any size, no matter how many stars grace the floor. He teaches us that vanity is by no means a virtue, and for that we are all better people.

Thus, we praise not only his music catalog but look to him for guidance in navigating this cruelest of worlds. That a man of unmatched talent and unrivaled stardom should turn to plastic surgery seemingly every other week can only mean one thing – he is showing us the path to spiritual liberation.

The entire Jackson family is comprised of upstanding citizens and role models, strong-willed folks who put humanity and goodness before selfish wants and desires.

But only Michael could make such a prolific sacrifice – his cherished nose. Sad reports are surfacing and the outlook is grim. It appears Michael’s frequent trips under the knife have finally got the best of him, and a ruthless skin disease threatens the lovely little nose we have come to accept as a vision of perfection.

Because of Michael I will seek a more perfect face. Because of him I will have no rhinoplasty no matter how large and ominous my nose might often seem. Because of him I have seen the light, and there is a fine nose beneath it.

It is the nose given to me at birth. The nose god meant for me to have. And for that I shall never face the dire day when I have no nose at all.

The Sanctity of Marriage – Plus, why gay marriage and polygamy have a chance

Considering the News…

There’s a lovely story out of Indiana receiving tremendous news coverage, of a 68-year-old woman who’s had the honorable privilege of marrying 23 times, with the marriages lasting as long as seven years and as little as 36 hours.

Born Linda Lou Taylor, this bride of brides is a living ode to the beauty of marriage, embracing all its ups and downs, in sickness and in health, a life’s work devoted to advancing the significance of this most sacred institution.

In these dark moral times of homosexuals fighting for marriage rights and polygamists pressing for the right to wed multiple partners, Linda Lou Taylor’s courageous story underscores the vital importance of preserving marriage as a union between only man and woman.

Why, would homosexuals be capable of marrying 23 different times? Not a chance. They don’t have the stomach for it.

And what about polygamists – could any of them achieve 23 partners at one time? Of course not, what an absolutely silly thought.

We must all applaud Linda Lou Taylor’s strong will and unrelenting dedication to this earnest and really, really serious cause. Thanks to her our children and our children’s children will one day be able to marry and divorce and marry and divorce and marry and divorce and marry again as many times as they deem necessary – supposing, of course, they are heterosexual God-fearing Christians who love and respect their partners, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, at least one in 23 tries.

Here’s to you Linda Lou Taylor – you’re one lousy tramp! But at least you’re not gay or Mormon. Now THAT would be a moral travesty.

British, French nuclear subs collide – Plus, why Iran and North Korea might as well have a few nukes

Considering the News…

France and Britain are rather crimson and clover in the face today, as nuclear-armed submarines from the two national powers played a viscous game of underwater chicken, with neither side ever deciding to bail out.

Too much pride on the line, I suppose. And that’s a good thing, even if a couple dozen warheads colliding is not.

Some physical harm was endured, yes – mostly non-lethal bumps, bruises, and scratches – yet the major damage comes in the volatile form of concerned members of the press and members of a growing citizens group known simply by the succinct moniker Not too crazy about getting accidentally blown up because trained officers cannot clearly distinguish a nuclear-armed submarine from a dead whale.

(Indeed, any given day will find me willing to take a chance with 100 warheads before crossing the aforementioned citizens group. No hesitation whatsoever.)

It is true that history has bared witness to myriad mishaps by the French and British armed forces, however, this most clumsy incident illustrates just how integrally connected we all are as citizens of the same world, and that these blunders risk ravaging more than mere national pride.

While the self-proclaimed good guys forecast imminent global doom should Iran or North Korea ever obtain nuclear weapons, perhaps the more pressing concern is our allies throwing 50 warheads in the trunk and driving around with a head full of whiskey, wine and downers.

And yet who can condemn the British or the French? This obviously is no fault of theirs.

That two nuclear-armed submarines managed to collide in the Atlantic Ocean, as ridiculous as it all is considering the infinite space and avenues, is a bloody amazing feat for which only god can take credit.

The math alone requires us to forgive the two mortal nations without questions, punishment, or ridicule, as this was not of their doing. It would be like two 8-foot-tall redheads with 160 IQs and only 8 toes running into each other on a bike trail in Wichita, Kansas. Just doesn’t happen without good reason.

What won’t be forgiven is our grave suspicions of the ocean, for the world survived another day, but at what cost. I for one will never step foot in the Atlantic again, lest I wish for my right foot to fall off and grow tentacles and a set of teeth in its place. No, that doesn’t sound too swell at all.

The Colonel’s fried chicken secret is safe – Plus, why nobody cares

Considering the News…

Fried chicken enthusiasts can rest easy today, thanks to comforting reports the beloved KFC recipe has at last been safely transported and secured in a secret vault somewhere in the enchanted hills of Kentucky.

Learning the exact contents of this hand-written document – penned by the mystical Colonel himself – has sent fried chicken impersonators through the depths of hell, as countless combinations have failed in the honorable quest of authentically replicating the mythical 11-herb mixture.

Few things have incited greater culinary madness through the ages, with some comparing the importance of the scintillating chicken recipe to that of Jesus’ bread, Emeril’s Caribbean-style chicken, and Bo Jackson’s signature BO Burger.

Naturally, every precaution was taken in transporting the historical document – with many security guards and a handcuff briefcase involved in the covert mission – before it was finally laid to rest in a high-tech vault that will be guarded around the clock by living personnel. And thank God for that.

At any given time, but only two living KFC executives harness the dear privilege of knowing the full recipe, which no doubt qualifies them both for the ‘Luckiest Damn Person Alive Competition’ held annually in Waukee, Iowa.

Merely disclosing a single element of the recipe means instant death by way of the guillotine, a long-standing Kentucky law that has surely survived many Supreme Court challenges, as it is no secret Rehnquist loved nothing more than a late-night bucket of crispy and succulent fried chicken.

Yes, this 68-year-old legend of a recipe is poised to remain a well-kept treasure for at least another 10 years, when slumping sales inspire KFC executives to move the document yet again, to any even bigger vault, with even more human security guards – reminding Americans the Colonel’s chicken is still accessible at your local KFC chain store.Today. And right now.

I myself haven’t eaten the filth in years. Maintaing a good cholesterol level just doesn’t allow for it, I’m afraid. Plus, the grocery store fried chicken tastes just as good, if not much better.

Michael Phelps enjoys a nice toke – Plus, why Olympic champions who get photographed smoking pot make good role models

Considering the News…

Supernatural athletic ability may launch one to the pinnacle of the sports world, however, it evidently can help one mature with no more haste than the virgin junior-varsity bench warmers of the world.

That a 23-year-old male engaged in a fuzzy little bong session at a frat party will alarm few. In fact, a 23-year-old male enjoying an occasional toke seems right in line with American tradition, post 1955.

Law students, nurses, veterinarians, trash collectors, political aides – choice of profession has no chemical effect on the innate connection between 20-somethings and the ganja. The synergy between the two is quite remarkable.

And yet once 14 or 15 Olympic gold medals enter the fog, stunned faces steal the majority like somebody just crapped on the president’s shoe. Bemused people all wondering how God’s holy world could ever allow for a sports icon to become the front runner for High Times Man of the Year.

Michael Phelps is without question a legend in the athletic sense, but his frequently impaired and hypocritical judgment reminds us he is no more a role model than a blazed, barely conscious, wannabe Rastafarian in Central Park.

His destiny has become quite predictable: Win a Volkswagen van full of gold medals and make an ass of himself for an encore.

Thus, American media is premature in proclaiming him a role model, for what parent wants his life for their children?

Who says, ‘I want my son to win 6 gold medals, follow it up with a DUI, mend his image by joining a World Anti-Doping Agency program, win another 8 gold medals, get a million dollars from Speedo, have everyone calling, then give my wife a bloody heart attack by getting photographed pulling bong tubes and feeling up a stripper – all in a few-year span.”

No one. That’s too damn much for even the sturdiest minds.

Thus, Michael Phelps may be a role model after all, and as important a role model as there ever was. I suspect now I will one day have the ‘Michael Phelps’ talk with my children, emphasizing that while gold medals and endorsements can do a great deal for one’s public image and self esteem, voyeuristic photographers will stop at nothing to leave their wonder world in a ruins of g-strings and bong water.

“So what will it be, son?” I shall ask. “Do you wish for a private life where you are free to smoke marijuana and grope strippers in your spare time, or do you want to be an Olympic champion getting paid millions to pose in a Speedo, never able to freely smoke some marijuana, or perhaps grope a stripper or two, without the whole world going ape shit?”

His initial response will reflect what kind of person he intends to be. My only wish is he passes on the Speedo.

The flabby saga of Jessica Simpson – Plus Barack Obama proves in one week that he is not God

Considering the News…

Thirsting for a major news story to fill the ominous void left by the passing of President Barack Obama’s inauguration, the mainstream media naturally turned to Jessica Simpson’s luscious jelly rolls.

I cannot honestly claim to be surprised, nor can I fathom any other way this could have unfolded. The sequence of events makes rather perfect sense.

A country predominately comprised of fat, hypocritical, superficial louts falls in love with a transcendent public figure, unwittingly believes manifest change will sweep through the land by the efforts of one, only to then direct all eyes and attention to a flabby, washed-up music icon 7 days later.

This must be poetic justice for the conservative fellows who trumpeted the farce of Obama’s celebrity from the beginning. While President #44 may indeed salvage the economy, resurrect our foreign endeavors, and breed unparalleled mental peace, he certainly cannot wrench our attention away from flabby, washed-up music icons. An impossible feat, if ever one was so.

Ms. Simpson’s pooch has now spawned one of the most contentious public discourses since the November election, as a myriad of pundits and talk show hosts (many of the female variety) don capes and attempt to save Simpson’s dignity. Another impossible feat.

What they fail to understand is that Jessica Simpson’s jiggly mid-section is deserving of ridicule, for she claimed the admiration of many only by flaunting a once impeccable figure. Once that falters, so does America’s appreciation for her existence. If sheer singing ability and intelligence defined her, I would not have invested 20 minutes of my time in writing these playful words. She would be just another fat, hypocritical, superficial lout clogging up the pores of America.

But perhaps there is hope for Simpson to reinvent her image, maybe as a physical metaphor for the American people, the people who once soared to wondrous heights by utilizing god’s gifts, only to stuff the spoils down the chute with no sense of consequence.

This unflattering attention will likely inspire Simpson to hit the treadmill, working earnestly to reclaim her fruitful form. The true wonder is whether America can do the same.

President Bush delivers inspiring farewell speech – Few listen and some laugh uproariously

Considering the News…

President George W. Bush delivered a heart-warming, belly-tingling, buns-tickling farewell to the nation yesterday, and I’m both alarmed and appalled that this magnanimous leader – general of all things mighty, admiral of all that is right – was given second ticket to an airplane landing in the Hudson River of all places.

Never mind that America has gone terror free since that infamous September day back in 2001. No, we wouldn’t want to pay Sir Bush any gratitude for that startling accomplishment. And that’s to mention nothing of the sweeping social progress in Afghanistan and Iraq, where swimming pools and McDonald’s restaurants are being built daily. I know, right, we’re bringing recreation and exquisite dining to the Middle East and still lacking is the litany of cards thanking Bush for his heroic labors.

And did I mention this airplane incident didn’t even amount to any fatalities? What happened to the old “Blood leads” creed that has been an indisputable ratings booster since the inception of this thing television? What happened to sticking to your guns, both figuratively and literally? Why, George Bush has over 4,000 gruesome deaths on his watch, and still he can’t even get 13 uninterrupted minutes to bid us farewell.

That American media is in shambles, faltering, sinking, capsizing with a torrent crash, need not be said. And now we know why. In lieu of the traditional blood and guts that endeared a country so obsessively to one medium, the news media chose a deathless plane ride that ended with pictures of people cruising safely across the Hudson River in boats.

Well, if America desires feel-good sunshine stories over the bungled artistry of a master manipulator like George W. Bush, then I say good riddance to the whole blasted thing. Here we have one of the most extraordinary criminal minds of our time hanging up his crowbar and wiretap, and we do no more than sit idly by, sharing trivial God bless Americas because some fortunate citizens managed to ride on a plane and boat in the same hour.

I give up.

The Osama Bin Laden Guide to Immortality

Considering the News…

Former terrorism mogul and one-time television sensation Osama bin Laden has lugged his crippled bones out of the death box once again, this time calling for jihad hell in Israel until Jerusalem is rightfully or wrongfully (who really knows) returned to the Palestinians.

Bin Laden, the generous soul that he was, also welcomed the President-elect to the world stage with a nugget of invaluable advice, namely that his unthoughtful predecessor is leaving him a pile of shit and he might consider withdrawing American troops if he doesn’t wish to step in it.

Initially, my reaction to this latest installment in The Middle East is Fucked Diaries was “Wow, that inbred clown is still around. Go figure.” Then it was, “Wow, what happened to al-Quaida’s marketing budget? They go from polished militant videos to a barely audible audio recording played over a picture of Osama from 1998? Something’s gone terribly wrong here. Have they not been to Best Buy Dubai lately? Have they not seen the kickass HD camcorders on the market?”

Further analyzing this Wizard of OZ tomfoolery spawned thoughts of my own immortality, and what low-budget production might prolong my own impact beyond these living days. The exact nature and capacity of my impact concerned me little – only how I could prolong the damn thing.

Thus I commenced recording a manifest compilation of random, spontaneous, and often times nonsensical ramblings. No topic escaped my attention. I realized that the recorded word, no matter how outlandish, could ultimately breed everlasting life if the right people managed my affairs after my expiration.

My plan now is to find someone, anyone, to play my tapes (Yes, I’m using tapes) once every six months after my death. Then it will be as if I were alive and well and speaking the fine words of wisdom myself – and in real time, too.

By recording 200 or 300 variations of the same speech – occasionally throwing in a fact I trust will withstand the test of time (Say, the Palestinians and Israelis fighting an everlasting holy war) – and then summoning a responsible and trustworthy colleague to play the tapes while holding up a picture of me (Personal Note: Find old high school baseball photos), then immortality will be mine.

That oafish assclown Osama was a ruthless son of a bitch, but he certainly had it all figured out. What a prodigious mind that rat bastard had to be. Way ahead of his time. And apparently beyond his time to boot.

Economy Down but Chlamydia Up – Fair Trade Off

Considering the News…

Having grown weary from the exhaustive news coverage of our economy being in shambles and  the fate of everyone essentially being doomed, I was more than pleased to learn chlamydia is surging like a blind horse in heat.

One can read about new record  lows only so many times before he goes madly insane, so this recent report that America’s favorite venereal disease is on the up and up comes at an ideal time. That this economic turmoil has incited a myriad of suicides but hasn’t yet extinguished our desire to have rampant, unprotected, hate sex is just the good news we need right now.

To be quite blunt, I was dangerously close to losing my wits prior to learning of the unparalleled promiscuity and debauchery spreading joy in America. Trudging through an endless stream of depression stories, I likely risked sacrificing my own good heart, clear conscience and generally affable nature before much longer. Something, needless to say, I wasn’t incredibly excited about enduring.

So fortunately my playful dreams will be disrupted by the economic horror stories no longer. Sunshine stories still do come along every now and again. They still do come along.

The Army to recruit flabby soldiers – The end is near

Considering the News…

The common American (to say nothing of the extraordinary American) has come to expect very little of his fellow countrymen, and doing so has enabled meager standards and expectations to fashion comfortable homes in every sector of society, something for which we are all ultimately worse off.

From regular consumer services to exotic dance clubs, as a nation we have wholeheartedly nurtured mediocrity, earnestly praised the half-ass-ed-ness warts of society. Now even the most modest of expectations are often greeted with some brand of failure, and yet as Americans we have grown perfectly accustomed to these regular shortcomings.

One must no longer even exert an ounce of energy to earn our deepest sympathies, if not our unbridled respect and admiration. Simply existing in a given place and time suffices these days.

Hey, you son of a bitch, at least you tried. Oh, what, you didn’t even try? Oh well, at least you showed up. Oh what, you didn’t even show up? Well, frankly, I say screw it then. I’m sure you’ll get ‘em next time.

But they likely won’t get ‘em next time. Or even the next time after that. We know this fact quite well and choose to forgive it rather than redeem it. Yes, it is likely beyond redemption at this point.

Seemingly only televisions, handguns, and breast augmentations consistently achieve new heights of quality; meanwhile just about every other industry fails miserably in its own respective way, which, I suppose, is somewhat of a victory in itself.

Nonetheless, few seem the least bit concerned by this troubling phenomenon, while others refuse to even acknowledge its destructive implications.

The endemic has gotten so severe that even the military appears prepared to accept inferiority. Struggling to maintain adequate troop levels, whatever those may be, The Army has elected to expand physical entry requirements – meaning the chubby dreamers turned away in previous years are now entitled to a handsome signing bonus should they choose to be all they can be.

The next great American war – assuming one looms – will be won not with our country’s best, but behind a hodgepodge of flabby, acne-riddled runts incapable of lettering in any high school sport other than perhaps ping pong.

Perhaps future American victories cannot safely be assumed. The brazen search for war is unwise with a well-trained and fine-tuned army, but it should be avoided like Malaysian syphilis by those feeble nations boasting a flimsy force comprised of the fatigued and the breathless. No, the fatigued and the breathless have won few wars through the course of history.

Should The Army begin lowering its standards today, I shiver in pondering how far it will stoop by the year 2020 or 2030. Surely no “fit” teenagers will still grace the country’s population by then, but the thirst for war will still necessitate the need to recruit someone. Anyone.

Tim Tebow, future President of the United States?

Considering the News…

I’m now convinced Florida Gators football superstar, American legend, and Christian goodfella, Tim Tebow, will be President a day not too far from today. No doubts. No reservations about that one.

The guy exudes confidence. Spouts leadership. Is to charisma what Amy Winehouse is to crackheads – the definition.

Now some will say, hey, what about him being born in the Philippines? No way he can be President. Just not constitutional. Can’t happen.

Well, such minutiae, no matter how damning, is never impugn to the smearing and twisting of a genuine spin doctor – at least not one worth his or her weight in venom and wax. Was Barack Obama born within domestic borders? Kenya? Malaysia? Hawaii? Ah, who cares, the guy weaves rhetorical gold at the podium. The same will hold true for Florida’s chosen son, the natural hybrid of Abe Lincoln and Johnny Unitas.

Then some will say, hey, the guy’s like 21 years old. That’s way too young to be President.

Yes, such restrictions can hinder progress at times. But what about the Chinese Olympic Gymnastics team? Talent can make 12 the new 16 with few hardships when the right people rework the script. Thus I’m confident Tebow can smile and fist-pump his way to 40 in no time. Little effort required, to say the least.

Then some might say, hey, can he even win any southern state other than Florida after pummeling their football teams every year for seemingly an entire decade?

Football is next to religion down south, and Tebow’s dominance makes him somewhat of a demagogue in the region. Touchdowns are the new doctrine, you see. He’ll sweep every state by at least 95-5, with the other 5 percent going to Mike Huckabee and Jeb Bush.

So there you have it, Tim Tebow is destined to become President. No force, formidable as it may be, is going to impede his mystical ascension to the pinnacle of national prominence. Not even  a few minor rules and technicalities can stop him. Maybe not even Jesus.

Ok, probably Jesus. But nothing else.

Either way, I can’t imagine voting for him. Can’t stand the Gators.

Applying for a dream job – FBI here I come

FBI:

It recently came to my attention the Federal Bureau of Investigation is aggressively seeking talented new agents, and I must say this joyous news couldn’t have come at a better time. Believe it or not, I have myself been aggressively seeking the right agency for my services, yet the economic uncertainty of today has made the task rather cumbersome and tiring (The search has forced several naps into my daily schedule).

As the FBI is the finest institution in the land, comprised of the most capable agents the earth has ever known (much more so than those bastards at the CIA – wink, wink!), I can fathom no better place to invest my prodigious abilities.  Our union truly will prove divine, as my qualifications easily exceed even your most stringent requisites.

Now I see in the job posting that fluency in a foreign language is desired, which incidentally benefits me a great deal since I recently mastered the lyrics to Feliz Navidad this past holiday season – no small task, I can assure you that. I am also quite familiar with the French language, having twice taken an introductory course on the subject in college. Should any covert operations require an agent to order a baguette or express an affinity for soccer (football over there), then look no further than my sterling record.

The posting also indicated a need for advanced computer skills. Well, not only am I a wizard with Microsoft Word, but I can balance a checkbook and research porn super secret stuff per the CPU as well. Without sounding arrogant, I feel it necessary to note my No. 87 ranking in World of Warcraft, where I honed my combat skills with a variety of weapons and gadgets. Needless to say, the enemy shall fear my wrath.

And lastly, the posting was vehement in stating that only candidates with previous intelligence experience will be considered for the plethora of openings. Ho, ho, ho! Not only am I somewhat of an expert in everything James Bond, but I have also studied thoroughly the artistry of Axel Foley and Maxwell Smart – two of the nation’s finest intelligence agents.

Additional achievements and qualifications can be found in the attached resume. Should you feel like I feel (that was a bit Peter Frampton-esque, eh?) that I would fit seamlessly into your agency’s hierarchy, please contact me via the provided phone number or email address. Oh, and I also respond to the Bat signal.

Look forward to hearing from you,

God Speed!

Barrels of Oil – The Gift that Keeps on Giving

Considering the News…

For the first time since 2004, you can get your hands on a barrel of oil for under 40 bucks a pop, and all economic signs point to it becoming the most fashionable and trendy gift this holiday season.

Considered the “ripoff of the summer” when Americans couldn’t hump there way into a barrel for under 140, now oil is flying off the shelves at bewildering rates, prompting some experts to call it the hottest Christmas item since the original Tickle Me Elmo.

Thus I anticipate considerable joy next week, as I celebrate the Yuletides and whatnot by showering my loved ones, all my loved ones, with a their own barrel  of bubbling oil.

Indeed, each wayward drop of black gold that flutters to the white carpet below will be but one more symbol of my love and appreciation for those close to me. This is going to be a damn fine holiday season.

Bush given jubilant Middle East farewell…Many endearing gifts thrown

Considering the News…

The warm welcome President Bush received during visits to Middle Eastern warzones amplified the cuddly affection Iraqi citizens foster for the man besk known for delivering their freedom from tyranny.

“This is your farewell kiss, you dog!” One thrilled Iraqi reporter shouted in Arabic, as he playfully tossed his shoes at the President.

Tossing shoes is evidently a friendly gesture expressing the thrower’s appreciation and gratitude for the recipient, while dogs are historically viewed as a step below only the Gods, making the reporter’s choice of words all the more impressive.

The sentiments behind this ceremonious hurling of the shoes was mirrored in the streets, as thankful Iraqis chanted, “Bush, Bush, listen well: Two shoes on your head!”

As a man of common sense might rightly conclude, two shoes to the head is much better than merely one; therefore, we in America need not be MIT mathematicians to deduce just how much the Iraqis thank President Bush for his strident persistence and clear vision of bringing freedom and democracy to the traditionally confused areas of the Middle East.

Needless to say, President-elect Barack Obama has one tough act to follow, especially with all the nonsense he’s been uttering about ending Mission Iraqi Freedom. I suspect if that’s truly Obama’s intentions once sworn into office, we should not then expect the citizens of Iraq to be hurling any shoes his way anytime soon.

Indeed, Obama likely won’t see even one shoe tossed his way, let alone two.

The Juice faces 6 years to life – The squeeze is on

Considering the News…

O.J. can set the golf clubs down and grab a trash pick, because the only greens he’ll be seeing for awhile will be roadside ditch weeds as he stabs at McDonald’s sacks  in his neon orange vest.

Yes sir, the Juice is finally doing time. Six years to life, in fact. Should be brutal. Especially as he sits in his unfinished cell block trying to wrap his meager mind around the bewildering fact a man can actually do hard time for stealing his own shit. Simply dumbfounding, I know, Juice.

But all the glitter isn’t gold, as they say, and the sparks around O.J. Simpson’s once glorified life have faded faster than the 2008 Buffalo Bills.

Perhaps the Juice will use this opportunity to establish a new state of mind, one that doesn’t take orbit around his own greed and self-centered ambitions, one where ex-lovers become friends and fans find equal ground with stars.

Maybe he’ll find Jesus. Maybe he’ll find Allah. Maybe he’ll find Tito the lovely body builder from cell block 9.

Not sure. Nor do I care. The glove fit this time and they used it to keep hands clean while squeezing the freedom juice from Simpson’s fantasy world. Ain’t life grand, that so many can find peace and joy in the unnecessary sorrows of such a confused soul.

   

Home Shopping Network crime spree – When will the madness end?

Considering the News…

The Home Shopping Network is renowned for its worldly products and seductive bargains…We’re not only going to slash the original price, but we’re going to take another 25 dollars off and throw in a Russian made-for-order bride and a Swiss Army knife to the next 50 callers…Who can beat that? You can’t. You won’t.

You see, there’s successful business models, piss-poor business models, and then there’s the Home Shopping Network – the house of essentials glistening on a staged hill.

Marketing and advertising are unshakable staples of the consumer economy, yet the Home Shopping Network has thrived by taking chances, testing limits like Rosie O in spandex at a $7.95 Chinese buffet. Indeed, HSN doesn’t market in the traditional sense, like say, Hardees jamming the double bacon monster burger down the throats of the imminent triple-bypass crowd…too damn easy. The strategy of short-sighted simpletons.

Instead, at HSN, the actual product is the marketing.

Sexy vixens massaging fishing poles. Loquacious butchers slicing scintillating Omaha steaks. Sexy vixens massaging lotions into palms and forearms, lotions with which one might massage and lotion other things. Loquacious butchers now drilling through 28 stuffed Turduckens. Sexy vixen massaging Omaha steaks.

Doesn’t matter what the product is, just who’s drilling, slicing or cradling the thing. And it works. It’s entertaining. Enlightening. Addictive. How addictive, you ask…

A former bank teller who pleaded guilty to embezzlement told investigators she was addicted to a cable TV shopping network.

Cassandra Ryder, a former teller at the Branch Banking & Trust (BB&T) in Copperhill, Tenn., said she often purchased items from the network with the embezzled funds.

Ryder was sentenced Monday to 15 months in prison for embezzling $134,000 between January 2005 and September 2007

The Detroit Auto Clowns – Trimming the Fat Cats

Considering the News…

The incompetent stooges of Detroit’s big three are waxing their bikini lines and preparing for another vulgar swimsuit competition before the drunken judges of congress. I suspect the future holds some lap dances for dollars, erotic cries for mercy, and whispers of sweet, sweet nothings into any open ear this side of Chevy Chase.

And it’s all a bitter lie more transparent than the reformed addicts of Hollyweird. (Hey! But these humbled lugs are coming in earnest this time! They’ve even sold off half the private jets to buy Toyota hybrids! These guys are driving to Washington!) Well, that’s a sizzling lump of bullshit.

These flabby cats are bopping into town in a damn clown car and we’re expected to shell out 34 Billion for the performance. Maybe if those pampered scoundrels pulled up in a Greyhound, because even Sarah Palin can take a 16-week course on common sense, but she’s not passing the final without smearing some serious lipstick.

So I say congress relocates that old dusty box of jock straps and do what any respectable sports program would do when sweeping tides pull a good name into the deep waters of underachievement…Fire the bastards and start fresh.

You want America to bail out your company? Sure, we’ll help you. Let’s start by getting a competent coaching staff to replace these clueless hacks.

Sarah Palin told me to do it – Psychiatric evaluation ensues

Considering the News…

God is a mysterious being - no one denies that - but His actions have been quite questionable as of late.

First it was letting Sarah Palin in on the secret that His “Will” inspired Americans to rid the earth of all terrorists. Then it was telling Sarah Palin the prospects for a 2012 run look good. And now He’s even telling truckers to patrol traffic, stopping at nothing to get the lousy drivers off the road.

At least one vigilante driver took God’s wishes to heart, as a San Antonio trucker rammed his truck into some woman’s ride because the Man Upstairs told him “she needed to be taken off the road.”

Apparently God is so far ahead of schedule these days He’s now extended the list of sins to include shitty driving. Right.

Well, we can already see where this is heading. Pleading insanity was a 1990s thing. Now “God’s Will” is the new best defense for criminal believers and lunatics. Which leads me to conclude I should attend service more often. Get in touch with God. See if he can’t tell me to rob a bank or knock off a few convenience shops. Guess He only contacts the good and the righteous. Damn.

Things you can’t say in Colorado – Your lady is a tramp

Considering the News…

One has to wonder how the hell Hunter S. Thompson ever got away with living in Colorado. The guy should have done some serious time…and not just for the abundance of mind-bending drugs and explosives…Thompson’s typewriter should have gotten him locked up thrice daily.

The news out of Fort Collins is that some 40-year-old buster was arrested for, get this reader, calling his lady a lousy whore on Craigslist. Ok, perhaps his rhetoric was a weeee-bit more libelous than that (He actually claimed she was giving her lawyer the business in exchange for legal representation), but it sets a startling precedent either way you lube the shaft.

You see, people just don’t get arrested for saying, writing, or publishing that kind of twisted shit these days. Wrists are slapped. Retractions are printed. Apologies are faked. But no one gets 18 months in the ”fun shower” for calling his lady a no-good, meddling tramp on the damn ”Raves and Rants” section of Craigslist. Maybe in China. Maybe in North Korea. Maybe those blasted Russians even take a pinky toe to prove a point.

But under no circumstances should any American face time for calling a loved one an easy skank – no matter how ludicrous the claims. This is a classic case of “Slander per se”  since the guy challenged a woman’s “chastity,” however, such ugly claims are made in every middle school, high school, college, and redneck-infested watering hole 365 days a year.  

Should this truly warrant one’s imprisonment? Do we have room for this in American prisons? Do you, reader, personally know anyone outside of your grandmother who hasn’t called someone a whore, even in jest, at one time or twelve others?

You see, the worst part is the actual wording of the Colorado statute that made this arrest possible…Any words ”tending to blacken the memory of one who is dead” or to “expose the natural defects of one who is alive, and thereby to expose him to public hatred, contempt or ridicule.”

Jesus! Pretty damn vague if you ask me. Seems quite a few could be picked up on this. The people of Colorado better act fast and fix this preposterous speech limitation, lest they wish to winnow away their remaining days in complete solitude and silence.

And as for Mr. Man with the filthy mind – perhaps he should consider reading up on John Peter Zenger and private investigators before his hearing, because if his lady is as naughty as he claims, this could be a quick and easy defense.

Restoring the Fairness Doctrine – Rush Limbaugh moans self to sleep

Considering the News…

If they’re down, kick the rascals in the ribs – it’s the only means for solidifying a new social order.

Rush Limbaugh’s fat jaw has been jiggling with trepidation since the ”far left” won the election and established a sizable advantage in both houses of congress. The pill-popping propagandist’s fears continue snowballing each broadcast, as he laments the restoration of the Fairness Doctrine and what terrible fate awaits his paranoia kingdom if such a nightmare comes true.

And why wouldn’t he be frightened – conservative talk radio has experienced unparalleled growth since the doctrine was abolished in 1987. 10-1! That’s the advantage these chatty fear-mongers and religionados have in the market, so it’s no surprise they’ve chomped their nails down to bloody stubs in recent months.

With Obama’s victory comes the appointment of a Democrat to the most influential post in the FCC - the chairman – as well as the highly influential five-person panel.

This would seemingly spell doom for the Limbaughs and Sean Hannitys of the world, yet there’s no evidence Obama even supports the Fairness Doctrine, let alone aims to re-establish its restrictive measures since it challenges aspects of the First Amendment. In fact, Limbaugh’s daily temper tantrums will ultimately prove a waste of raw energy and emotion…though, that’s nothing beyond the ordinary. That’s what talking heads do – stoke public outcries and watch the ratings soar.

Free hookers and booze will find the streets before ”fairness” ever realistically hits the airwaves, yet the eventual move to “localism” could spawn a similarly daunting effect, as the FCC forms ”community advisory boards” to determine whether a respective station is adequately addressing the public needs of local citizens, fining those that fail to meet the requisite standards (whatever those may be).

What will happen is the hardcore conservative areas (fewer and fewer of these black holes exist each year) will pass with the flying colors of a Cirque de Soleil acid trip, while the other 94 percent of the under-represented country will insist on more progressive programming.

And that sucks for Rush’s kingdom, where subordinates cower under beds with swords ready, listening attentively to the puppet master as he forecasts the imminent demise of everything American…BOO!

What Humpty neglects to address during his insufferable rants and tangents is that his own eventual fall from the wall won’t be the product of crazy liberal doctrines sweeping him away with a spurt of hocus pocus, but because more enlightened Americans are reaching for the dial each day, leaving the dick in a box to continue rambling on and on and on all by himself…

Either way, liberals and Fairness Doctrines won’t be the cause of conservative talk radio’s death – the temper, tone and content already does a damn fine job killing off its own creators.

The paranoia kingdom goes up in smoke

China hates on Guns N’ Roses – Americans applaud China

Considering the News…

The ruling Communist Party of China has a thorn up its ass, and it goes by the name Guns N’ Roses. We should then expect some form of attack, for one is surely imminent. Not an attack on America as a whole, but specifically that greasy bandanna-rocking clown Axl…I imagine Slash is under siege just the same.

GNR’s highly-anticipated album Chinese Democracy is just too free spirited for the paranoid erectors of mysterious walls, as the state sponsored Global Times denounced the mildly provocative album of, “venomously attacking,” the rising superpower.

Thus record sales of the 14-year project (GNR began production of the sure-fire classic in 1994) will suffer to no end in China…mostly because it will be outlawed…but also because the Chinese aren’t stupid.

Communism must fry a black, charred trail through the vulnerable pastures of one’s mind, but I suspect the perceptions of reality are not so devastated and damaged to the point its victims are forever incapable of classifying shitty music when they hear it.

So while it’s imperative we commend the Chinese government for rejecting this lame musical offering from society, I fear the move was quite unnecessary – no matter how many democratically inspired lyrics grace the album’s songs, freedom lyrics aren’t saving this album, or band, either way.

Axl scares the Chinese...among others

The Obese – Two people or people, too?

Considering the News…

Fat people are people, too – that’s just accepted science. Perhaps they suffer inconveniences and alienation unknown to the rest, but pound for pound they are just as human as their undersized brethren.

However, now those afflicted by clapping man titties, cottage cheese thighs, and bubbling and bulging waist lines will be considered more than mere people. They are now super people…Yes, super people with the rights of two citizens.

You see, the Canadian Supreme Court (in the most perplexing of all rulings) has concluded each ass cheek should be given equal rights, at least when it comes to traveling on commercial jets. Therefore, Canadian airlines must now sell the extraordinarily healthy folks two seats for the price of one, if, of course, their bloated asses cannot comfortably fit into seats fitted for the common man.

Wow. Fucking wow. I am an ardent supporter of all things equality, but this is downright egregious. The skinny man gets the long, cold and rigid shaft, as his chubby counterparts reap the benefits of luxury seating on account of their inflated rumps trumping standard seat sizes.

That’s just fucking crazy. And it’s only the first step in a long and dirty trend that will unfold as people get fatter and more pissed off about it. If fat people are getting away with this today (given it’s only Canada) then we can only imagine what startling perks they will be rewarded in the coming decades.

The little man better bulk up now. Double Whoppers for everyone. Skinny folks can’t afford to fall behind. There’s too much riding on it. The porkers of the world have spoken, and they now hold all the cards. And apparently all the seats, too.

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's TWO fucking people!

The spicy battle between 50 Cent and Taco Bell

Considering the News…

There’s beef and beans between 50 Cent and Taco Bell. Expect corpses to start piling up because this feud could get nasty in the streets. Many will parish. Bloodied chalupas scattered in the hood.

The lisp-riddled rapper is pissed at the Tex-Mex giant because the latter hoped he might consider temporarily changing his name to 79 Cent or 89 Cent or even – you ready for this shit? – 99 Cent to spearhead an unprecedented marketing campaign bringing hip hop and crappy Mexican food together at last.

Well, this clearly challenged a “gangsta’s” street cred, and now Curtis “Can’t Act” Jackson is seeking mad paper for trademark infringment. Ok. So this gangster ass rapper will embarrass himself on the big screen and pimp diluted vitamin piss water, but he’s worried that hawking tacos is going to diminish his reputation. Whatever you say. Stay hood, buddy.

50 Cent and his gangster ass homie

Auto Giants seek bailout – As do I

Considering the News…

The three stooges of Detroit are dead broke and need money to pay the bookies and dealers. Don’t we all. This debilitating epidemic of corporate bailouts will soon bring about the death of failure. Worries will cease to exist, as CEOs realize the government prefers Nintendo world to these savage realities.

Oh, your stock died? Fuck it, here’s some cash, just restart the game and don’t screw it up this time. Jesus, you fucked up again. Whatever, here’s some more cash. Try harder this time.

Indeed, the American business world is devolving into a college dorm room, where bong hits for Jesus blur the tedious line between failure and a fresh slate. It’s disconcerting, but who the hell didn’t love freshman year?

So rather than waste even an ounce of the energy or spirit I will undoubtedly need later in life, I will save the verbal crucifixions of the auto industry for another time. If they want more money to build even more of the antiquated gas-guzzlers that no one is buying and never will, then who am I to suggest they embrace the evolving technologies of the industry. Lord knows Toyota isn’t begging for cheddar.

Instead I will wholeheartedly welcome the welfare tactics that aim to undermine the working man’s motivation. If I haven’t yet failed with the best of them, thus necessitating the need for a healthy government check, then perhaps my mission should be forming a coalition of failures to strengthen this lone voice of need.

There is power in numbers. The government won’t consider the bailout of one man, only that of many. If you’re unemployed, broke, and in need, then the government shall be your savior. If you’re gainfully employed but have grown weary of the daily grind, so too shall you find salvation in the undeserved riches of our lords in Washington. There’s bailout checks to be had. Everyone can cash in. Now is our time to say fuck it and start over.