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.

Obama to limit executive bonuses – Plus, why high-class prostitution will suffer

Considering the News…

As the financial crisis paralyzes every industry not specializing in online pornography, ill-timed is President Obama’s audacious plan to limit executive bonuses for companies receiving “exceptional assistance” under the bailout program.

A closer glimpse into this seedy plan only further illustrates how downright silly his shameless middle-class pandering has become.

No secret is it the extravagant taste of these very executives is solely responsible for keeping the luxury industries afloat – so what could possibly compel Obama to risk undermining this sector of the market at such a time?

Why, who will buy the $100 lobster dinners should this plan come to fruition? Or the private jets! How can that industry realistically survive if General Motors has merely one jet instead of five?

Caviar, yachts, private golf clubs, exotic beauty products, Oliver Goldsmith sunglasses, Stefano Bemer shoes – I ask you, Mr. President, where will the customers come from if under-performing executives of collapsing corporations fail to receive outrageous and undeserved compensation?

And this is to say nothing of the high-class prostitution business! Where will the next great generation of lawyers and doctors come from if aspiring professionals cannot fund graduate school because the underground service industry went belly up?

Obama and the Dream Team Circus claim to boast a myriad of fantastic tricks to bewilder the eye and wow the crowd – but this particular performance, I am afraid to say, is incredibly underwhelming, unrewarding, and greatly lacking both theme and direction.

Back to the dressing room, Good sir, the audience is getting rather anxious.

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.

Octuplets move to mystery mansion – Plus, why everyone with six kids should have another eight

Considering the News…

Scintillating details of the California octuplets remain shrouded in mystery, now four days removed from the babies’ removal from the mother’s womb.

Traditionally patient and polite news media is growing uncharacteristically anxious. Many pressing questions remain unanswered. What are their names? Who are the eight fathers? Are they Clippers or Lakers fans?

Yet the family is proceeding with painstaking secrecy and caution, striving to protect the anonymity of these eight little miracles, and paying no mind to the joyful reporters calmly seeking an interview.

The latest rumor seasoning this savory story is word the parents already have six little miracles – meaning their humble home has now contributed 14 healthy and happy and necessary additions to the otherwise scarcely populated state of California.

Unfortunately, heartless skeptics now wrongly question the family’s sincerity, speculating the true incentive for breeding eight little miracles simultaneously is an unbridled desire for fame and undeserved gifts. But that’s not the honest Christian thing to do, now is it.

Representing this batch of miracles is the grandfather ( identifying himself as Ed), who has offered few guarantees or promises thus far, aside from leaking word of a huge mystery mansion existing somewhere in the remote hills of the countryside, well beyond the mental and physical limits of lazy media members.

There, he says, his two dozen or so grandchildren will live in unchallenged secrecy, never bothering with the unworthy outside world. That 16 miracles can move anywhere in this country without anyone noticing is a relatively common feat destined for absolute, unhindered success. They will probably never be found, seen, or heard from again.

They certainly will never stoop to repeating the same trite interview again and again for any TV station agreeing to donate to the college fund, a college fund that will undoubtedly go toward the octuplets’ education alone, and not to any extravagant trips or boats or new cars or an even bigger mystery mansion in the even more remote hills of the countryside.

I wish the family only the absolute best. A great service they have done for the world. Think of how much less crime there would be if every family with six children made the admirable decision to take fertility drugs (true story) and have another eight.

We can only wonder how many less cars would be on the road. How much food everyone would have. How much cheaper college tuition would be. How many less people would be on welfare. How many more people would be employed. How many more people would be able to visit Wal-Mart and buy Chinese toys and appliances.

Indeed, we can only wonder.

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.

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.

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.

2008 – The Year of Experience and Merit in Politics

Considering the News…

2008 will be remembered for a plethora of historic achievements – A Philadelphia team not choking in the championship, Oprah becoming the first talk show host to eclipse 200 pounds more than 12 times in a career, Detroit auto companies selling more cars than ever – but perhaps this year’s most distinguished contributions to history have come per the political spectrum.

Yessir, 2008 is going down as the year experience and merit propelled savvy politicians to the mountain’s top.

There was Barack Obama dismissing the notion community organizers aren’t people, too, as he raised ungodly sums of money to spearhead his successful presidential campaign, ultimately shocking the world by becoming the country’s first black commander-in-chief.

There was Sarah Palin proving intelligence and familiarity with the U.S. Constitution is by no means a requisite for political dominance, having quickly claimed the throne of the Conservative Kingdom of Yahoos, ridding the world of barriers that hindered the likes of Forrest Gump, Britney Spears, and the French.

And now there is Caroline Kennedy laboring to extend her family’s rule in the Senate, scoffing at any indignant asshole who might contend there is more to public office than a surname and a shit-ton of money, laughing at those poor souls who are quick to remind us she has accomplished nothing of substance outside of writing a book or two and being born a Kennedy, mocking us simpletons who ever believed Democracy was devised to elect the best and the brightest – and not merely those with a familiar name and, yes, a shit ton of money.

What a year 2008 has been. Surely it will go down in infamy as the year pragmatisim had a heart attack on the john.

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.

8 percent of Illinois residents are crazy…Many proud parents

Considering the News…

Embattled Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich is still a very popular figure in his home state, as recent polls indicate eight percent of his constituents still think rather highly of him.

And that’s no laughable accomplishment considering his current legal troubles, so I imagine his parents are quite proud of him these days, calling all friends and acquaintences in the rolodex for some good old fashioned offspring praising.

And yet Blago might not even be the most admired golden child in the state, what with Jessie Jackson’s boy Jessie Jackson sowing a rather sparkling image for himself, making all sorts of glamorous headlines and becoming an earnest talking point for late night talk show hosts. Quite a big deal he’s become.

Indeed, I’m no father myself, however, I’m compelled to believe a son like Jessie Jr. would bring me unparalleled joy. Few things elevate the spirits of a good-hearted man in the same fashion as witnessing a son surpass the public greatness of himself, and Jessie Jackson’s certainly a good-hearted man if there ever was one.

I’m sure the Jacksons are going to have a splendid Christmas this year, and so too the Blagojevich family. They’ll receive all sorts of thoughtful gifts and a litany of endearing cards, all coming from eight percent of the friends and family they once had.

Obama is British and Harry Potter is a Muggle

Considering the News…

The grandest court in all the land has rejected an emergency appeal from a New Jersey man who claims to know more about the President-elect than even, say, the President-elect.

No, he’s not a biographer, per se, but he understands natural citizenship more than most, which makes it a damn shame his case won’t be heard in earnest by the U.S. Supreme Court.

Leo Donofrio (yes, that’s his real name) of Brunswick, N.J., contends that as Obama’s mother was American but his father was Kenyan, and thus a British subject, in no way whatsoever can Obama really be a pure-blood American, rendering him ineligible for the presidency.

It’s a vague and shady genetic equation, but Donofrio’s theory is flawless and has the backing of a monumental precedent. You see, in the case of Hermione v. Hogwartz School of Wizardry, Professor Dumbledore ruled that as Ms. Granger was undeniably the mixed blood product of a witch and a muggle, she did not qualify for classification as a pure-blood witch, no matter how prodigious her abilities.

Thus I hope the U.S. Supreme Court reconsiders the egregious dismissal of such a sincere case. Once again America finds itself at the mercy of the courts electing to legislate from the bench. What a dark world we live in.

Illinois continues streak of corrupt governors

Considering the News…

The state of Illinois is precise and methodical in electing only the most corrupt scumbags to office, especially when it comes to the governorship. Perhaps no other member of the union boasts a better track record of crooked politicians than Illinois, save maybe New Jersey and Louisiana.

It’s rather startling to fathom one state successfully electing such brazen thieves time and time again, an ultimate exercise of participatory democratic destruction. Nevermind the occasional successes like, say, a Durbin or an Obama – Illinois embraces the notion of unsavory, untrustworthy government  and should be commended for its ardent devotion to a single set of ideals.

How rebellious. How adventurous. How non-partisan.

You see, as news breaks of Democratic Governor Rod Blagojevich’s arrests on too many counts of corruption to trouble the WordPress servers with, one must appreciate how bipartisan Illinois corruption really is, for his arrest comes as his predecessor rots in federal prison for racketeering and fraud.

Blagojevich, the silly son of a bitch he is, actually campaigned on, get this, cleaning up the despicable mess left by Republican Governor George Ryan. And, of course, he won!

But, contrary to Blagojevich’s charming beliefs, Illinois didn’t put him in office because they yearned for change, but, rather, because they knew he was just the man to perpetuate the seedy ways of Ryan. Indeed, having realized this soon after the inauguration, Blagojevich embarked on his own term of terror, cutting deals with any and every company with a checkbook.

And Blagojevich, God bless his soul, became so proud of his work in corruption that he fancied extending a dirty hand to the nation’s capitol, offering up the Senate seat left open by Obama’s election to the highest bidder. Now that’s government we can believe in.

It’s now a shame that Blago won’t be around to see what his great work in corruption means to his beloved home state, the Land of Lincoln. But we know this. We know the citizens of Illinois always have a crook lurking in the shadows, and his replacement will perhaps be an even bigger piece of shit than him.

Alert:Boy George is creepier than we thought

Considering the Weird…

Turns out Boy George is the one hurting people these days.

The disturbed pervert, who stormed through the fame gates with his 1980s songs “Karma Chameleon” and “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me”, was found guilty today of falsely imprisoning one of his teammates from the coke-addled porn stars.

Turns out Georgie lured his unsuspecting victim back to the crib after a porn shoot (creepy), handcuffed him to a wall (creepier), and then proceeded to beat him into submission with a chain (creepy, yes, but also wrong as hell).

The 47-year-old cross dresser reportedly hatched the wicked scheme in retaliation for his victim refusing to sleep with him when they originally met, which highlights just how jumbled Boy George’s head is.

The two starred together in a raunchy pino before heading back to a nasty love palace where handcuffs and chains and lotions awaited, yet George was ticked about not getting that weeks or months or whatever beforehand…Wow.

Just doesn’t make any damn sense. But, then again, neither do songs about chameleons, so what do I know.

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.

   

Women politicians aren’t all stupid

Considering the News…

lleana Ros-Lehtinen might live her life paranoid as a first-time overnight prison guest, but at least she doesn’t suffer from dumb. No, the Republican congresswoman from Florida is sharp, crafty, witty, eloquent, familiar with the U.S. Constitution…

Hell, those traits are mere hearsay, and I have no evidence to support those claims. But whether Ros-Lehtinen is a valedictorian or a varsity football team bicycle is no concern of mine, for at least we know she’s a pure-hearted skeptic, willing to insult the President-elect to preserve whatever dignity she might fancy herself to have.

When Barack Obama extended a benevolent hand across the aisle, Ros-Lehtinen slapped it down like Barry was making an sleazy pass at her thighs. Reports indicate that Obama, then Rahm Emanuel, attempted to phone Ros-Lehtinen, only to hear echos and a freaking click.

There was no malicious intent on her part, Ros-Lehtinen simply thought some limp-dicks from a local radio station were trying to make light of her. Sensing it might be a prank phone call, she played hardball right backand hung up on the bastards…Only it was the next President.

Embarrassing for her, yes. But not quite as humiliating as, say, a clueless Alaskan moosetress believing President Sarkozy of France truly gives two shits and wants to wish her well on the campaign trail. Because, you know, that would be quite the blemish on an otherwise sterling common sense track record.

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

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.

Mystery Solved: How Bleach Kills Germs…Seriously

Considering the News…

After 200 years of scratching their heads, scientists have finally solved one of the great mysteries – how bleach kills germs. That’s right. Finally we can get some sleep around here.

A team from the University of Michigan has spent years grappling with the issue, but victory is now theirs. We don’t have any word, as of yet, what problem the team of obviously intriguing characters will tackle next, but my guess is it will have something to do with the existence of God, or perhaps why men are so damn infatuated with breasts.

In somewhat related news, scientists believe drinking bleach is unsafe, especially for young children…cancer still kills…and life is a bitch.