One Small Step for Mankind, One Long Drive for Womankind

Did astronaut Lisa Marie Nowak drive 900 miles non-stop from Houston to Orlando in diapers to kill or just apply a beat down to another female astronaut Colleen Shipman?

Depends?

Or was it Pampers?

One thing we know for sure is that she didn’t make that trip in poopy pants to ride Space Mountain at Disneyworld. She was arrested carrying a bag filled with rubber tubing, $600 in cash, a knife, BB gun, pepper spray, a steel mallet, and garbage bags. Maybe she’s got a part-time maintenance gig at Disneyworld?

Nowak now faces charges of attempted first-degree murder in Florida. Since she is an astronaut and flew on the Space Shuttle Discovery I guess they have to consider her a flight risk.

Novak is married with three kids, the object of her affection; astronaut William Oefelein, is married with two kids. I thought these rocket science types were far too busy studying inter-planetary formations to think about sex. Hell, they even went so far as to change the once funny name to say of “Your-Anus” to the boring and safe “Youranis” to further bolster this myth. But, I guess I was wrong….way wrong since Oefelein was involved with two female astronauts and keeping his earthling wife happy all at the same time. Apparently, astronauts really do love them some Tang down at the appropriately named Johnson Space Center.

This embarrassment along with a few shuttle crashes leads me to the real issue, which is “Do we really need a space program”?

Consider the following NASA figures: the Space Shuttle Endeavor, the one built to replace the Challenger cost approximately $1.7 billion. The average cost to launch a Space Shuttle cost about $450 million per mission…and no it CAN’T even fly to the moon!!

The pro-space camp will say we need space travel to study the effects of global warming and to monitor the ever growing hole in the ozone layer and to study melting glacier ice caps…. I say the melting caps are happening right here on earth in Antarctica. You don’t need a shuttle trip to see it , take a Cessna, a good camera, and some warm clothes.

They say we use space travel to launch satellites…I say I have cable.

They say they use space travel for research to develop cheap and environmentally friendly energy….I say each shuttle mission uses 500,000 gallons of fuel, stop one mission and by default you’ve just become more environmentally friendly.

I have to think you could spend the $450 million per launch for a lot more meaningful research here on earth. But then again, I’m no rocket scientist, so what do I know?

Second Thoughts on Super Bowl XLI

How do we really know if Marlee Matlin didn’t screw up the National Anthem? I would ask a deaf football fan but they can’t hear me and I can’t sign.

My favorite commercial-- Bud Lite English as a second language

Clay Aiken’s favorite commercial—Snickers boys in the garage

Prince looked like Aunt Jemima’s sexually confused grandson

CBS was so impressed by Prince’s half-time performance; they offered him a cameo on ‘Two and a Half Men’ he’ll play the half man.

Does Lovie Smith have a wife named Thurston?

The Go-Daddy.com chick has a butter face

Peyton Manning always looks constipated no matter what the score.

David Spade looked as confused in the stands as Rex Grossman looked on the field

K-Fed is Vanilla Ice, if Vanilla Ice had no talent at all

I want to see the un-rated Directors cut of the Letterman-Oprah commercial

Now that he is out of the closet will CBS produce a spin-off with Neil Patrick Harris called “How I Met Your Brother”?

Despite the eighty-nine combined promos I’ll still never watch ‘Survivor’ or ‘The Amazing Race’

What was Katie Couric up to in the CBS trailer and with whom to get her hair so mussed up?

Don’t Want to Shop ‘Til You Drop

As a kid I would become spastic when Mom pulled the station wagon into the driveway upon returning from her weekly food shopping spree. I’d help carry the bags until to I got to the Ring Dings or Chips Ahoy, then I was just rendered useless as I fed my sugar Jones. I was like the crack addict who needed a fix and just found it, and now it was time to kick back and chill. Unless of course, the fridge had no milk, then I would race back to the driveway to help again, like the crack addict missing a lighter or matches.

On occasion I would go to the supermarket with my parents, I still remember the open Brach’s candy Lazy Suzan and how my sister and I used to load up our pockets when the folks weren’t looking. There were no express lanes or self checkout. Back then you weren’t the checker’s little helper having to bag groceries. You stood in line with every other slug and waited to check out; whether you had five items or fifty. Sure you might get lucky and some nice old lady would let you go first because you only had a handful of items and she had many, but then you’d be screwed because Mom would make sure you carried the old bag’s bags to her car, which she could never find right away and smelled like wet cat.

Since customers never bagged their own shit back in the day, Mom had time to scan the ‘People’ magazine or ‘The National Inquirer’ while in line. And you had time to nag Mom into buying that Nestle's Crunch bar.

The checker was a real multi-tasker; both collecting cash and bagging. The checkers were skilled with math and physics. They could make change in seconds without the verbal mathematics of the today’s checkers. I wish they wouldn’t count aloud back to me the amount that I just handed them, “and five makes forty”…I can count just fine, and I’ve already ascertained my expected change before you Sparky, and unlike you I kept my shoes on the whole time. So just save the countdown for New Year’s Eve.

The physics skills were evident in the bagging process; unlike today. The old schoolers had the smarts to know bread shouldn’t be the first item in the bag…followed by the gallon of milk. Hey Sparky- ice cream first, then the grapes, not the other way around…you’re high right now aren’t you?

One last thing… twelve items or less mean exactly that. Not thirteen, sixteen, or thirty, just twelve and hopefully less. The express lane ceases to have the efficiency to warrant the name “express” when you are unloading from not one but two shopping carts. I’m in just as big a hurry to get home as you Tons-O-Fun. That’s why I only have eight things in my cart. I was hoping to EZ-Pass it right out of here today, but no.

I think they should eliminate the twelve items or less express lane. It should be the “hand basket” only lane…no shopping carts allowed. Anything you can wedge into that 2’x2’ Little Red Riding Hood basket with those sisspot handles is fair game. It shows your commitment if you are willing to sacrifice a few eggs to speed things up. I gotta respect that.

I Gotta go where it’s Warm (part III)

After just missing at least three head on collisions, three of which were my fault, it was a relief to have to deal with the stress of work. I arrived to find the prick standing at my cubicle, coffee in hand ala Bill Lumbergh in ‘Office Space’ and I was a snow-covered pissed off Peter Gibbons.

“Your late” he chirped. Not wanting to get drawn into a pissing contest that I couldn’t win about the snowstorm I replied; “Yea I’m late, I overslept because my crappy alarm clock didn’t go off” He smirked and said “Technically, your not late because we have a two hour delayed opening because of the snowstorm , but of course I was here an hour ago” Ever the wise-ass I replied “It snowed today?” “Delayed opening? “So, I should be getting paid overtime since I’m not really supposed to be here yet, right?” The prick shook his head in disgust, sipped from a coffee mug he no doubt bought for himself which read; “Our Fearless Leader” then stormed away from my cube.

A quick gander around the office revealed I was the only brave soul besides the prick (not a brave soul); who made it to the office.

Lucky me.

I could see from the office window the snow was still furiously dropping from the sky without any signs of relenting. Because of the 40mph winds the snow was also beginning to drift. Roughly ¼ of the window was now covered by a sloping wave of snow. What the hell was I thinking? I should have never gotten out of bed.

I turned on the radio on my absent co-workers desk only to hear that all major roads in the area were officially closed until further notice. Only emergency vehicles were allowed to travel in the surrounding area. A news announcer warned folks to stay in their houses and he read a directive from the governor urging all businesses to close for the day.

Snowed in just me and the prick!! Are you shitting me?? This can’t get any worse. That’s just when it got worse…I was sulking in the cubicle when the prick emailed five spreadsheets previously worked on by co-workers who were smart enough to stay the hell home. He said I needed to finish the accounts receivable on five new customers by the end of day. I asked him what the hurry was since everyone will be back tomorrow after they dig out. He said today was the last day of the 2nd quarter and if the customer data wasn’t submitted to corporate by the end of the day, we couldn’t charge the revenue to this quarter and I would be in big trouble.

I didn’t know what the hell I was looking at since I’m a marketing guy, not an accounting guy, which by the way, the prick was well aware of.

I asked him to help and he said he has a Masters in engineering , not in accounting, but added he could have slept-walked his way to an MBA if he wanted to because business courses are a joke compared to engineering. For spite he added; "You have a B.S. in Business, right?" He then told me I was on my own and I better not make any mistakes. He said if we don’t get these numbers to corporate, heads will roll – starting with my mine. He smirked again and said he needed another cup of coffee, then left my cube. As he left I wished him death…in my mind only. But, I think he knows how I feel about him, the same way we all feel about him, we disdain him intensely.

The last thing I recall clearly was a loud noise that sounded like breaking tree branches, and then everything went blank. When I finally came to I was buried under a small avalanche of snow, mixed with florescent light, mixed with acoustic ceiling tiles. The roof had fallen in!!

I struggled to pull myself up and out. My coccyx ; which was just starting to feel better, now felt as though it was on the receiving end of a sledge hammer blow. The whole office was covered with snow-mixed debris. The blizzard was happening in the office. Computers, telephones , printers, fax machines, coffee makers, file cabinets, and pictures all covered by snow and roofing supplies.

I made it over to where the prick’s luxurious office used to be. It resembled downtown Baghdad, that is, if Iraq ever had a snowstorm after three days of intense bombing. Against my better judgment I started a reconnaissance mission in search of the prick. He was buried near a laser printer which appeared to have just printed a banner with his picture and the phrase “BOSS, YOU'RE THE GREATEST!!” It also had a Post-it note stuck to it that in his hand writing read “get employee signatures here” and several arrows. I found him face down with coffee mug still in hand and he appeared to be dead. There is a God!!

After an intense internal debate which I lost to the decent me; the one my mother likes; I decided to try and get him some help. I hated him enough not to want to waste my minutes trying to broker his survival, so I searched for an office phone, but couldn’t find one. I relented and opened my cell phone but couldn’t get service to dial out. I dug up an office phone, no dial tone.

Through his fleshy neck I felt for a pulse which I couldn’t get. What I was about to do I would live to regret, I was adamant about this prediction. I flipped his snow covered carcass over so he was now face up, smirk still firmly planted on his plump mug . I pinched his bulbous hair filled nose, open his mouth and performed mouth to mouth resuscitation. The taste of garlic was overpowering but I soldiered through for roughly two minutes before he cut loose with a hellacious “I want to live, I want to live” cough that nearly knocked me unconscious . I felt like John Wayne Bobbitt’s surgeon having just saved a prick.

He looked at me with bewildered eyes and asked “What happened??”, I told him how I just saved his life!! From that point on “the prick” became “the pal” The pal braced himself against me for support and we both left the shell of what used to be our offices. We walked out to the end of our industrial park and flagged down a large yellow plow truck.

The driver said “What the hell happened to you two?” “Sledding accident” I shot back. He drove us to the nearest hospital, where the pal was treated for a separated shoulder and fractured ribs. I thought about having my head examined for leaving my house. The pal was kept overnight for observation. “Will, you saved my life, your career is going to take off for what you did!”

Great, I thought to myself I have to explain to my co-workers how I saved the hated bosses life and my “coincidental” subsequent career advancement. The pal added “I mean it, things are going to really happen for you, I owe you”. “You know I’m thinking of adding a senior manager to our division” My head was really starting to hurt along with coccyx. I asked “Do you know of any openings in the Miami office? He said “As I matter of fact I do!”

I answered back “That’s great, because I gotta go where it’s warm”

I Gotta go where it’s Warm (part II)

After the fall, I realized my car doors were frozen shut, along with the trunk of the car, which of course contained my ice scraper. I ransacked the kitchen drawer for the sharpest knife I could find; skated back to the driveway and chiseled my way into my car.

Although they look nice, leather seats are just a bad idea. They are comfortable on average for about four months out of twelve. For the other months the seats serve no practicality at all. Leather will fry or freeze your ass, just not in the right sequence of months where an ass would require either frying or freezing. But truth be told, on this day, the frozen seat served as a much welcomed ice pack.

As I turned the key in the ignition the car made a sound that can be best described as a cross between a wounded elephant and a life-long smoker drawing a terminal breath. After several “just take the bus today asshole” groans and hacks the car reluctantly started. Besides the sub-zero leather seats the windows were frozen as well, I felt like I was perched inside a glacier. The few minutes it took for the heat come on felt more like an hour. Finally, I could feel the numbness leave my extremities; which is always a positive sign.

Because I needed extra time to clean off the car and get the heater to work, then wait for the car to warm up to defrost the windows I was already forty-five minutes late for work before I left my driveway.

Then I tried to make up the time by driving like a maniac because my boss is a jag-off who arrives at the office an hour earlier than anyone else at all times, regardless of the weather. He also lives the furthest from the office which only makes things worse for everyone else. I could hear dickwad already; “If I got here on time, you can get here on time, you just need to leave earlier when the weather is going to bad” pulsing through my ears as I maneuvered through the icy road like I was an Iditarod team captain. It’s just then that my estimated time of arrival was halted by the over cautious motorists. You know the type; could be a man or a woman doesn’t matter. They never go one mph over the speed limit on a clear and dry 70 degree spring day, and ride in the left lane while doing so. They know you’re pissed and want them to move over, but they just don’t give a rat’s ass. On most days their car simulates the lead funeral car; you know, the one that's carrying the corpse. The row of cars trailing are flashing high beams , beeping, cursing, flipping the bird, but that over cautious motorist just doesn’t care, he is oblivious to all and he knows the speed limit and a rule is a rule.

On snowy days the cautious motorist really shines. He knows the reduced speed limit is in effect, he’s the only person on the road who knows what that reduced speed limit is, and by God he will stay 10mph below it all times. He taps the brakes in an exaggerated manner every 30 feet or so, to keep all of the trailing motorists in check, and to make sure our commute eats up roughly half of our eight hour work day.

Another annoying snow day commuter is one I like to call “the tank commander”; Soccer mom cleans just enough of her Range Rover windows to see the road, the rest of the car is still snow covered. She notches small rectangles on the windshield, back windows, driver and passenger side windows so her beady eyes can peer out onto the road. Her Sherman launches snowdrifts on my windshield because I happen to be lucky enough to be right behind her. Of course I’m fresh out of wiper fluid so I can’t fend off the barrage, so eventually it’s like I’m driving legally blind.

I could only squint though the areas between the muck on the windshield. The only car I could make out was a rusted I’d say late-seventies Cutlass Supreme with hanging muffler in the right lane with a memorial label in it’s back window that read; “In Loving Memory of Greg Babchak 1982-2006”. I felt bad for the person driving the car and wondered how they are connected to the deceased and how well they are coping with the loss. But then I came to my senses and only really felt bad for Greg Babchak, well, because he is dead. Then I wondered if the person in the car loved or hated Greg because they paid tribute to him on the window of a piece of shit rusted out ’78 Cutlass Supreme? Maybe Greg was a real prick who didn’t have many friends and the few he did have didn’t want to waste a late model Mercedes window in his memory? If nothing else these thoughts temporarily took my mind off the icy roads and the prick awaiting me at the office…

I Gotta go where it’s Warm (part I)

The next time I hear the word “wintery mix” my unmotivated ass is staying home, especially if I hear it on a Monday morning.. “Wintery mix” is a cute little compound word created by the weather forecasting community. It’s a veiled way of saying “We don’t have a freakin’ clue on what’s going to fall from the sky today so let’s just cover all the possible scenarios shall we?” Snow..Maybe? Rain..Maybe? Freezing rain…Maybe?. A frozen meteor… Sure, why not?

You and I have just as good a shot at forecasting wintertime misery as well as any of the Doppler radar worshipping geeks on the local news.

Due to forecast uncertainty I left the house with the following ensemble of gear: umbrella, boots, shovel, gloves, raincoat, hat, and flashlight. I looked like a schizophrenic poster boy in a vacation in Florida ad. Carrying all this shit made my balance worse that it usually is, so after my ass hit the icy driveway I slid feet first into my car door with the ferocity of a hitter trying to stretch a bloop single into a double.

My tailbone hurt like a son of a bitch from the fall. My next door neighbor; a male nurse named Garth and his friend/domestic partner Jay happened to be leaving their love nest at the same exact time and saw me take the spill. They ran over in matching Ugg boots and helped me to my feet. To avoid any possible awkwardness, I apologized to Garth and Jay in advance before clutching my throbbing ass area and told both; “It’s nothing personal”.

Garth looked at me and said “No offense taken Will, we saw you fall, it appears that you bruised your coccyx” . “If you really saw the fall you’d realize that I fell on my ass, not my front so my cocks is fine, and it needs no attention… medical or otherwise!” I gruntingly responded.

Garth said “Your coccyx is your tailbone, about three inches north of your rectum, and above and between the buttocks muscles” My inner monologue said the following: “Does he know these facts because of his job as a nurse, or because of his fascination with all things butt?” I was proud of myself for not blurting out this question to Garth and Jay. I have a surplus of neighbors who already hate me and I don’t know if they are accepting any new applicants. I thanked them for their help and they went on their way to the hospital where they work together on the same floor as register nurses.

From my experiences I know that when a husband and wife work together it usually leads to divorce. I’ve seen it happen twice, and they were the only two married couples that I ever worked with. Ironically, both couples met at work, and after the divorce one of the spouses had to leave the company because if they stayed someone would have been killed, or at the very least seriously injured. The one woman left her husband for another guy at work. After the divorce, both the woman and her new boyfriend left the company; much to the delight of the rest of us.

We didn’t want to get caught up in the gun play if and when the jilted ex-husband finally went postal on the happy new couple in the lunchroom. You see, the ex had coke bottle glasses and the realistic chance of him only mowing down just those two without any collateral damage (i.e. the rest of us) was real remote. We were all caught between a rock and hard place. None of us wanted to die, but nobody wanted chip in to get the poor bastard Lasik surgery either. So we did the next best thing; we got coke bottles hooked-up with another woman as soon as possible, and made sure she didn’t work with us. Thank you e-Harmony.com!

I don’t know how it works for gay couples?? Could it be the same? This is a topic ‘Ellen’ may want to tackle sometime. The old saying “Don’t get your honey where you get money” suddenly comes to mind...

Baby You Can Drive My Car…Right To The Bank

Heather, Heather, Heather. Now that it’s over between you and Sir Paul can I call you? Email? Fax? IM? Please. I can’t play multiple instruments, I can’t even write silly love songs, but I can do whatever you say, whenever you say.. real good.

Landmines… I hate ‘em too
The Fur Trade in Canada…Let’s get those bastards, not the seals.. the bad canucks!
The war in Iraq...terrible idea! What’s that Heather? You support the war in Iraq? Yes me too. Cheers Tony Blair. Splendid job, simply splendid!

Paul and Heather Mills; who were married in June 2002 in a lavish ceremony at an Ireland castle. McCartney and his soon-to-be ex-wife had a daughter, Beatrice Milly, in October 2003. Paul blamed the media for the deterioration of their marriage. Yeah, sure the media is to blame, that’s it! That’s like blaming the internet for my calloused hands, poor eye site and unquenchable appetite for pornography,. Bad analogy, nevermind.

Paul, don’t you think it has more to do with the fact that you are 63 and she is 38?

You have platinum albums older than her! She thinks Sgt. Pepper was the nice police officer who helped find her kitty as a child.

Paul McCartney wrote some of the greatest music and lyrics of all time. Yet he didn’t feel the need to spend a few hours to scribe a pre-nup? Paul refused claiming a pre-nup to be “unromantic”. Note to Paul – even more unromantic than the pre-nup is the full-on reaming you took sans lubricant.

Now Sir Paul McCartney will give Heather Mills a $62 million cash and property payoff to end their bitter divorce battle, it was reported yesterday. Not a bad windfall for four years of marriage! Paul was on tour for probably a year or so of the four, so she it wasn’t even four full years.

I can hear Yoko now yapping “You grow girl!” English translation “You go girl!” Poor John and George are turning over in their graves or just stirring in their cremation urns, and Ringo is looking to round up some more has-beens for his “All-Star” 2007 summer ’tour.

If it Really was Football Somebody Would Care

David Beckham is set to become the second highest-paid athlete in United States after signing a five-year contract worth up to $250 million with Major League Soccer team Los Angeles Galaxy.

Who new LA had a soccer team? Better yet, who new there was a professional soccer league in America? And who the hell in America is going to give a rat’s ass about David Beckham?

He is a thirty-four year old soccer player he should be playing in a senior league by now. Beckham is married to Posh Spice, she is the one Eddie Murphy didn’t knock up, I think?

Beckham and Posh are hoping to maintain celebrity status long after his soccer days are over. They are two good looking people with no discernable talents other than his fading soccer skills and her lip-synching talent. Like a Britney and K-Fed, if Federline played soccer and Posh was fat.

The problem is LA is already over-loaded with even better looking people with less discernable talents trying to get noticed. In fact, on the Richter scale of good looking people in LA, Becks and Posh aren’t posting any aftershocks.

The allegiance with Tom-Kat is already creeping people out. Be careful Becks, Tom might get his non-medicated little hands on some of that cash. Can you say “David Beckham Scientology Sports Center”??

Your post soccer days will be spent teaching the Travolta kids how to properly corner kick while dodging Kirstie Alley sexual advances.

Beckham’s soccer alone won’t get him noticed in America unless he kills somebody on the field. Even then it will be buried underneath the high school baseball scores in the last page of the sport section.

We don’t care about soccer and we have less patience for celebrities with no talent. If you don’t believe me just ask Paris Hilton, K-Fed, or Ryan Seacrest.

In order for us to truly care about Becks and Posh there has to be more than there is right now. A fight with Rosie or Trump, rehab for Vicodin , a throw down with the Paparazzi.

Maybe a taped threesome with any of the following: Pam Anderson, Paris Hilton, or Clay Aiken would greatly help advance your celebrity status?

Soccer alone ain’t going to do it.

The Threesome from Hell

The only similarly between Trump and Rosie is the fact that his ego is roughly the same size as her ass, and they both really stink. If Barbara Walters has another facelift she will interview guests through her short and curlies.

As painful as it might be let’s look at Rosie first: She is a paranoid lesbian who can’t keep her lips closed (no pun intended). First she attacks poor little Kelly Ripa about the Clay Aiken incident accusing Kelly of gay bashing. This is problematic on two fronts, first Kelly did no such thing, what she said to Aiken was “ I don’t know where that hands been”. It seems like a fair statement to make since he put his bare hand on her open mouth. Rosie took this as homophobic, I took this as maybe Kelly thinks Clay may not wash properly after wiping. It was only after a public blowout that Rosie realized she may have misunderstood Kelly’s intent.

The second problem: Aiken has never publicly stated that he is gay. It’s not like we don’t already know, but technically Rosie opened the closet door, pushed aside all the winter coats and yanked Clay out. What’s next Ms.Obvious? Are you going to out Richard Simmons?

Now Rosie O’Donnell starts an unprovoked attack on Donald Trump about reinstating that Miss America bimbo. She can’t seem to keep her ample ass out of trouble

Donald Trump is rich, very rich. Just ask and he will tell you all about it. The only asset lacking from his balance sheet is humility. Sure his dad was rich too and had all the necessary connections in politics and money to help young Donald buy his first major properties. The silver spoon was firmly lodged between his gums at an early age. But, give him credit, he took what was given and made it greater. But, it’s funny how he doesn’t mention Pops all that much when talking about how rich he is.

His casinos were close to being bankrupt, and he needed a bailout from the banks to keep them afloat. The fact is, he is a minority owner on casinos that bear his name.

You want to insult Trump? Forget the hair.. Just question his net worth, the comb-over will stand straight-up like a Mohawk, the face will redden, the eyes grow wide and there is a good chance you’ll hear “YOU’RE FIRED” forget the fact that you don’t even work him. That’s exactly what Rosie O’Donnell did leading to this war of the unlikeables.

Now Trump and O’Donnell are playing tug of war with the fossil known as Barbara Walters. Be careful boys you just might rip her. I never understood the appeal of Barbara Walters. She can’t speak properly, yet she’s made an incredible living as an interviewer. This is akin to a visually impaired driver being inducted into the taxi driver hall of fame.

I have no doubt Barbara told Trump Rosie is a big fat pain in the ass, because she is. I also have no doubt that Barbara lied to Rosie about it, for the very same reason, Rosie is a big fat pain in the ass.

Is Barbara two faced? Her plastic surgeon claims to only have lifted one... many times. Maybe it’s not her fault because she is caught between a boulder and a head case.

As part of his new plan can’t Bush send these three to Iraq? Then they may realize how meaningless they all are in the grand scheme of things.

Top Ten Things about Being an Elf

10. No barroom drunk ever wants to do an Elf toss
9. When called vertically challenged, you reply “Vertically challenged my ass, I am an Elf biotch!”
8. The residuals from that Will Ferrell movie (no, not ‘Bewitched’)
7. Every night you can a bring a new toy for the wife to try out
6. Can hide your stash in the pointy-ass shoes
5. It beats being “a little person wrestler”
4. Get to fly around the world without being stripped searched by the TSA
3. You can whip out your ‘stocking stuffer’ without being arrested
2. At least once a year Santa lets you handle his sack

And the number one thing about being an Elf….
1. You always have wood

The Dunhill’s Year in Review Christmas Letter

It’s hard to believe that another year has come and gone. What a year 2006 was for the Dunhill family!! We’ve certainly had our share of both highlights and lowlights. As the year started our Tommy was recognized at Jefferson High as an outstanding student. He had two outstanding warrants; drugs and indecent exposure.

Officers physically removed him from 3rd period Biology taking him straight to county lock-up. Since my husband Troy was unemployable due to the "to catch a predator" piece on NBC's Dateline. I had nagging yeast problems; neither of us had jobs so we couldn’t raise the bail money necessary to spring him right away.

We were able to rent Tommy’s mattress to a border to raise enough cash for the bail. The border still owes some rent money, we tried to collect but we couldn’t grab him before he made it back over the border.

Tommy spent all of January and most of February in jail. Prison was an eye-opening experience for him, just not the eye he is used to opening. He sat on a heavily padded donut until July. He spent the rest of the year under house arrest, well really trailer arrest.

In May, Troy and I became proud grandparents when Sue-Ellen gave birth to that little bundle of joy; she named him- Toby-Keith-Tony-Stewart Dunhill. He was named after his father. Sue-Ellen just wanted to make sure she didn’t leave anyone out since she ain’t real sure who the father is exactly, but she narrowed it down as best she could.

He’s cute as button, he’s got Sue-Ellen’s nose and the eyes of one of the possible fathers. She was able to make-up the time she missed at school and graduate on time and even make it to Dean’s list at “Big Dean’s Big Rig College”. Dean said she made his list because of her shifting skills and her ability to work the rest stop. Ever since graduation she’s been haulin’ ass across the tri-state area, we are very proud of her. She may continue her studies down at Big Dean’s for her MBA (Movin’ Boxes Anywhere) and her PhD (Pullin’Heavier Deliveries). Big Dean expects to get his accreditation from the state any day now.

Troy and I baby-sit Toby-Keith-Tony-Stewart while Sue-Ellen is off climbing the big rig ladder. Just the other night the little fella’ whizzed right in Troy’s face while we he was changing him. Troy said it tasted just like ‘Ole Grand Dad’. God rest his soul.

We had a fun summer vacation down at the creek. Who the hell needs Disneyland anyway? Skinny dippin and cat fishin all day, illegal low grade fireworks at night. Troy tried to make it feel like Disneyland for me, Once the kids were asleep he would get all drunked up, strip naked and sing “It’s a Small World After All” outside the tent with his flashlight while toasting marshmallows from a hickory stick wedged in his buttocks.

He is so darned romantic!

Jackson turned nine in September and is the star of his Pop Warner football team. He was a star linebacker, but this year he also plays fullback and made the all-star team at both positions. I still remember at summer practices in August when Coach Everett told Troy he wanted Jackson to “go both ways” this season. Troy punched Coach in the teeth and called him a homo!

Jackson is also the star of his basketball, baseball, and rastlin teams. We really think he is going to make it in professional sports so we don’t think he needs to waste time on things like school. He is being home-schooled, but not by us. We found a good teacher he really likes. Her name is Anita Johnson; she is a pre-op transsexual awaiting a donor transplant. We all really love her; she is like a part of our family. She will teach Jackson until they find a donor, then she’s off to California for the operation. With recovery time and all, we don’t think she will be teaching for awhile. So, basically once she gets a member, it’s like we lose a member of our family and Jackson looses his teacher.

In October, all charges were dismissed against Troy. He went back to work as a pizza maker over at Chuck-E-Cheese. In November, the FDA approved an experimental antibiotic for my yeast problem. My doctor calls it ‘Breadazone’, I’ve been taking it for two months and I haven’t baked any panty muffins since. The only dough Troy gets on his hands these days is from the pizza oven at his job. Tommy is back to making real fart sounds, Sue-Ellen lost her baby weight, she is a trim 197lbs, Jackson no longer has jock itch, and the baby now has three teeth, one more than Grandma Bessie. We are all healthy and happy…finally.

As you see it’s been a busy and exciting 2006 for us Dunhill’s. Here’s wishing you a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Kick-Ass Kwanzaa and a Happy New Year!!.

ALL THE BEST TO YOU ALL IN 2007!

LOVE,

TROY, BESSIE, TOMMY, SUE-ELLEN, JACKSON, and baby TOBY-KEITH-TONY-STEWART

THE DUNHILLS

Do You Have Enough for All of Us?

Breastfeeding is an essential and beautiful nurturing bond uniquely shared between only mother and child… and should be kept that way at all times. In the last year I’ve witnessed as many bare breasts as the curtain guy working the Victoria Secret runway during Fashion Week. Generally, I’m used to putting in either a whole lot of begging or a whole lot of cash before I get to cast my beady crossed-eyes on an ample set of hogans. When they are just thrown out in front of me on the subway by a complete stranger it’s just not the same. I like to work for my supper!

I still remember being seventeen and getting into my first tittie bar. I was scared to death but it was great. I vividly recall picking up a dollar bill from the bar and all it’s markings: it had an “E” stamped on it: The Federal Reserve Bank of Richmond Virginia, it was a Series 1986 and The Secretary of the Treasury was James A. Baker just in case you didn’t know, and really why should you .

My hand trembled tremendously as the dancer made her way toward me. She put her hands on both sides of her tremendous set; suddenly I was eye to eye with nipples the size of yarmulkes as she clamped her mountains around my shaking sweaty dollar filled hand. The last thing I remember her saying to me through the Marlboro red in a sexy sultry voice was: “Sweetheart, you retarded or just epileptic?” It was just like great phone sex except it was live, my pants weren’t down around my ankles, and it only cost me a dollar.

I’m a big proponent of nutrition for all especially for babies and vitamin D and calcium are two of the most essential nutrients a body should absorb on a daily basis. The issue I have is the time, place, and method used to deliver these nutrients.

Today, you actually have to make an effort NOT to see breasts. Whether it’s in the park, on the beach, in traffic, or at Home Depot, I’ve seen breastfeeding occur in all of those locations. Over at Wegmans, the cans and the milk aren’t necessarily found exclusively in the cans and milk isles anymore. You don’t have to be in the produce isle to take a gander at the melons. Know what I’m sayin’??

Are babies these days just too hungry that they can’t wait until mommy finds a rest room? Are today’s women just less inhibited about when and where to whip out there set? Whatever the answer is, do us a favor and be more discrete with your milk delivery. You are teasing the rest of us weak minded guys out there and the lucky feeding infant doesn’t understand when I say “Hey chief, I can’t see the half rack, you want to move your head to the left a little”. To keep the kid from screaming, please just give him a pacifier until you are out of our view.

Thumbnails of Holiday Movie Releases

Apocalypto- Mel Gibson's ancient Mayan adventure. In limited release, limited to everywhere outside of Israel.

Black Christmas- Sorority sisters are hunted for the holidays. That’s sucks to be hunted and all, but I just want to know if they are naked.

Blood Diamond- Leonardo DiCaprio is an African jewel smuggler or Neil Diamond's attempted initiation into an infamous LA street gang

Eragon-A year in the life of Senator Ted Kennedy, title is derived from Kennedy’s catch phrase to bar patrons as happy hour ends

The Good Shepherd- With Angelina Jolie and Matt Damon. You know Damon got oral in the trailer at some point…. from Affleck.

The Holiday- Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet switch houses and find love…please God let it be with each other.

The Nativity Story - The birth of Jesus from Mary's point-of-view. The girl who played the virgin Mary is pregnant in real life….I hate when that happens.

Night at the Museum- History comes to life and attacks Ben Stiller. I liked it better eleven years ago when it was called Jumanji.

The Pursuit of Happyness - Starring Will Smith and son. It’ exactly like “Good Will Smith Hunting” but darker.

Turistas -Americans tourists learn they're not welcome in a foreign land. Just the opposite of illegal immigrants in America.

Unaccompanied Minors -Six kids alone in an airport. Michael Jackson reportedly paid six million dollars for an advanced screening.

Van Wilder: The Rise of Taj- Kal Penn's back in school. They had to prove they could make a movie that sucked worse than the first Van Wilder. Mission accomplished.

Rocky Balboa -Sylvester Stallone is the Italian Stallion once again, out of retirement for one last fight….with arthritis and a disputed Medicare bill

Dreamgirls- A musical about a soul trio starring Beyonce Knowles, Eddie Murphy and Jamie Foxx.. Clay Aiken has no interest in seeing it, but Rosie does.

Jesus is the Reason I Shop Online All Season

‘Tis the season to be jolly; fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-FA-QU!!

It’s anything but jolly. The holiday season tends to change decent normal people turn into grotesque hideous characters. The blame here falls squarley on the shoulders of Holiday Stress Syndrome (H.S.S.). H.S.S. is a potentialyl fatal cocktail composed of equal parts shopping stress, maxed-out credit cards, not enough time to get it done, and awful driving habits.

How else can I explain the knee to the balls I took from what seemed to be a nice elderly lady I cut in front of to grab the last package of icicle lights off the Wal-Mart shelf? Arthritis my ass!! Her fast-twitch muscle fiber is real impressive for an octogenarian, or a starting NFL receiver for that matter. You don’t even want to know what she did with the cane.

As I lay wincing in the fetal position on the sticky foul smelling Wal-Mart floor that oddly tasted like Lime Diet Pepsi and Cheese Doodles she hurled a stream of expletives at me in a hip-hop staccato that would make Snoop-Dog want to produce her debut release. Those new icicle lights should sparkle real nicely at her convent. .

Between laughs I heard one of the pimple-faced temporary Wal-Marters ask “Duude, you alright?” Now completely cross-eyed and clutching my own Santa sack while taking a testicular inventory I weakly countered, “Do I look alright?” As Clearasil helped me up from the floor he enthusiastically said; “Sister Santiago straight-up whooped your ass!!” The only near plausible comeback I could offer was; “The bitch caught me when I wasn’t looking”. He chuckled and said; “Whatever dude.”

I recovered after hot tea and a cold compress courtesy of the Wal-Mart cafeteria. Those lunch counter ladies really know how to maneuver the compress with just the right amount of pressure, and to do it without hands, well, that just blew me away. But when the heaviest one with the eye patch and single latex glove offered to take my temperature I knew it was time to jet.

As I walked to my car I was encircled by a pack of slow moving cars. I suddenly felt like the starter pistol guy at Daytona. You would have thought my soon to be vacated parking spot sat above undiscovered oil the way everyone jockeyed for position.

At this point I like to play a fun little game I call “Which car is mine??” I excite all the stalkers waiting for a spot by walking to the car in the best possible parking spot, other than the handicapped spots that is. Just as I’m about to put my key in the lock I have an epiphany and realize this is not my car. Because I’m a Grade A jerkoff I do this approximately three more times or until someone yells; “Hey you stupid muthafucka find your goddamned car in the next ten seconds or I will shoot your sorry-ass” whichever comes first.

I haven’t done any significant research in the area but I firmly believe most road rage occurs in the month of December with cars traveling at blinding Autobahn speeds of about 5mph. Since it occurs in mall parking lots I’m not sure it can even be classified as road rage. It’s more like “lot rage” caused by H.S.S.

So what does it all mean? How can we change it?

I’m glad I asked. The simple answer is twofold. First, avoid driving to any stores during December. If you need to venture out to the stores, start your Christmas shopping on November 1st. Make sure all your shopping is done by Thanksgiving. You will be amazed how much easier it is to park and shop by simply doing it all November.

The second answer is one I followed for the last three years. SHOP ONLINE. It’s great --no lines, no idiots bumping into you, no obnoxious counter people, and last but not least…no sales tax!!

It’s not necessary for you to get gang-raped while standing in line at 3:00 a.m. at Best Buy so you can buy little Johnny that Play Station 3. Just order it online, and you won’t have to go the precinct to view mug shots. Unless, you are into that?

I haven’t set foot in a mall in years and I don’t plan to anytime soon. You have a better chance of seeing either Michael Richards sing “The Star-Spangled Banner” at the NBA all-star game, or Mel Gibson on vacation in Tel-Aviv, than you have of seeing my car in the mall parking lot.

The Dreaded Company Christmas Party

If you attend the company Christmas party this season try to accomplish the following: Try to stay sober enough not lose your job and/or hearing about making a total ass out of yourself from 9-5 Monday- Friday for the foreseeable future, or until they mercifully outsource your job to a low cost region.

Many promising young careers at major companies have been prematurely halted courtesy of Jagermeister. Why do you think there are so many bloggers? Sure, it seemed harmless at the time to ask your VP’s wife if she was just “thonging it” tonight or going commando, but when you went under the hood for a look-see it was clear to everyone the line had been crossed, everyone but you that is.

Eat, drink and be merry, but in moderation. If you do overdo it, you may become this year’s office party casualty. You will become the guy co-workers are unable to walk past without snickering or whispering to each other. No, you’re not paranoid, they are still laughing about the 2003 Christmas party here in July of ‘06.

With the lethal mix of a festive mood, free unlimited booze, great food, and female co-workers looking hotter than ever, it’s difficult to be on your best behavior. It’s a real challenge not to get all liquored up.

But you really have to make that effort..

Please keep calm when the three hottest single women from the office all shoot your inebriated-ass down for dances. Try not to reach for the low hanging Christmas fruit by drunkenly shouting “HO, HO, HO”. Just bow your head in shame and gracefully stagger back to your table refraining from the verbal altercation. And try not to body slam any of the wait staff on the way back to said table.

Avoid calling your left leg “Christmas” and right leg “New Years” then telling every woman on the dance floor to “Come see me between the holidays”. It just comes off as a tad obnoxious.

Stay away from both mistletoe and eggnog at all times. They will cause you many headaches.

And if you are decide to get all shit-faced have the common sense to take a few people from the office down with you so as to cushion the blow for yourself. Who knows? You mooning your whole department may not have been the worse thing that happened that night if the co-workers you drank with are bigger lightweights than you. As a rule of thumb, never do shots alone.

See, normally you hate Meredith; the know it all CPA. She is a total bitch to you and everyone else, but tonight you were smart enough to make nice for Christmas and ask her to pounds beers and chase shots with you. Your kindest paid off. I guess they are right when they say it’s better to give than receive….

“Sure, we all saw your hairy hemorrhoid laden-ass but that was nothing. But when Meredith from Accounts Payable danced on the bar and pulled her double-D’s out , that was freaking unbelievable!!” “They were awesome!” “I love working here, I want to be full-time!!!”

You were drunk and stupid, but she was drunker and more stupid. Nobody remembers you now after Meredith pulled out her emersons. It’s like the governor called and granted your very own stay of execution.

I’ve seen it all at the office Christmas party, like the year when my ex-boss was doing his Al Pacino ‘Scarface’ impression. He was holding court in the middle of a circle of co-workers both men and women, pants at ankles barking in his best Cuban accent (which sounded Russian) “Say hello to my little friend”. Luckily for me, I was far enough away so as not to witness the train wreck. From what some of the women in the office told me later he should have said “Say hello to my very, very little friend”

Sure, sleeping with the bosses wife, insulting your director, and passing out underneath the table are all things that can be real fun, but there is a time and place for everything. Just don’t be stupid enough to do any of these things at your company’s holiday party and you will be just fine.

Late November News to Abuse

Pam Anderson and Kid Rock headed for Divorce Court The high profile pair married less than four months ago. Kid Rock filed papers after coming to the harsh realization that “Hepatitis C” is not a multi-vitamin.




Jesse Jackson and Others Seek N-Word Ban in Entertainment
The Rev. Jesse Jackson will meet with TV and film executives to discuss banning the use of the N-word in the entertainment industry. When asked to comment one executive at BET pronounced “That n***** is out of his damned mind if think that’s ever going to happen!”

Pope Benedict XVI arrives in Turkey
Pope Benedict arrived in Turkey on his first visit to the Muslim country. Upon his arrival at the airport he quickly endeared himself to the natives by stating “I love all towelheads”

Comedian Tracy Morgan arrested for drunk driving
Comic actor Tracy Morgan, star of the television show “30 Rock” was arrested for drunk driving early on Tuesday. When asked for a comment an apparently still drunk Morgan said; “It could have been worse, at least they didn’t search my crack for crack”

Britney: “Paris is my Idol”
Britney Spears and Paris Hilton are quickly becoming the best of friends. Britney was quoted as saying “I really missed having someone in my life that does nothing but party and has no real talent, since I kicked Kevin to the curb and all.”

Dallas Cowboys cut kicker Vanderjagt
Bill Parcells finally had it with kicker Mike Vanderjagt; who was just 13 of 18 on field goals this year. After being informed of his release a pissed off Vanderjagt attempted to kick a Gatorade bucket through the locker room door but missed wide right.

PETA names Nicole Ritchie worst-dressed Celebrity
PETA may issue a retraction after realizing what they thought was a dead garter snake around her neck was actually just her neck.

Matt Lauer’s Wife gives birth to third child
The baby boy named after his father; was born in NYC on Tuesday 9:37AM weighed in at 7 pounds, 4 ounces. Baby Roker and mom are both said to be doing well.

A Pedophile Exposed on ‘Desperate Housewives’
The women of Wisteria Lane suspect their new neighbor maybe a pedophile. By the way this was Michael Jackson’s first TV appearance in primetime since the Martin Brashear interview.

Kerry Ranks last in likeability poll for politicians
Sen. John Kerry mulling a second bid for the presidency finished dead last in a poll on the likeability of 20 top American political figures, just below Mark Foley and Jim McGreevey.

Ten things I’m thankful for….

1. Not seeing OJ Simpson getting a chance to wield another Sharpie, this time at his book signing.



2. Suzanne Sommers years of clinical research on hormones.



3. Clay Aiken not washing his hand before it covered Kelly Ripa’s mouth.



4. I’m not in Mark Foley’s IM address book.



5. The Kevin Federline CD contains no bonus tracks.



6. Rosie O’Donnell likes only women.



7. Tom Cruise knowing the history of Psychology.



8. Keanu Reeves still not being nominated for an Oscar.



9. Deal or No Deal.



10. Not being Wesley Snipes accountant.

Kramer is Not Even as Wacky as Michael Richards

Michael Richards will appear on ‘The Late Show’ with David Letterman to apologize for going all Daniel Carver on some black hecklers at ‘The Laugh Factor’ in LA. I don’t know about you but I’m not sure Richards will reach the aggrieved party on the Letterman show. Dave and his audience are whiter than January in North Dakota. Al Roker, both of the Gumbel brothers, and Steve Urkel say all is forgiven Kramer!


If he really wants to make amends he should don a bullet proof vest and apologize on the ‘BET Hip Hop Awards’ . He should also wear a new pair of inline skates and a motorcycle helmet so as to try to avoid the inevitable beating:

“Hi everyone my name is Michael Richards and what I said the other night was racist, hateful, and downright ludicrous. Now I would like to award the album of the year to Ludicrous….Peace I’m out”.

Then skate like a MOFO out of there.

When will the celebrity crowd catch up with the rest of us in corporate America and realize you never talk about race…period? Corporations routinely send its employees to diversity classes or sexual harassment classes. The classes are not intended as a means of discipline, but rather a means to prevent employees from crossing the acceptable boundaries of race and or sexual conversation or behavior.

Richards is a knucklehead and should have known better. But the bigger question is “Why the hell is this guy doing standup in the first place?” He is fifty-seven years old, stand-up comedy is for the struggling young guy trying to get on a sitcom, not the old rich guy who starred on one of the most successful sitcoms in history.

Did Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David bounce one of his residual checks?

Maybe his next gig can be an open mic night over at Mel Gibson’s Malibu Chuckle Hut.

Hasta la vista, BABY

He’s back for another four years. Just a few short months ago many thought Arnold Schwarzenegger's role as the Governator was about left on the editing room floor. But, Arnold like many of his movie characters ain’t going out like that. Going into Election Day he held a sixteen point lead over his challenger; Phil Angelides and he will coast to an easy victory.

Champagne for the campaign. Quick somebody find Uncle Ted a ride home from the victory celebration.

This race wasn’t nearly as fun as his first time. Do you remember the cast of characters? Let me refresh your memory: Arianna Huffington, Gary Coleman, Larry Flynt, Porn star Mary Carey.

There was more mangled English during that Huffington – Schwarzenegger debate than during the whole Revolutionary War. I think I remember the LA Times asking Gary Coleman what separates him from the other candidates; he said he is the only candidate not tall enough to ride on Space Mountain at Disneyland. Gary Coleman needed a step stool just to stuff the ballot box.

Do you remember the great exchange between Gary Coleman and Larry Flynt? Gary bragged about how he personally responsible for years of ‘Different Strokes’, Flynt shot back “Hell, I’m responsible for years of solo strokes!” It was priceless stuff.

Who could forget Mary Carey and her insightful answers to such hard hitting questions like “What is your position on abortion?” Her careful response if I remember correctly was “Which time?”

Arnold trounced the other wannabes without too much trouble and then took down Grey Davis after that to become a foreign born Governor in a state where nearly everyone is foreign born… Only in America.

The first time around Arnold was a Conservative Republican in the mold of President Bush. This time around he has morphed into a Democrat. He is Al Gore on steroids. He’s passed legislation enacting strict standards for alternative energy, pollution and greenhouse-gas emissions. He supports gay marriage, stem-cell research, gun control, the minimum wage and health care.

He is the jolly green giant for Pete's sake. When he is asked about President Bush his responses make him sound more like ‘Borat’ than a Reagan Conservative. On ‘The Tonight Show’ he dropped the following knowledge on America “'To link me to George Bush is like linking me to an Oscar,', it’s ridiculous.” He also bailed from the capital when the President came to offer support. I guess he really is ‘The Running Man’.

What a difference a year makes. During his last brush with California voters is 2005 his four referenda questions were bitched slapped from San Diego to San Francisco. I just hope a grateful Arnie doesn't pull a Sally Field "You like me, you really like me!" and if he does I hope it's in closed captioning so we all can laugh at it.

No matter how he did it, you have to give him props. He is truly a politician in every sense of the word. He is up on the all the issues and both parties apparently like him.

He’s come along way in three short years. It seems like yesterday when the press asked what he thought about fetal stem cells, he said he hasn’t made up his mind, but if they could add size to his triceps he’d try them.

A Courtesy Flush Would Be Nice

As a rule of thumb I think the bathroom should be viewed the same way as a library. It doesn’t matter if it’s the bathroom at home, the work bathroom, or public restroom. You can read all you wish but strict silence and focus must be maintained at all times.

Apply the following common sense practices at work or in a public restroom:

1. Don’t ever talk to me when I’m in full lock-down mode perched atop the shitter. I need to focus on the delivery I’m about to drop off and I’m not really looking for a Q&A session about last night’s LOST. Besides, my half of the dialogue would just be grunts and groans anyway.

2. Speaking of grunts and groans; please keep your volume to a reasonable level. Nobody wants to hear you replicate delivery room audio over there in stall number three. You might want to look into a stool softener.

3. Never ask me for a high-five when I exit the stall, let me wash up and dry first then we can talk about that high-five.

4. Never use the middle urinal if both left and right are open. The next guy having to take a leak doesn’t want to go next to you and he’s wondering if you were forced to use the middle urinal because the other two were taken, or if you’re just a weird bastard looking to pecker check.

5. Rule number 4 also applies for stalls, never use the middle. It’s only acceptable to use the middle stall if both the left and right are occupied or were heavily abused by the people before you.

6. While at the urinal eyes forward at all times, no exceptions.

7. Never say the following phrases to anyone at the urinal: “Shake it don’t break it”, “How’s it hanging?”, “You shake more than twice you’re playing with it”, or “Is that water cold today?” Your alarming interest in my junk makes for an uncomfortable bathroom experience.

8. Note for the bathroom attendant at the nightclub: I don’t want a Tic-Tac, condom, cologne, gum, or any other dollar store trinket you may be peddling and I can dry my own hands, but thanks for your concern. If you like bathrooms so much go be a plumber’s apprentice.

Home bathroom rules:

1. If you happen to use the toilet paper down to the bottom please take a few seconds to replace the roll for the next person. That 2”x 3” two-ply paper square stuck to the otherwise empty roll isn’t going to help me close the deal.

2. If you just took the dump of a lifetime and you feel the toilet is clogged you might want to use that stick thingy next to the toilet, it’s called a plunger.

3. I tend to leave the seat up, that’s just the way I roll. So what? Why do I need to hear about it time after time after time? Just put it down and save the lecture. I’ve flushed down more than a few panty liners and you never heard jack from me.

4. Yes, that odor of a decomposed woodland creature came from you. Its okay to spray air freshener as liberally as possible, in fact it’s required.

Paris, you be North Korea: Nicole, you be South Korea

Over in North Korea Kim Jong "Licensed to" Il is over compensating for his shortcomings by playing nuclear dungeons and dragons. Iraq is the brink of civil war between the the Shiites, the Sunis, the Kurds, the Turds, the Trogs and some IED carrying jag-off named Omar who hates everything about the West except his new 80GB iPod. Meanwhile back here in the good ole' US of A it’s getting difficult to distinguish between a member of Congress and a member of NAMBLA.

Despite all the despair in the rest of the world I couldn’t be more excited that my two favorite Hollywood Hos are best friends forever again; Paris and Nicole. Their eighteen month feud just seemed like forever to me.

They met for dinner at Dan Tana’s Steakhouse in LA last week. This must have really screwed up the paparazzi. The last place they would expect to find these two dim-witted stick figures is at a steak house. Saladworks, sure, Taco Bell, alright, but a steakhouse? I heard the meal went really well, they not only ate off each other’s plate, but had a nice simultaneous bulimic after dinner purge in the ladies room just for old time sake. That's hot.

The public never really found out what the big feud was about. I’m betting it was an argument over shoes or the merits of wave-particle duality. Someone please tell Bob Woodward to leave Bush alone and get to the bottom of this already!

If these two can patch up their complex and multi-layered differences maybe world peace is a real possibility after all.

Paging Former Congressman Mark Foley

Mark Foley stood beside President Bush as he signed legislation to enact tougher federal laws against child predators. Good thing for Bush, Foley didn’t stand behind him, he might have a more confused look on his face than usual.

From my ‘No Shit’ file here is a little news flash: “Washington DC is not a safe place for young people.” If you don’t believe me just ask Monica Lewinsky, or the kid who is the designated driver for Ted Kennedy.

The political arena is nothing more than a cesspool of people with power and influence who will say anything or do anything to get re-elected and Washington acts as the landfill where all the shit mixes together to emit the stank that is American politics.

In public they preach about morals and family values, but their private their lives could fill the whole season of HBO’s ‘Real Sex’. Any parent who lets their kid go to Washington to be an intern, page, or anything else should have their heads examined, and if the parents are hot enough they may just get a politician to do the examination.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and there is a whole lot of Absolut flowing in D.C.. Holy shit did I just write that? Does anybody remember California Congressman Gary Condit and his intern/girlfriend Chandra Levy; who was kidnapped and murdered? The married Condit got more side-ass than all the Rolling Stones combined during the ‘Some Girls’ tour in ’78. The Levy murder has yet to be solved.

Look at the Catholic priest molestation scandal and cover-up, Clinton-Lewinsky, McGreevey and his boyfriend/ Homeland Security advisor, and now Mark Foley. Foley is now a former congressman with a lot of free time and a sticky keyboard.

Does Microsoft have an emoticon for “Never IM me again you sick middle-aged bastard” yet? Maybe a red X covering a guy in a trench coat?

Foley was a member of the House, whose career was ruined because he wanted details about the member of a teenage page from his house. The House leader from the Republican Party knew about this and still did nothing.

Foley’s lawyer tried to defend him by first saying he’s an alcoholic. I don’t care how many Cosmopolitans he downs, it’s no excuse. Then the lawyer said Foley is gay, another revelation from the ‘No Shit’ file. He was also molested as a teenager by clergy, he will have to take a number and get in line with that last excuse. Next the lawyer will blame Dell for selling Foley the computer. Let’s blame everyone but the predator himself, and lawyers wonder why they are so hated.

A final note to parents: Don’t send your kids to Washington to work a summer job. They can get the same experiences in Las Vegas, Rio, or Key West, with people their own age without all the politics getting in the way.

Top Ten Signs Your Kid Has a Bad School Bus Driver

10.Only other “kids” on school bus are Budweiser tall boys…empties
9. He likes your mailbox so much he ran it over
8. He wants kids to kick in lunch money to cover some gambling debts
7. Has the amazing ability to piss out the bus window and drive simultaneously
6. Bus bumper sticker reads: “Don’t like my driving, dial 1-800-EAT-SHIT"
5. He wears suspenders but no pants
4. During latest DUI arrest told trooper he was the designated driver.. he was the only one in the car
3. Has 20/20 vision in the good eye, lost the other one during Mardi Gras
2. Can’t stop at certain houses without violating some restraining orders

and the number sign your kid has a bad school bus driver...
1. Likes to open the bus door using his ass

Just another Day at the Swim Club (part II)

As I walked over the edge of the pool to check on my two kids who were in the pool, I noticed they made a new friend. I couldn’t make out his age, but he was as tall as he was wide. He wasn’t so much talking to my kids as he was launching half eaten Doritos into the pool with words that followed. The kid mumbled something to me and walked away. I couldn’t make out what he said as I was too busy ducking nacho cheese covered shrapnel. The pool now had an orange covered surface as Doritos boy disappeared from sight.

At that point, the soon to be on duty female butch lifeguard walked behind me and barked “HEY KIDS NO EATING IN THE POOL!!”. I turned around and saw this 6’5” behemoth with multiple piercings and red, white, and blue Mohawk haircut. As I glanced down I noticed she wasn’t particularly well groomed. Okay, that’s a real understatement. It looked like she had Justin Guarini in a leg lock.

I said “MY KIDS weren’t eating in the pool” She replied “Do I look STUPID?”
I answered “Was that a trick question?”

I got my kids out of the pool and we made our back to the bitching wives club. As we approached I could see they were all smiling at Lars; the musclehead Swede swimming instructor in the banana hammock Speedo. His hands were at his hips as the wives guffawed over every lame broken bit of English he spoke. “Lars, you are too funny”, “Your accent is just too cute”. They were all gushing like a bunch of sixteen year olds with a high school crush. As he turned to walk away they let out a collective lustful sigh and a “Bye Lars”.

I could hear my wife say to Michelle amazed “Did you see how long it was?” Michelle replied “Oh my god and how wide too!” Feeling a rush of jealous insecurity I blurted out “He’s no bigger than most guys!!” “He probably wraps it up in Saran wrap two or three times before he puts that damned Speedo on!”.

My startled wife said “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about?” “But we are talking about Lars new tattoo of the Swedish flag he just got because he is so homesick.” “It covers the left side of his chest.”

I said “Oh, ya I know. He supposed to keep that thing covered until the ink properly sets, some people use Saran wrap for a cover that’s all I was saying”

Now fully embarrased, I yelled “Hey Kids let's go back to the pool right now!"

What followed couldn’t have come at a better time for me. A woman alternated between a scream and a cry: “Douglas, Douglas, please has ANYONE seen my Douglas”

None of the other mothers showed any concern for this panic stricken woman. I was later told the search for Douglas happens on average once a week.

It turns out little Douglas is quite the prankster. He managed to follow his psycho mother around step for step around the park for roughly twenty minutes during her frenzied search without her knowing. It wasn’t until Douglas noticed another kid with his swimming goggles with the attached snorkel that he was found out.

Douglas hunched his shoulders and sprinted full out toward the unsuspecting snorkel stealer driving him head first in into the lawn; a takedown that would make Jeremiah Trotter proud.

The clueless mother ran over to her son gave him a squeeze and cried “Douglas, I thought I would never see you again.” Meanwhile, the other kid had a mouth full of turf impaled by his braces.

My wife yelled over to the pool “Hey guys, it’s time for lunch” As we made our way to the picnic tables I noticed loudmouthed Kim picking out a wedgy from her cavernous dumper only to have it wedge again seconds later. The scene reminded me of the documentary I once saw as a kid about the Beluga whale and how she devours bluefish.

Just then my wife said “I made you a tuna fish sandwich with extra mayo.”

Having no appetite and about to puke I said “Not real hungry right now, anything to drink?”

“I brought Yoo-hoo for the kids, I have an extra one” she said

About ready to projectile hurl I answered “I’m good over here.”

After lunch it was more of the same; bitching, then swimming, and fighting with lifeguards. My work days seem faster than this fun filled day at the pool with the wife and kids.

When we got home my wife asked “Honey, did you have fun at the swim club today?” I said I’d rather take a kick to the ballsack than ever go back again.”

“So to answer your question…NO”

Just another Day at the Swim Club (part I)

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The Stare

My wife’s grandmother will stare at you when you say something that she thinks is inappropriate. She doesn’t say a word, but the stare speaks volumes. It is like standing in front of the firing squad. You get less radiation from an MRI than you get from the stare.

She is really old, so she sometimes gives you the stare you didn’t deserve for something she thought you said. We were over my wife’s cousin house and said to her “nice rack” is it new, or did you have it fixed.

The last time I was here it was hanging lower (I get the stare). I was talking about her new wine rack, last time I was there the wine was kept in the cabinets near the floor.I said Honey “I’ll be right back I have to drain the lizard before we leave” (I get the stare)I was talking about my son’s toy lizard that that was full of water, I wanted to dump it out we wouldn’t wet the car seats.

I had third degree burns from the stare by the end of the visit.

Who Said It: Hillary or Paris?

Don't confuse having a career with having a life-Hillary
The world’s problems are our problems- Paris

If I want to knock a story off the front page, I just change my hairstyle- Hillary
I don't think there's ever been anyone like me that's lasted. And I'm going to keep lasting-Paris

I vote and so should you- Paris
I did what people do when they do the wrong thing-Hillary

New York in the summertime is really hot!- Hillary
The government is really the voice of us all- Paris

No matter what a woman looks like, if she's confident, she's sexy- Paris
I amuse myself by constantly changing my hair- Hillary

Out of sight, out of mind - Hillary
Thank you officer, we love our police- Paris

Moldey Bagel

I'm at the local coffee house the other morning, I get my regular, medium regular with cream and sugar and a sesame-seed bagel. I look down and notice the bagel’s got blue spots on it.


I’m thinking to myself I didn’t order the blueberry what the hell is this, it turns out to be mold.

So, I say to the heavily pierced and inked kid behind the counter, "Hey this bagels’ got mold all over it!!" He says “That's just nasty, dude can you check and see how many other bagels got mold on them?”

I think when exactly did I get hired by the FDA, I missed the email on that one. “After I’m done the bagel inspection, "You need anything else?" "Maybe I can whip up a pot of decaf or sweep the floor while I at it”. The kid’s like “Seriously, you think you can open for me tomorrow? I got a Disturbed concert tonight and there is a better than excellent chance I will be wasted tonight and in nooo mood to be here early tomorrow”

Allow Me to Rant About the Play-Date Epidemic

When the hell did the “play-date” become an acceptable idea? When I was a kid you went out and played with friends after they “knocked” for you. And if they didn’t knock, you just went to the playground, basketball court, or the baseball field and found kids to play with. There was no formal agreement between parents. They were just glad to get you out of the house for awhile so they could screw like a couple of saggy-assed jackrabbits.

As kids we went out to “play”. As teenagers we went out on “dates”. We never mashed the two together to form a new thing.

Not the case today with “play-dates”. First, little Sammy’s mother’s people have to get in contact with my wife’s people or vice-versa. Then Palm Pilot’s are checked and synchronized, waivers drafted, signed in the presence of a notary public, and then security clearances are granted. A five-digit confirmation number is then text-messaged to all involved parties.

The planning and red tape takes longer than the actual event.

Sammy’s mother actually had the stones to break out a checklist in front of my wife to be sure our household was “suitable” for her fat little bastard.

The questions read like something asked of a Supreme Court nominee during a congressional hearing:

Have either of you ever been convicted of a felony?
Do you have piercings or tattoos that could possibly upset a child?
Are there guns in the house?
Are there pornographic materials in the house?

Answers: NO, NO, YES, and YES but I wish I had more, in that order. And the first NO can be easily converted to a YES if you ask one more stupid question!

“…and Sammy prefers two-ply Charmin when he makes”.

When she used the word “makes” I hoped to hell she meant it in the context of “he makes an F-14 fighter out of two-ply toilet paper” because of some obscure paper airplane FAA safety standard or something to that effect. But, if she used the word “makes” as a substitute for “takes a dump” her not so little Sammy might as well start the weekly shrink sessions ASAP.

Such preparation and aggravation just so Sammy can come to my Bobby’s house and sit in his room while playing Rampage: Total Destruction on his Play Station 2.

If you tell the kids to go outside to throw the football they look at you like you’re growing another head. My son told me he’s tired of “throwing the football” after three hours of Madden NFL 2006.

I don’t know where this is going to lead when these kids become teenagers?

Am I going to have to call the high school hotties’ mom and say “On October 23 is Pamela available for a play-date with Bobby?” “She is that’s great!” “Okay let’s synchronize here… “At around 9:00 PM right after the movie Bobby’s going to make a move, they will start with some tongue kissing… then ya know maybe a hand under the shirt, if that works out okay he will most likely slide his digits down south. “What kind of shrubbery will Bobby be dealing with? What brand of condom is agreeable? Any lubricant allergies we should be made aware of? Okay, make some calls and get back to me...”

Let’s please stop all these play-dates before it’s too late.

I’ll be outside with my bat, my ball, and my glove if anyone is interested in a father-son pickup baseball game, no appointment necessary.

Las Vegas Conventions and Uninvited Celebrities

Las Vegas Open 2006 Taekwondo Championship….Steven Hawking
International Association for Child Safety….Michael Jackson
MENSA International…..George Bush
Las Vegas Tall Club…Verne Troyer

Affordable Housing Management Association….Donald Trump
Friends of Israel….Mel Gibson
Communications Workers of America…Ozzy Osbourne
Home Sewing Association…Chuck Norris
American Dental Association 147th Annual Session…Leon Spinks
Drug Enforcement Administration…Robert Downey Jr.
Ford Motor Company… Dr Z (Nazi with gay mustache from Chrysler commercials)
Couples For Christ…Mr. and Mrs. Larry David

National Association of Tax Professionals…Jeffrey Skilling
National Nutritional Foods Association …. Rosie O’Donnell

Mid-Atlantic Council on Literacy….Mike Tyson
National Urban Fellows….Brooks and Dunn

Nevada Gay Rodeo Association…Clint Eastwood
26th Annual Breast Imaging Conference...Bill Clinton
Weight Watchers Franchise Association…Nicole Ritchie
Aqua Show…. Ted Kennedy

International Yoga Federation….Michael J. Fox

Western Beauty Rep Association….Star Jones
American Association of Gynecologic Laparoscopists …Lance Bass

National Community Pharmacists Association….Rush Limbaugh
World of Highland Dancing….George Will

Picking up the Neighbor’s Sex Mail

Our neighbors were away on vacation last week so they asked my wife to pick-up their mail everyday. She told them “no problem” she would be happy to do it. Before my wife’s new job with the US Postal Service, I would have said the couple next door is just your average normal American couple, two kids, two cars, well kept house, you get the idea.

Monday’s mail delivery yielded your average junk mail, a Ladies Home Journal, a bill from the electric company, and an issue of Playboy. My wife came back to our house with a confused look on her face “Did you know Bob reads Playboy?” she asked. Half listening to her and Jerry’s closing thought on Springer, I shot back “I doubt he reads it”. She said “I’m really disappointed in Bob, he seems like such as nice guy, I didn’t know he was into that stuff”. She was beginning to sound more like the poor guy’s mother than the next door neighbor. “You didn’t know he was into what stuff?” “Do you think he’s gay or something?” I asked. “I’m more distressed to learn about Kate’s Ladies Home Journal habit, there goes my three-way fantasy right out the window.” She then preceded to throw something hard at my head, I don't remember what it was, but boy did it leave a nice welt!

The rest of the week produced a dizzying array of XXX deliveries, enough to make Hef want to reach for a smoke. Tuesday- Penthouse and a pamphlet of the Kama Sutra. Wednesday- Swinger’s Magazine and a foreclosure notice. To me, the foreclosure notice makes perfect sense. Bob and Kate got strangers to bang!! Who can blame them for missing a mortgage payment or ten. Thursday.- Magazine featuring both sex toys and lubricants, I still have that one. Friday- UPS delivery, which my wife had to sign for, the company name on the box also appears in the magazine from Thursday’s delivery…

THOSE TWO HORNY BASTARDS, WHO KNEW??

No sex mail on Saturday. Good thing. That poor mail carrier probably didn’t have the stamina to rub another one out. She did notice a traffic court summons delivered with Bob’s name on it. Can you blame him? I’d be speeding too if I was headed to the same kinds of parties.. Maybe he got busted doing 69 in a 25?

My wife said she knew something was off with Kate. Each time my wife invites her to a Home Interior, Avon, or Tupperware party she never makes it. I told her Kate needs her rest, because her parties are just a little more physically demanding than yours. Forget the Avon parties!. I said why don’t you host a Cyberskin vibrator party? She will definitely come then, and she even may attend your party too.

Pet Peeve Number 51: Movies with Subtitles

If some foreign Director wants his piece of crap movie to be shown here in the good ole’ US of A. let him spend the few extra Francs, Deutschmarks, Rubles, or Yuan to hire a few B-movie English speaking actors to read his sorry-ass script in English.

That way when my wife drags me down to the impossible to find - art house/ lesbian bookstore/ poet’s corner/yoga hut/ movie theater to watch this slop, I don’t have to strain my eyes in an attempt to make like I’m following along. There is nothing worse than having to watch and read some hairy armpit European skank profess her love for a dead ringer for Jean Claude Van Damme minus the acting ability.

Better yet Magnus, forget shooting the movie in the first place. Just release your thoughts in a book, this way I will be left out of the whole mess. The wife can read your story whenever she wants and I’m not forced to sit through three plus hours of cinematic hell.

Some Rejected Hallmark Greeting Cards

GET WELL SOON
Front: Hope you get well soon so and make a speedy recovery.
Inside: We warned you about using a doctor who makes you undress for an eye-exam.

ANNIVERSARY
Front: Happy anniversary to my darling and beloved wife .
Inside: If you went down half as much as my mutual funds, I’d be a happy man.”

Front: Sweetheart …For our anniversary this year I want to introduce my weapon of mass destruction.
Inside: To your bush administration.

BIRTHDAY
Front: You look as good today as the first time I saw you naked.
Inside: Maybe its good we only met last week.

PROMOTION
Front: Congratulations on you’re promotion!
Inside: Now take your lips off the boss’s ass so I can buy you a drink!

MISSING YOU
Front: Thinking off you and wishing you were here
Inside: with your best friend Veronica topless in thongs and making out.