Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Plethora

I seem to have recently read a plethora (LOVE that word) of bizarre stories that I wanted to share with my dear loved ones. That would be you.

First, I bow down to the genius--and the cojones because they have to be huge--of the guy in Switzerland who actually managed to hoodwink one of the country's biggest media companies into publishing a two-page ad he created featuring himself. And it gets better: In the ad, he's posing semi-nude with a bottle a Gucci perfume. He claimed to represent Gucci, and that the media company should send the $49,100 bill for the ad to them--and they fell for it! Mwahahahaha, asshats! And hey, I'm going to check into moving to Switzerland, which appears to be the only country left on Earth where you can get things without having to first put up the dough. Or, if you're canny enough, for free.

I will not, on the other hand, be moving to Romania any time soon. Apparently, if you are a child molester there's no place like Romania. See, even if you get caught and go to prison, you can get out years earlier than you should by simply writing a book lauding vampires. I'm not shitting you, people. The government actually said they consider this pedophile's book, The Life and Times of Vlad Dracul to be community service. I can't even, GAH, I wish I had the words for that load of crapola. I hope a bunch of kids service the community by driving some stakes through his heart and smearing his body with garlic.

Worried the little ankle biters are spending too much time playing video games? HA, not to fear, they'll just grow up and be world-class surgeons, earning beau coup bucks with which to support you in your decrepitness. New research (again with the money wasted on researching worthless crap. No wonder there isn't yet a cure for cancer!) found that surgeons with the highest scores on "Super Monkey Ball 2," "Star Wars Racer Revenge," and "Silent Scope" performed best on tests of suturing and laparoscopic surgery.

Um, anyone else wondering why these surgeons were playing video games (in the name of research, no less!) instead of, I don't know, saving lives. But apparently, it's important for the public to know that surgeons who had played video games at least three hours a week sometime in their past worked 27% faster and made 37% fewer errors on surgical tasks, compared to those who had never picked up a game controller. Huh, I guess that is good to know. Before my cousin Rocco goes in for a triple bypass I'll be sure to interrogate the surgeon on his video-game playing scores.

Yes, I really do have a cousin Rocco. Got a problem with that?

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

The Hypocrisy of the NRA

Have you ever heard of Jim Zumbo? I hadn't before now. He was apparently THE biggest name in hunting--an outdoorsman extraordinaire that had a top-rated TV show on the Outdoor Channel and wrote for Outdoor Life magazine.

It's all gone now--the career, TV show, writing contracts--because he had the nerve to piss off the NRA by speaking out against assault-style firearms. He dared to say, "...I'm a traditionalist,...I see no place for these weapons among our hunting fraternity. As hunters, we don't need to be lumped into the group of people who terrorize the world with them. I'll go so far as to call them 'terrorist' rifles."

Well, boom, career over. You would have thought he had said baseball, apple pie, and Chevrolets were un-American. It's unbelievable to me how much power the NRA wields in our society. It actually scares me and I'm absolutely disgusted by it.

I also find it incredibly hypocritical that the NRA blasted Zumbo (and others) for daring to suggest assault weapons aren't necessary; citing the Founding Fathers granting Americans the right to bear arms in the Constitution. Yet, that same Constitution grants us the right of free speech. But to the NRA, it's only OK to exercise those freedoms with which it agrees with.

I have yet to hear a logical, coherent reason why the average citizen, hunter or no, needs to have an assault-style weapon.

I also have to say I don't feel very sorry for this Zumbo guy. After realizing he had angered the great and powerful Oz, as well as TENS of THOUSANDS of assault rifle owners, he quickly and publicly apoligized. Instead of sticking to his guns (sorry), he folded like a guy with a bad poker hand.

And the NRA had the nerve to actually publicly warn people, including Congress, to pay attention to Zumbo's downfall because it WOULD happen to them if they cross the NRA. The NRA says their millions of members would "resist with an immense singular political will any attempts to create a new ban on semi-automatic firearms."

Can you believe that crap?

Saturday, February 24, 2007

How Clear is Your Conscience

In my spare time I sit around thinking about what would be the most horrible way to die. What--you never have morbid thoughts? Sure, and I bet you don't poop either.

I had thought drowning and being burned alive would probably be the worst ways to go, then I read a sinkhole opened up in Guatemala yesterday and swallowed some people. That sounds pretty horrible.

One minute you're standing there talking to pal, maybe making a banal comment about the weather, and then the next minute you're just gone. Vanished. How would you die? Suffocation or maybe asphixiation from all the dirt?

Did you see the Oscar special Thursday night where Nicole Kidman interviewed Russell Crowe? She asked him if he could know when he was going to die, would he want to. He said no, she said that yes, she would.

She said she would want to know because then she could make sure she had a clear conscience. She mentioned a prior close scare she had in a helicopter where she thought she was going to die. She actually said she wasn't that upset or worried and felt it was because her conscience was clear.

I find that pretty interesting. Because you know that some people would want to know when they were going to die in order to know how long they could go out and do bad things. For example, maybe some guy is going to kill his cheating wife on Wednesday, knowing that he'll die on Thursday and never have to answer for it. Of course, I would really hope karma might show up in that situation and somehow avert his death so he'd have to answer for murder both on Earth and in the afterlife.

I would not want to know when I was going to die. I hope I am already letting the people in my life know how I feel about them. I also think the anxiety of waiting would probably kill me before the actual event.

So, any thoughts on what would be the worst way to die? Would you want to know when you were going to die if you could?

Friday, February 23, 2007

I Promise To Wait...Until I Feel Like Changing My Mind and Doing It

So, read a seriously disturbing article in Oprah. I know, I know, I hate her (and Disney) for trying to take over the world yet I read her rag, sue me.

The article wasn't meant to be disturbing, but I found it so. Apparently, there is a new trend to throw young teenage girls huge, formal bashes--quite like weddings with the white dress and rings--for pledging that they will abstain from sex until they are married. They're called "purity balls."

Hmm, let me get this straight. I'm 15, and you're telling me you'll throw me a great big party with all my friends, I get to wear a pretty white dress and receive a sparkly ring from my daddy, and all I have to do is tell you what you want to hear? Sure, no problem, then next week or next year when I met The Boy Who is The One, I'm going to screw his brains out without a second thought to some pledge or my parents.

Seriously, am I overreacting? Missing something? How the hell is that going to work? If you don't want your daughter to have sex before she's married, how about just talking to her, and frequently--like every time she eyes a boy--about the consequences. So that when her hormones are raging and her boyfriend is oh so sweetly, or not, pressuring her she'll hear your voice in her head and know exactly how to tell him to handle it himself (pun most certainly intended).

I also found it fascinating that a whopping 88% of the pledgers end up breaking their promise. Shee-it, I could have predicted that. Further, "...teens delayed having their first sexual experience by an average of 18 months." (No percentage of HOW MANY teens wait given.) So, I guess parents have to decide if an extra 18 months of their daughter's viriginity is worth shelling out thousands of dollars for a purity ball. Oh, excuse me, I mean a "I Pledge to Wait An Extra 18 Months" ball.


Thursday, February 22, 2007

All He Was Missing Was the White Horse

Really couldn't let this one go by without commenting--you know I'm no good at restraint and this is just too delicious!

I think people go a little coo coo this time of year in WI. I mean, football is over, they still have about 4 months of winter, and truly, there's only so much cheese you can stuff in your cakehole.

To further set this up, picture a 39-year-old man, James, who still lives with his mama.

So James and mama are watching TV in their apartment when James hears a woman screaming. To him, it sounds like she is being raped. Ever the gallant gentleman willing to rescue a damsel in distress, James kicks in the door to her apartment while brandishing a sword. Yep, a sword.

Much to his dismay, there was no buxom beauty needing rescuing. Instead, his upstairs neighbor was innocently watching some porn in his own living room. James simply heard the female lead in the movie yelling.

When asked why he didn't just call police instead of breaking down his neighbor's door, James admitted that he does not have a phone.

Huh, he's got a sword but not a phone? Gotta love you, Wisconsin, thanks for today's laugh.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Lucky Schmucky

Do you believe in luck?

Or, are you more of the Oprah school, i.e., you create positive opportunites and outcomes for yourself?

I actually believe in luck. I know several people, my husband being one of them, that just always seem to be on the up side of everything. I think some of it is "right timing" and some of it is your attitude. For example, my husband is consistently an optimistic, positive, glass half full kind of guy. Yeah, it's really annoying. Especially for a confirmed pessimist like moi. He seriously just wakes up that way every morning. Kind of like a dog--always happy. And drooling, but that's a different post.

What about that airline pilot in MN who just won the lottery TWO days in a row? It's true! Lottery officials said such a sequence was so farfetched that the odds against it were "virtually incalculable." Cool, dude.

Then you have this chick in Oregon who just won her SECOND brand-new car in nine months while gambling in a casino. Talk about farfetched! Those dang casinos never let you win anything. I bet they've already banned her for life.

Hmm, maybe if I start pretending I'm lucky it will happen...OK, gotta go buy a lottery ticket. Later

Friday, February 16, 2007

Hey Big Boy

Hmm, I guess New Mexico thinks only men drive drunk.

They've come up with quite the plan to keep drunkos off the road. They are putting talking urinal-deoderizer cakes in men's rooms in bars across the state. No, I am not making this up; I wish I was that witty.

When a man, uh, steps up to the urinal, the motion-sensitive plastic device says, in a woman's voice that is flirty, then stern: "Hey, big guy. Having a few drinks? Think you had one too many? Then it's time to call a cab or call a sober friend for a ride home. Remember, your future is in your hand."

OK, there are just so many things wrong with this I don't even know where to start!
  1. Did they not consider the fact that drunk men are easily startled? What's going to happen when a guy holding his penis hears a urinal talking to him? He's going to pee all over like he did when he was 4 and some poor men's room attendant--female, I'm sure--is going to have to clean it up.

  2. What about drunk women? Does New Mexico truly believe drunk women don't drive? Where's their campaign? How about a man who stands in the ladies restroom and any woman he thinks is too drunk he confiscates her keys and gives her a coupon for a free cab ride?

  3. What is up with the urinal cake's last sentence--"Remember, your future is in your hand." Eeewww!! What does that mean? Stop peeing now and go home? Ask your friend to hold it for you? Whack off in the bathroom and get arrested a la George Michael?
I'd also like to mention that NM paid $21 for each talking urinal cake thingy. So far, 500 have been put in men's rooms in bars and restaurants. You do the math ('cause I hate math. That's why I make you add when you leave a comment--just so I can laugh because I'm not the one doing the math.)

I wonder how many will get stolen by immature, drunk men? They'll be driving--drunk--with it on their dashboard just so they can hear the flirty woman talking. You know it.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

Calling All Nut Jobs

Not sure if this has made the national news or not, but I definitely wanted to, ah, warn you to be on the alert.

In a town nearby, let's call it Asshatburg, what was thought to be a human foot was found in the town's landfill. After 36 sheriff's deputies and volunteers spent countless hours searching through tons--literally--of fresh garbage, the search was halted upon discovery that the foot was actually an ape's. So see, that's OK. There's no demented cannibal running around eating people and discarding their feet. Although, I would think toes would be considered a delicacy??

Anyway, "authorities" are now reporting the foot is "apelike." Wha??? Not human, not ape, but apelike. What does that...BIGFOOT is on the loose! Run for your lives! Actually, you could probably just walk since he's obviously missing at least one appendage so he probably won't be able to run after you too quickly. (Really, sometimes I just slay myself, snort snort.)

Yes, apparently the internet has gone crazy with Bigfoot rumors--Bigfoot On The Run in Redneck Asshatburg!

But get this--"renowned" Bigfoot specialist William Dranginis, who operates the Virginia Bigfoot Research Organization (WTH?), has offered to have DNA samples from the foot tested by experts--including Jane Goodall. Dranginis claims he has already made arrangements with Goodall in case an "unidentified creature" is ever found. "You prepare for this," he explained in a phone interview yesterday. Jane Goodall's people followed with, "Dr. Goodall is curious and keeps an open mind on the subject." Seriously??

Well, it seems as though all the hoopla may be for naught...today authorities are saying it appears as though the foot may be a skinned hind paw of a bear. Nice. Apparently there's big bucks to made in bear poaching. I'll keep ya updated as they are still sending the thing off for testing.

Again, it all comes down to the rednecks in Asshatburg--they gots to make a livin', too!

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

If I Had a Million Dollars

Happy lurrrrrrrrrrve Day to ya. If you've no one to lurve, just fantasize. I'll start you off: George Clooney, Matthew McConaughey, Donald Trump--oh wait, sorry, wrong list. He's on my Big Pricks with Little Dicks list.

If you're feeling a little blue, a little woe-is-me, a little off your game, get over it. This poor sap in NY won $1 million in the state lottery 5 weeks after being diagnosed with inoperable lung cancer. Sure, dude has a year to live large on all that money you think, hey, not a bad way to go. Except for a few minor details.

He wants to get various medical treatments that will prolong his life, but the hospital is requiring major up front cash and the lottery doesn't pay the winnings in a lump sum. You know--various rules and regs prevent that. He just received his first check which is $34,000 after taxes. Not nearly enough for the $125,000 up front moolah plus $250,000 in reserves for the hospital.

Guess it doesn't matter to anyone that he'll be long dead before his lotto checks add up to that.

But wait, would you believe there are actually companies that do make "arrangements" with lottery winners to provide them with lump sums? Should this 51-year-old go that route he'd be left with a whopping $200,000 after taxes and "fees" from his original $1 mil. Oh yeah, that's a deal for ya. Still, not even close to what the hospital is requiring.

The winner, Wayne Schenk, says, "If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all." I tend to believe him.

See, your life isn't so bad now is it? You're welcome.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Naked Again

Geez, what is up with the naked obsession??

Now Christina Aguilera claims she and her husband have instituted "Naked Sundays" where they do everything naked. Hmm, I hope her staff gets the day off.

She dropped this little tantalizing tidbit during an interview with Ellen DeGeneres. "You have to keep mariage alive, spice it up," says the blonde hoochie. Really? 'Cause she's only been married for about 14 months so why aren't things still spicy? She's practically a newlywed. Oh wait, I forgot...Hollywood, celebrity, idiot...14 months is really like 7 years, right? Guess she was getting the 'ol itchy twitchy.

She also let Ellen know that Naked Sundays include naked cooking. DeGeneres warned her to be careful of grease splatters to which Christina Slutilera replied, "Well, unless you want the grease." Oooh, you're such a bad, bad girl!

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Show Me the Love!


Woo hoo!! I won, I won! OK, I lie, I didn't win. I never win. Poor, poor me.

BUT! I could win if you vote for me in the RFS Blog Awards. Please, please, please. OK, enough begging. I don't really do begging.

I'm in the last category, "Blogger of the Month." Whatever the hell that means?? Could just as easily be "Booger of the Month" as I don't know what the criteria were to be nominated. Whoever nominated me, a really big "you rock" to ya!

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Got Fish? You Too Can Get a Husband

Looking for a man? Have I got the place for you!

Hop on a plane to Orango Island in Guinea-Bissau (yeah, I've got no idea where the hell this place is either) where the women choose who they want to marry and the men cannot refuse. Oh yeah, that's what I'm talkin' 'bout.

OK, apparently this retreat d'amore is an undeveloped isle off the west coast of Africa. When a woman sets her sights on a particular guy, all she has to do is make a special fish dish (ancient recipe!) and place it in front of him. Men are powerless to say no, heh heh. Again, let me say, powerless!

One man reports, "I had no feelings for her. Then when I ate this meal, it was like lightning. I wanted only her." Damn! What is in that fish? Because this is exactly what I've been looking for for my next get rich quick scheme. I'll just sell the recipe--to women only--for this fish concoction. I'll be a gajijibillionaire like Oprah in no time.

The man cannot refuse to marry the woman because it would dishonor his family to do so. The 2,000 people of this island believe, "Love comes first into the heart of the woman. Once it's in the woman, only then can it jump into the man." So smart these people!

This unconventional thinking has worked well for this tiny island, but ill winds are a'blowing. Treacherous tides and narrow channels used to keep outsiders out, but are no longer holding back the modern world. The surrounding islands are being developed into resorts for tourists and many men from Orango are going to them to work. They return full of "new" ideas about asking women out.

"Now the world is upside down," complained a 90-year-old traditionalist male of Orango. Poor guy, he probably just wants all the younger men to suffer like he did.

Anthropologists say the island is unique; there is no other place in the world where women are given complete authority in selecting a husband. On Orango Island,
"The choice of a woman is much more stable."

Unfortunately, it sounds like eventually the island will go the way of the modern world; Christian missionaries are establishing churches there. It's just a matter of time before the men there become all bossy and picky like the males of the rest of the world. But for now, a girl can dream.

Monday, February 05, 2007

Naked Sundays

So, I tried to kill myself this weekend.

I went to what I thought was a 45 minute spinning class at the gym. (Gotten kind of hooked on this new craze. If not just for the sake that I don't feel nearly as guilty eating an entire bag of gummi bears if I spin them off, but it's oddly empowering.)

So I'm all clipped in, seat adjusted--complete with the extra gel padded seat cover I bring myself for my oh so delicate hiney--and the instructor was like, "OK, are you all ready for NINETY minutues of endurance cycling?!" I'm looking around frantically to see if anyone else is as freaked out as I am.

Nope, apparently they all read the schedule correctly and knew what they were in for. Then I start noticing how these people look a little different from the people that come to my 45 minute cycle class. I now notice half the class has special shoes just for cycling and many of them, unfortunately mostly the men, are wearing those crazyass Lance Armstrong bike shorts in bizarre colors that do nothing to hide unsightly, uh, bulges. Eek! And their thighs are amazingly huge and muscular. (Hang with them, we'll get to the naked part soon.)

Just as I'm trying to get my feet out of the pedal cage dohickeys and make a break for it, the instructor turns out the lights and we're off! Oh yes, didn't you know that you spin in the dark? That's actually the cool part. Complete darkness except for a few purple neon lights that make everyone's teeth look dazzlingly white! And bright!

So the music is blaring, gawd it was "Eye of the Tiger" and then the theme from Rocky, and meanwhile this Drill Sargeant of a chick is screaming, "Go! Faster, faster!" into her microphone thingy.

Well, I made it. Cycled nonstop. Did the three sets of 50 lifts where your butt is on the seat for one count and in the air for one count; repeat 50 fucking times. I don't mind telling you, I'm a little pround. And, ah, tender in some areas, but I did it.

I figure 90 minutes of getting my ass kicked beats watching naked people jiggle their way through a workout. Did you hear about that Dutch gym in the Netherlands where every Sunday is "Naked Sunday Workouts!" The owner said he's had a huge response to Naked Sundays. Really? I can see the guys being all for it, but women, too? I'm sure the guys work out even less because they're too busy checking themselves out in the mirror; telling themselves that of course their package is bigger than the guy's next to them.

But really, would you want to get on the thigh abductor/adductor machine after some naked, sweaty dude just had his junk resting on the seat?

Saturday, February 03, 2007

Jumping on the Bed

Remember the absolute joy of jumping up and down on a bed as a child?

Is there anyone who hasn't jumped up and down on a bed?? My brother and I were, of course, told not to engage in this incredibly thrilling activity so the first chance we got, we jumped. Giggling uncontrollably as we jumped with sheer abandon; what the hell happened? When did I lose the ability to laugh like that? Laughing so hard you gasp for breath and can't stop. Now, I rarely laugh like that. Partly for fear I might pee myself a little, but that's another story. Mainly because I'm too "adult"; I just don't have time for that silliness anymore.

Several times our jumping caused the wooden slats that hold up the box spring to slip out of place and the mattress would tilt crazily; it just made us laugh harder. Twice my brother hit his head so hard against the edge of the headboard he broke the skin and had to get stitches. He still has a little bald place on his scalp where hair will not grow. Of course, since he's lost a lot of hair on the top of his head over the past few years, he's not so concerned about that little bald spot anymore.

I'm going to try to be a child more; act silly more often, laugh harder (even if I pee myself), find joy in the most insignificant activities...maybe I'll try laughing while I dust this afternoon. Joy to you.

Friday, February 02, 2007

Wack Job

Riddle me this...

Am I wacked or is the volume of popular shows such as CSI and Grey's Anatomy purposely ridiculously low, causing one to turn the volume to twice the level other shows are normally watched at?

So then, when the commercials air the volume is so freakin' high it causes one's (hypothetically speaking, of course) Cosmo to go down the wrong way due to being scared shitless by the hyperactive loser local car salesman screaming in one's ear.

One might even have to give half-hearted kudos to the ad companies since I'm sure they are behind this evil volume conundrum. In revenge, I vow to buy nothing that is ever advertised on tv. So there! That'll show 'em. No more Taco Bell Gorditas for me!

Just asking. Oh, and I know what you're thinking so let me rephrase that to, "Am I more wacked (than usual) or is the volume..."

Thursday, February 01, 2007

That's Amore!

You know when you fight with your husband or boyfriend and are convinced he's TOTALLY 100% wrong although he doesn't think so? He may whimper a little apology just to get you to shut up but you know he doesn't mean it.

Well, this guy in Rome meant it! He not only apologized, but did so very publicly. Really, you gotta love us Italians--fight hard, love harder.

Former Premier Silvio Berlusconi publicly apologized to his wife after she called him out in an open letter, accusing him of making flirtatious comments to other women. "Forgive me, I beg you. And take this public show of my private pride giving in to your fury as an act of love. One of many", he said. Dang! Now that's an apology. I bet their makeup sex rocked the house.

Of course, he probably went to "visit" his mistress the very next night, but that's Italian men for ya. Never let it be said they don't have enough passion to go around. One reason I was pretty sure I should probably find a non-Italian man to marry; otherwise, every piece of china in the house would
have probably gotten broken over his head.

I remember when I dated an Irish guy, my Grandma said in her musical, double-negative broken English: "Why you date him? You no wanna no Irish. They like the drink."

"Grandma!" I cried, spreading my arms wide to encompass the twelve person table we just finished eating at; there was at least one wine bottle for each place setting.

She did that quintessential Italian shrug: one shoulder goes up, the mouth goes down, and if you're really good, one eyebrow also goes up. "Eh, we can handle," she says, dimissing the evidence of our own debauchery.

Boy do I miss her! She died just months before I met the man I married and I know they would have adored each other. They would have sparred beautifully; each becoming louder and more sure of their argument's "rightness" as they got tipsier and tipsier. I'm sure she's up there entertaining the masses, and maybe even a few Irish.