Thursday, June 30, 2005

Tom Cruising For Penis

As Sitting Bull is my witness, this is the LAST time I am going to talk about Tom Cruise, if only so I could put this picture up:

That kills me.
Anyway, as most of the people that live with me know, (read: D. B. Bogangles III, Big Bear Grimshaw, Pugsley Grimshaw and Dien Bien Phu Wellington Ivanovich Grimshaw, none of which are human in the dictionary sense of the word) I boycotted "War of the Worlds." This was for three reasons.
Number one: The Post gave it less than three stars. The Post movie reviewers and I are on the same page and they have steered me wrong only once in the last decade, so if your movie received 2 1/2 stars, you're shit out of luck. You will not get my $10.75.
Number two: If I have the choice between seeing a movie adoptation of a book or reading the book, I will generally side with the literature. The only movie better than the actual book was "Beaches." Fact.
Number three: If I see Tom Cruise for more than five minutes straight, I throw up in my mouth. I did an experiment last week and I had to go to the drugstore across the street to buy Mylanta and was eye-raped by the guy at the counter. No more Tom Cruise.
However, the Scientology shit was the breaking point. Tom had this fucking coming for decades. Here now is my Tom Cruise thesis:
Tom Cruise sucks my nonexistent hairy ball sac because he's a famous actor who can't act.
There. I said it. The only movie he was any good in was "Jerry Maguire," and that was because he was playing - gasp - an egotistical straight asshole whose marriage disintegrates because he spends all of his time in the locker room with a naked Cuba Gooding Jr. If they made a movie called "E. E. Grimshaw: The True Story of a Brillant, Crafty Mind," and they got me to play the lead role - I would fucking nail it. Even a drugged lemur could assume the role of a drugged lemur.

Now, I feel deep down, beneath the battered nasty-ass nose and cum-stained teeth, Tom knows he sucks the cock. I mean that figuratively. PSYCHE. But think about the people Tom chooses to co-star with, it's an incredible array of legitmate actors: Paul Newman, Dustin Hoffman, Jack Nicholson, Jon Voight, Jonathan Lipnicki. Any one of these people has the ability to make Tom look like a legitimate professional.

My final note is that the Katie Holmes situation is being completely underanalyzed. If you go to, you can get a shirt that says 'Down Came the Rainman." Tangent. But we're forgetting that this guy is a) considered a sex kitten for some fucking reason and b) is richer than some collective island nations. If I found Tom Cruise attractive, which I don't, and wanted his penis inside of me, I would consider buying earplugs and enduring the hell of him opening his mouth so I could get my fix. This is akin to the hot gym teacher I had in high school. Wait, I can probably find a picture. Fuck. Here's the Web site if you're remotely interested. He's a lot hotter than that. My point is that he happens to be dumb as sin. He spelled his name wrong on the board once. However, with a gag in his mouth, he would have been an acceptable sexual partner, and I think the same applies for Tom Cruise. If you think he doesn't look like a turd.
In honor of the end of Thursday, it's time to honor the closest thing this world has to a Greek god:

Dov'e armpit hair?

I just orgasmed.

Wednesday, June 29, 2005

not a blog, but i felt the need to share...

"I'm a woman so I have curves. Those curves means chaffing."

That's what I just heard on some TV commercial...i don't know what the ad was for, nor do I care to know. Regardless, it made me laugh...a lot.

Ariel Sharon Looks Like A Bloated Tick with a Yarmulke

Once again, we are breaking ground with an expose on a previously untreated subject. If you scan the Presidential palaces and other domiciles allotted to leaders throughout the world, you will notice one commonality - they're all nasty ogres. Fidel Castro looks like a retarded crow tried to make a nest on his face and then gave up, leaving bird fetuses to rot for decades. On any given day, Ariel Sharon eats the equivalent of two Louie Andersons and a Rosie O'Donnell. Robert Mugabe looks like he has a permanent mucus trail coming out of his nostrils, and Hitler bore a strong resemblance to an extra in a really bad gay porno shot in the sewer. With animals. The fact that these people took power at all seems baffling - why would a large contingent of a given population willingly allow nasty-ass pieces of horse dung to lead their country? Now obviously, most of the examples I previously cited were dictators, but all of them rose to power on the auspices of a legitimate regime, although Castro became President basically by living in the woods and not bathing for a year until he had enough resources to storm Havana. What few realize is that most of these people we consider Borgnine-ugly were orgasmic studmuffins in their prime when they came to power.
Our first example is Mr. Castro. When he actually became the dictator of Cuba, he already had the skeezy pubic hair on his face that we know him for because he hadn't seen indoor plumbing for months, and probably wanted to look grizzled and badass anywy. BUT, Fidel was really really hot in the early 1950s when he was a college student running for the House of Representatives. I scoured the Internet for a picture of him with the John Waters mustache, but this will have to do:

Look at those eyes. You could fucking drown in his Communist orbs of sex.

Ariel Sharon is another example. He looks like a boat these days, as he appears to be living it up, Gaza-style:

This has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but it made me chortle, so I'm including it in my analysis.


Man, man, BOAT, man.
We impugn because we love. Believe it or not, this portly President was a bonafide hunk o' man back during the 1967 war.

Alright, he wasn't a svelte mongoose-like sex kitten, but he's totally chiseled and amazing.
In 1973, he looks even HOTTER.

This was probably the last decade he was able to see his penis. Perspective. It is not easy running a war-torn country without a penile visual.

If the above visuals were not enough, take a look at this picture of Robert Mugabe before he decided to rape the country of Zimbabwe:

Drool me an ocean of Mugabe.

Ooh, there he is when, uh, Muhammed Ali...visited Zimbabwe. Back when he didn't shake all the time. If I was a British nanny accused of killing a baby by shaking it to death, I would blame him. No one would believe you, but all of the prisoners in your cell would probably get turned on by it.

Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Karl Rove WISHES He Created A Conspiracy Like This

Anyone with a TV slash ears knows who Jennifer Wilbanks is. The product of a redneck and a frog, Jennifer decided that it would be fun to flip out and travel across the country so she wouldn't have to marry someone more attractive than her. If that wasn't enough, she then proceeded to tell cops that she was kidnapped, as if anyone would tie her up and willingly look at her for more than 30 seconds. Dismissive shake of the head. As if anyone could forget the face of this loon, here is a visual reminder sure to result in at least an hour's loss of sleep tonight:

God, she looks like she's drugged up on about 50 meds there. Why more stories haven't been done about the pathetic waste that wanted to bed this thing until the day he died is beyond me.

There are two other tenants to this story that have NOT been given virtually any attention. Let me refer you to young Gregory Despres, a wayward 22-year-old with a penchant for mutilation that makes Jeffrey Dahmer look like the kid I made out with that smelled like Fig Newtons when I was three. Good times. Station wagons <3. Anyway. The quick story here is that Gregory, for reasons unbeknownst to the common man, went to a home in the Canadian province of New Brunswick on April 23. He then took a CHAINSAW and hacked up an elderly couple living in said abode. The story gets infinitely more bizarre. After his geriatric butchery, he makes for the United States border. Now, surely the immigration authorities will see this fellow covered in blood, who STILL HAS THE BLOODY CHAINSAW with him, along with brass knuckles, a homemade sword, a knife and a hatchet, and scratch their jowls and think to themselves, 'Hmm. Is that strawberry jam or an old man penis on the end of that chainsaw?' Apparently this question was NOT asked, and Gregory was allowed to drive down to Boston. Don't look at me. I would have given him 12-hour rectal exams for the hell of it. Unfortunately, since the Clintons moved to Chappequa, my opinions are rarely sought out by the powers that be. Growl. Anyway, since I'm sure EVERYONE is craving a picture of this blood-spattered Canuck dot dot dot

Now, this is where the frightening conclusion become inevitable. Look at the ocular beauties on these beastly creatures. These two were obviously separated at birth. More importantly, they can only be after one thing - a bug-eyed hegemonic state akin to the Third Reich. It makes perfect sense. The supposed reason Jennifer bolted from her doormat was because he wouldn't put out, i.e. procreate and help create a new race. Gregory is trying to exterminate the weakest people in the world, albino cripples the Canadians. With the help of our immigration authorities, who allowed a blood-soaked hophead into the country whilst believing a deranged patho's story about being kidnapped, these two will have no problem producing frog-eyed fetal wonders for the next generation to worry about.

Monday, June 27, 2005

Vibrators Marketed For Mass Consumption


I'm sure you all have seen or are at least aware of the newest technology in shaving products presented to us by the Gillette corporation. Perhaps thought up by a Gillette employee browsing around in a 6th avenue sex shop (although he/she might deny it), this line of vibrating razors is available for both men and women...but what is the exact purpose of the vibrating ability, besides extorting a few extra dollars from your wallet?!

M3, the vibrating razor for men, is supposed to provide a closer shave by raising the hairs so that the excessive amount of 3 blades can shave closer to the skin. While flashing images of sleek and sexy cars done in the same color scheme as an M3 razor (black and green), Gillette promises men that with their product, you can obtain a smoother shave. Without the vibrations, we are led to believe that the hair will remain in a prone state, almost seeking refuge in the folds of skin, only to emerge after the shave victorious against the blade shrieking something like "Mwahaha! Take that you glammed up vibrator!" Well fie on you stubbly male hairs...fie indeed.

Venus Vibrance, the female counterpart of the M3, looks pretty much the same as the M3, except it is available in girlier colors. Honestly, I prefer the manly black and green instead of the bubble gum pink...Regardless, the odd thing about the Venus Vibrance is that it is said to exfoliate the skin with its vibrating action. What happened to raising the hairs with the vibrations?? Do the girlie colors somehow hinder the hair raising experience? With the Venus Vibrance, we seem to be telling hairs that we will allow them to remain in their prone state as long as we can remove all the flakes of dead skin surrounding them. No matter what we do, the hairs are winning!

Anyway, the question that I want answered is this ---> Why, if the M3 and the Venus Vibrance are the same, does Gillette feel the need to create two different marketing ploys to entice potential users? In today's world of metrosexuality, there is a greater emphasis placed on maintaining ones physical awesomeness without fear of being seen as a pansy, so why wouldn't men want to
exfoliate? Also, I've seen some unruly female leg hairs that could use some vibration induced's kind of frightening actually. So please, Gillette, create a razor that lifts hair AND exfoliates...Oh wait, you have? The M3 and the Venus Vibrance actually do the same thing?! No way! You lie! Really? They're exactly the same, except for the color scheme?? Well I'll be damned...this blog was unnecessary after all.

Sunday, June 26, 2005

Justices and Shredders and Puggies, Oh My!

This is amazing. The background to that is that there's this Memorial Day air show they have every year in Missouri, and a bunch of protestors against the war show up with pamphlets, screeching about their right to free speech. Some people who don't necessarily like hearing epithets against the troops shouted at them have taken the initiative and have gone to the air show with little paper shredders for anyone who gets a pamphlet and doesn't want it anymore. A bit immature, but the second-to-last picture in the slideshow is totally worth it, whether you agree with the right to shred or not.
On a rather serious note, it appears that a Supreme Court Justice is going to step down within the next 10 days, especially considering that William Rehnquist has been coughing up his lungs for the past year or so and Sandra Day O'Connor's husband is at death's door. Conventional wisdom dictates it'll be Rehnquist, but he appears to be one of those tough old birds that refuses to acknowledge the reality of his mortality.
What's infinitely more fun than figuring out which Justice is going to retire is who Bush will nominate as the replacement. Anyone that's a step to the right is going to be bitchslapped by Barbara Boxer, who is this side of commie. In fact, I can't think of anyone who wouldn't be dragged through the gutter. Hmm. Except for Clint Eastwood. I feel a Hollywood Republican from the "old school" with a recent Oscar-awarding movie under his belt would glide through the nomination process smoothly.
He would write orgasm-worthy decisions. Fact.

In honor of...Sunday, it's time for a PUGGIE MONTAGE in honor of an amazing documentary on puggies I saw an hour ago.
I look like Samuel L. Jackson

Hah. He's in a sink. What a silly puggles.


I think something REALLY bad is about to go down here, but this is a family blog, so I won't elaborate

Genital cupping. I'm going to hell.

If pugs just started breeding on the streets...I feel that would be okay.

Saturday, June 25, 2005

Nipple! I Mean, People!

There was a brief moment about two hours ago where I forgot my username and thought I would have to abandon Weenie Enema per sempre. It is a scary thought, but everything is okay now.

Tonight's issue has been discussed across the country for the last decade, but definitely needs to be publicized, because people just don't get it: Koko the gorilla is fucking dumb as bricks. She has the mentality of those kids I went to preschool with who used to orgasm slash drool over Legos, eat them and then cry when they came out the other end.

But wait? Doesn't Koko know sign language? In a sense, I suppose that is true. Her ability to repeat three or four hand gestures won her an appearance on "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood," and Fred certainly wasn't the only one to give her mad props. However, I am about to give you earth shattering evidence that Koko is having an affair with her trainer and only knows one sign.
I encourage everyone on the globe to go to and take a look at some of the videos they have of Koko being amazing. My friend M. A. Coppenrath and I particularly enjoy the one where Nbuko is thrown into a cage with her in an attempt to start up some centuries-old gorilla mating ritual and he ends up freaking out and throwing fruit at her. It's incredible. There's also a lovely Christmas video in which her trainer buys her hundreds of dollars worth of gorilla crap and Koko only plays with the wrapping paper. Apparently Penny never got the memo that Koko is a gorilla and hence is not able to appreciate material possessions.
The visual evidence that really seals the deal though is the interview with Mr. Rogers. Here is an unofficial transcript of what went down between the two of them:

Koko checks Mister Rogers' mouth, and grooms his eyebrows.
K: Visit hurry. Chase hurry go foot.
MR: That's your foot.
MR: May I tickle your foot?
Koko doesn't respond, but he tickles her foot. Koko lets him tickle for a moment, then moves his hand.
K: Hurry.
Mister Rogers moves his foot over and Koko lifts his pants leg, then unties his shoe.

It gets really graphic after that, and I'd hate to lose readership because of a wayward gorilla, but the above dialogue encapsulates my entire theory. A crackho shoved a bunch of random signs into Koko's head, and now the fucking thing just signs them at whim. If she's uncertain what to say, she goes with her old mainstay: "Koko love."

K: Hurry...
P: Can we talk a little bit about love?
K: Frown.
P: Frown? Oh, honey! What? Love?
K: Love you visit... (To Mister Rogers.)
MR: Love. (Trying the sign.)
K: ...Koko-love.

There has also been a reported incident in which Koko was speaking to someone with Penny the trainer translating, and she signed "nipple." Rather than admit that her gorilla is as dumb as sin, Penny claimed she meant "people" because it rhymed. Shrug. My knowledge of sign language is based on Babysitters Club #16, Jessi's Secret Language, so unless Koko invades Stoneybrook, CT, so I can't be absolutely certain this doesn't make any sense.

Every caption I thought up was too gross to type, so just gaze and sigh.

As a closing thought, someone thought Jeff Bridges would be perfect for the title role of "The Giver," but it wasn't me. Am I the only one that thinks Morgan Freeman should just take on every role ever created? Black Giver!

Friday, June 24, 2005

Why Penguins Will Take Over the World - And It's a Good Thing.

Before tonight, my penguin education was based largely on a book my 2nd grade teacher used to read to us on the alphabet carpet while I picked my nose. It was called "Mr. Popper's Penguins," and it basically encouraged elementary school children to kidnap penguins, get a shitload of ice, and keep them hostage in a cold bathtub. I had much more fun listening to the Amelia Bedelia stories, so the significance of the almighty penguin was largely lost on me - until tonight. I have tasted the sweet nectar of the penguin gods, and it is good. As I was discussing with my loyal comrade D. B. Bogangles III, the only thing that would make the documentary "March of the Penguins" any better is if Sidney Poitier glided by on a floating ice castle and yelled something Mr. Tibbs-like. That is an impossibility, since Sidney would have survived about 2 seconds in the Antarctic because he is endowed with a sonorous voice, not a pelt of fat. Which basically means that Ted Kennedy could probably bop around down there for a while, but again. I'm dreaming.
After witnessing this incredibleness, I have come to the conclusion that penguins will supersede humanity and rule the world by 2039. This does not mean that we will be exterminated as a species; rather, we will finally be at the helm of amazing leadership that this world has never seen before, unless you count Bambi's dad, and I don't think you should because he was a deadbeat and horrid father. What am I basing this on?
1. Penguins don't have to eat for months at a time.
This cuts down on food bills and makes for a significantly less confining lifestyle. They can basically travel across the world without stopping, making diplomacy efficient like what.
2. They can swim at the speed of bottle rockets.

I'm not actually sure when this would come in handy, unless there's an eel mafia or something out to get the penguin leadership. Shrug. It just looked really cool.

3. Robert Byrd is not a penguin.

I feel nothing more needs to be said on the subject.

In other news, Tom Cruise killed a moose by shoving Ritalin down its throat. You believed me for a second. Because it's totally possible. The man is crazier than the love child of Charles Sumner and Robert Mugabe. Ha. It would be a caned mulatto baby. This deserves a visual.
So this guy:

got caned

but then he got fisted by this guy:

and made this:

Nope. Not flaming in the least. Just the offspring of a batshit dictator and a caned Senator.

Thursday, June 23, 2005

Fuck the NAACP, Run for a Senate Seat...Down There!

If you've ever mutilated somebody's body, accidentally posted pictures of your anus online, been married to a mountain goat or kissed Tara Reid, there's one position in America that you can acquire that will erase your past life and make you a national icon. It's called being a Senator from West Virginia. Bob Byrd has this really fun habit where he meanders over to a microphone when the rest of the Senators are preoccupied with running the country/passing amendments honoring the 100th anniversary of the National Forest Service, and gives an impromptu speech about the Jews in the Book of Esther. This is not a joke, I have it on my itunes and it has been played for several Emma loyalists and one or two socialists. The man is absolutely insane, and somehow has been reelected seven times. My father was literally still shitting his pants when Byrd first got elected. The mind reels.

Now, you must be wondering, much as I used to: why would anyone with a functioning brain, who took the time to register to vote, check off the box next to Robert Byrd? I went on a fact-gathering mission in my Rwandan Genocide class, and found the answer to this. A girl from the Tisch drama department got a conscience during the Spring semester, and decided to not only take a class that required outside work, but one that played machete hacking videos bi-weekly. She decided to sit next to me, and it turned out she was from West Virginia. I promptly asked her about Mr. Byrd. "Oh, he's great," she gushed. She could have been talking about a high school beau or Brad Pitt's sex scene in "Troy." "He does so so much! I'm voting for him! Do I need to sign something so I can do that? Is he married?" This mindless monologue went on for 10 more minutes, during which she prattled on about how everything in the state is named after him, about how Mr. Byrd likes to take his money and donate it to organizations who then engrave his name in the foundations of their buildings. I then went all Katie Couric on her ass, and casually mentioned his decades-long association with the Ku Klux Klan. "Oh, he's not in it anymore, right?" she asked. I admitted that he had publically renounced his membership back in the 1940s, though that is by no means the moment when he decided that black people were allowed to piss in his toilets. "Well, that was a long time ago, he doesn't think that way anymore. He is so great. You never answered my marriage question."

Now. Lets examine this as normal people who don't live in the state of West Virginia. Robert Byrd actively recruited members for the KKK as late as World War II. Yes, this was a rather long time ago. Perhaps the crazy redneck in my class was right. Maybe Robert Byrd got a lobotomy in 1950 and he loves black people now! Oh wait, he voted against the 1964 Civil Rights Act. Hmm. That doesn't help his case. But look! He donated money to Jim Bob Bumfuck West Virginia Hospital! Robert Byrd + Sidney Poitier = BFF!

"They call me, MR TIBBS!! My dulcet tones have sent countless women of all colors to their knees."

I am officially announcing the Robert Byrd Experiment. We're going to locate a willing tool, like Jocelyn, and have her commit an absolutely heinous crime, like digging up Jon Benet Ramsey's body and having sex with it. Then we're going to have her run for Senator of West Virginia. Even if she doesn't win on the necrophilia platform, it will be an amazingly good time and maybe FoxNews will send Greta Van Susteren back from Aruba to cover it.

What say, Mr. Whiskers? How bout you an me go out back and make a night of it?

And before I forget, Weenie Enema is taking a premature stand and endorsing Michael Bloomberg for reelection in the New York City mayoral race because he sent those motherfucking smokers out to the streets. And he rocks the education casbah. You tell them, Mike. An honorable mention goes to Anthony Weiner for having a funny last name and an incredible jawline, but he doesn't speak the language of the people, aka Spanish, and he has no wife to keep him decent so he's forced to play tonsil hockey with random hussies in D.C.

I am a slut. What what.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

CNN Used to be Led by a Dildo. But They Aren't Anymore.

I have two topics to discuss, one laughably trivial, the other a matter of the greatest importance. First, my needless extension of the all-time movie quotes selections. I have given this some considerable thought, and I have decided that these following quotes should have been selected, if the AFI had a soul:
1. "Dink." - On the Waterfront 1954
2. "Ooh! You guys made me INK!" - Finding Nemo 2003
3. "I know now why you cry, but it is something that I can never do." - Terminator 2: Judgement Day 1991
4. "Oh Rikki, you are so brave!" - Rikki Tikki Tavi 1975
5. "It's just a couch! This isn't life, this is just stuff, and it's become more important to you than living. Well honey, that's just nuts!" - American Beauty 1999
6. "Are we on 'Cops' again?" - Drop Dead Gorgeous 1999
7. "Peppermint dick! Peppermint...CLIT!" - Girl, Interrupted 1999
8. "I was to be a ham." - To Kill a Mockingbird 1962
9. "Hey, Boo." - To Kill a Mockingbird 1962
10. The hand on the car window in Titanic. There are no words necessary for such an epochal event.
Leo, have sex in a car with me. It will be way hot.

You're not so tough without your fucking cobra egg, are ya? Mongooses per sempre.

They are all timeless masterpieces, and yet were ignored by snobby elitists in Hollywood. This is a tragic day on all fronts.

Now, I want to bring an issue to the attention of our thousands of readers that will (hopefully) wake up Weenie Brian, because I know he happens to have a completely opposing viewpoint on this. Several months ago, Eason Jordan, the chief news executive at CNN was forced to resign, largely because of a huge uproar in the right-wing blogosphere. He went to the Davos Economic Forum in Switzerland and said that our US military was targeting journalists. He had no evidence to back it up, and his career was over a few days after the news got out.
About a week after the Eason Jordan resignation, the left went after a complete nobody named Jeff Gannon. The charge, it appears, was based on the fact that his real name wasn't Jeff Gannon. He was some two-bit "journalist" working for an online magazine that nobody read, and was giving clearance to attend White House press briefings. He also was into gay porn, and there were apparently pictures of him giving it to some guy in the a-hole. The left got pissed that someone with almost no credentials got access to Bush and Scott McClellan, so Jeff Gannon resigned. Mr. Weenie Brian feels that Jeff Gannon posed a greater threat to the country because he was IN the White House. He can correct me if I'm mistaken in any of this. I feel that Eason Jordan, as the head of a news organization with considerable power and sway to incorporate his bias in such a way that millions of people around the country might hear his anti-military bullshit in the guise of a thought piece or something on CNN, is a greater danger.

The reason this is somewhat relevant today, is that there is a new Eason Jordan in our midst. Linda Foley is President of the Newspaper Guild, which is the journalistic equivalent of the AFL or one of those other cockneyed unions. She was caught on tape saying that the military was targeting Arab journalists. Take a look for yourselves. I don't personally see any actual evidence to support that theory, though I have no doubt that journalists are by no means safe wandering around Iraq reporting on car bombings. I would LOVE to know what Weenie thinks about this.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Got Crabs?

A few days ago, I went to a nearby pet store to pick up a new fake plant for my little friend Alpha, the Betta. While at the store, I stopped to watch the kittens swat at shoelaces, the birds crap in their cages and the puppies sleep in their cubicles. After getting my daily dose of cute, I made my way towards the cash register when I was suddenly stopped in my tracks. Before me sat a wondrously elaborate aquarium stocked with the cast of Spongebob Square Pants including Gari the snail (my personal favorite) and a pineapple under the sea . In addition to the set of Spongebob, this tank also had a pirate ship and a treasure chest with its very own skeleton guard. I was jealous. What could be contained in such an amazing aquarium? HERMIT CRABS!

Arguably more interesting than a goldfish (though I doubt it), I view hermit crabs as being less of a pet than other common pets such as dogs or hamsters. Perhaps the degree of petness is determined by the range of motion. When was the last time you saw a hermit crab run to fetch a stick? Better yet, when was the last time you saw a hermit crab run? If animals had an election, a hermit crabs vote would definitely count for less than a Siberian huskies vote without a doubt. And yet, here I was, standing in front of this tank whose size in comparison to the crabs put the President's White House to shame. Bastard crabs...

It is with this opinion of hermit crabs in mind that I direct your attention to PETA's
newest campaign. PETA is calling for the freeing of all hermit crabs. Believing that "hermit crabs want to live free in the sunshine" and perhaps sip little hermit crab cocktails, PETA is asking children to "never buy a hermit crab or support a store that sells them". Alas, what shall we do if the option of owning the most excellent hermit crab is taken away from us? With the exception of the dead pets, no pet sits in one spot nearly as well as the hermit crab...When asked what he thought about PETA's hermit crab campaign, Laurence, the leader of the crabs at the particular pet store near me, had this to say:
Sure I like to sit out in the sun and drink fruity cocktail drinks. My friend, Jeremy, just threw a wicked kegger actually. We crabs do love our keggers. In this respect, PETA is right, but they seem to forget that even we wild and crazy hermit crabs need to settle down eventually. My wife keeps telling me that we should move into a smaller aquarium with more fake plants and day-glo pebbles. Someday, I hope to make her dream a reality.
After hearing this, I can't help but think that maybe PETA is wrong. Maybe hermit crabs don't mind being confined in tanks with many prime shell choices available to them, but then I remember that PETA exists to protect the downtrodden creatures of this world and therefore, they must know what they are doing. If you ever doubt the beliefs of PETA in regards to the freeing of hermit crabs, just remember that "every crab in every tourist shop and pet store was ripped away from his or her home and family". This image of injustice should be enough to keep you in line with PETA's campaign. Once you have pledged your allegiance to PETA, go out and deliberately not purchase any hermit crabs from pet stores. This may be tough for most of you considering the high level of cuteness that these crabs possess, but hang tough. Although, the crabs that go unsold will probably die in the store and the manager will have to order more crabs to replace their dead brethren, but this is a small set back. You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Through word of mouth, more people shall join this campaign for the freeing of hermit crabs and soon enough, pet stores will hear cease their participation in this barbaric trade. Viva PETA! Viva la crustacean!

If Someone Amazing Not Associated with the American Film Institute AKA Me was Picking the Best Movie Quotes Ever.

These quotes on CBS are so predictable. You know that "Casablanca" and "The Godfather" are going to dominate the top 10, and because it's a network broadcast, none of the really great profanity-laced quotes are even going to crack the top 100. The trick to making an incredible list of movie quotes with curse words seeping off the page is by attributing every single quote to Winona Ryder or Arnold Schwarzenegger. Observe:
1. "You are one...ugly...mother fucker." - Predator, 1987

2. "Well, fuck me with a chain saw, Heather!" - Heathers, 1988

I could legitimately going on forever. I won't. I feel my point has been made and then some.

Today Dick Durbin, one of the more accurately named senators, decided that it might be a good idea to apologize to the nation for comparing our military to Hitler Youth. A strong policy move, I feel. To cap off this delightful speech, he did a Tom Cruise: exhibited emotions he doesn't actually feel to alleviate the pressure of being called a cocksucker. He started crying, and issued yet another non-apology apology in which he said he was sorry for offending people. A bit better than his original non-apology, in which he essentially said that people should not have been offended at the comparison of Guantanamo Bay with gulags. He still remains more unpopular in his home state than Linda Blair does in hers (I'm not sure what state she's from, I just hope it's not mine), but it's a step in the right direction.

Over the last week, I've been hard on several people in the Senate, so I would like to end with a good word for several of our lads in Congress: the hunkified representatives of the state of Minnesota:

Norm Coleman, sexual wonderdog.

Look at those eyes. They send you into another orgasmic dimension. Mark Dayton 4eva.
CSPAN2 = Playboy Channel.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Breaking News: Saddam Is Nice to Troops So They Don't Take Him to One of his Own Rape Rooms

It never ceases to amaze me what constitutes news these days. If you have blond hair and blue eyes and you disappear, the coverage of all other events in the world will stop abruptly to provide minute-by-minute updates and reiterate that a pretty girl disappeared. Can you honestly remember the last time a homely nasty thing with warts went missing? It undoubtedly happens, but not according to any reputable news source. So it should have come as no surprise today that a story about Saddam's behavior towards the troops who guarded him ended up becoming a hot news item in a matter of seconds. My favorite quote is undoubtedly this tidbit about Saddam's Presidential preferences:
GQ magazine's July issue says Saddam greatly admired President Reagan and thought President Clinton was "OK," but had harsh words for both President Bushes.

How is that newsworthy?? How is knowing that Saddam didn't like either of the two Presidents who invaded his country considered epochal? It's like the NY Times or the Washington Post running a story that says 'Osama doesn't like countries where the official religion is not Islam.' Like, no shit.

Also mentioned is that Saddam likes Raisin Bran and Cheetos. I myself like Goldfish crackers. Was that a yawn I just heard? Exactly! NOBODY GIVES A SHIT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE EAT UNLESS THEY'RE IN THE DONNER PARTY OR ARE NAMED KATE MOSS. I could totally back this up.

Dangerously...cheesy batshit insane fucktard who gassed his own people.

In other news...
"Please see me in the most incredible movie ever, coming out this Friday!"

Yes. I have been talking about "March of the Penguins" forever and a day, and the story "as told by Morgan Freeman" is set to take the world by storm in less than four days. There is nothing more badass than a gelatinous penguin waddling to the depths of the earth and make for a fellow penguin lovah. Nothing. Anyone that tells you to see "War of the Worlds" instead is a pile of menses.

"Anyone that doesn't see my movie is a JERK. A real big jerk. Do you think that's funny? That's RUDE. I'm here trying to promote myself and pretend I'm straight and you're being a JERK."

Sunday, June 19, 2005

Arthur Miller was a Spineless Crapweasel and the World Hates Us Because Everyone Intrinsically Connected with the US Government is a Cockmonger

Today I finished watching the 1996 film adoptation of "The Crucible," starring Daniel Day-Lewis, who appears to be afflicted with what I call Orlando Bloom Disease (a personal aversion to being in movies that do not take place in the present, i.e. this, this, this and this), and everyone's favorite five finger discount maven and most underappreciated actress of the last 50 years, Winona Ryder. (Winona also likes to appear in 90% period pieces, but that's because she's amazing, so we're not going to question it for the time being.) I just realized they also co-starred in "The Age of Innocence," which is the only Martin Scorcese film I can sit through, with the exception of "Raging Bull," because Winona was gypped and should have won an Academy Award for that. Fact. Anyway. Anyone who has read or seen this play knows that the character played by Winona, Abigail Williams, goes apeshit because she wants her lover's wife killed, and even goes to the lengths of drinking turkey blood or something else red and unpleasant to make it happen, and is essentially responsible for about 20 people dying. She's the worst kind of a douche - an unrepentant weenie one.

The huge glaring problem in this movie though, is that Winona should never have been given this role. She looks to be about 25 or so in this, which is probably too old for a horny servant girl, though I am by no means an expert on the servitude mindset from the Massachusetts Bay Colony period. The bigger problem is that Winona is too badass. Abigail is supposed to be a wretched souless cuntsack who has absolutely no respect for other peoples' existences, much less her own. When she takes Daniel Day-Lewis' hand and shoves it up her crotch, you can't help but root for her. The same thing ostensibly happens when she goes to him in the jail and offers him the opportunity to go to Barbados with her. (Hopefully after a shower, you can't even really sees his face behind the guano at that point in time.)

Obviously he did the right thing, but shouldn't Arthur Miller, the creator of this play, have nixed Winona and put someone more hateable in there? Someone as hideous as Abigail Williams' soul, like Chloe Sevigny? Having John Proctor choose between Winona and a whitewashed Joan Allen is like making someone at the dog run choose between a morbidly obese puggie and a coonhound. Nobody but me is going to see that as an obvious choice, but...shrug.

"Joan Allen, I'll rip your tits out...WITH MY TEETH!"

On to matters that actually have some semblance of importance. Time Magazine sat down with J. Porter Goss, the former member of the House who seems to have wandered out of nowhere to become appointed as Director of the CIA. Among the mundane political claptrap he's supposed to spew out for the public, he made an absolutely absurd statement about Osama Bin Laden:
IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU HAVE A PRETTY GOOD IDEA OF WHERE HE IS. WHERE? I have an excellent idea of where he is. What's the next question?
What??? Oh really? I have an idea, why don't you take the first red eye over to the Pakistan/Afghanistan border, pull him off his dialysis machine and sit HIM down for a Time Magazine interview! Christ. I get that he has to say inherently untrue things to boost the spirits of the American public and the soldiers risking their lives to find this bearded wonder, but COME ON.

Porter Goss obviously doesn't have an excellent idea where Osama is, unless his concept of an excellent idea is, 'Somewhere in the Middle East, probably hiding in a cave.' And I ADORE when people answer a question by making a glib hint and quickly ducking any more questions. It's like the time I told my friends that my gym teacher felt me up, and then I changed the subject to the black eye my algebra teacher got by hitting her bedpost during a crazy night of passion.

"Haha, he doesn't know where I am. What a clit."

Saturday, June 18, 2005

Christina Aguilera Concert: This Thursday, Guantanamo Bay. BYOB!

Advocating the torture of other human beings, even the real cocksucking ones that the military keeps picking up outside of Fallujah, should make anyone uncomfortable, even if they're right in theory. It's hard to argue with the claim that pissing on a guy's Koran or making him endure extreme temperatures is a good thing if it subsequently yields information that could save people later on. However, when you have penis-shaped Vice-Presidents saying, "Meh! Torture is amazing! Meh!" the argument kind of loses its luster.
From what I've read and seen on my favorite channel ever, C-SPAN 2, the actual torture going on in Cuba (pronounced "Cooba" because it reminds me of that nutcase in "Jerry Maguire,") isn't torture. Sure, you have Dick Durbin blathering on about how it's something the Nazis or the Stalinists would have advocated, but Dick Durbin is all kinds of crazy. He likes distorting history to amuse himself. He reminds me of Robert Byrd when he goes off on those Alzheimer-induced orations about Jesus when he's supposedly up on the podium talking about highway expansion or saving the cranes.
What has been grist for the comedic circuit has been the recent revelations that the Muslim insurgents have been tortured with, of all things, Christina Aguilera music. What has NOT been disclosed or worse, perhaps deemed insignificant, is which specific songs are being played on the Guantanamo P.A system. Is it just her self-titled debut album? Is it the Christmas LP? Is it "Stripped?" Is it all three albums running concurrently for hours on end?
If I was an advisor in Guantanamo Bay and I had to choose the Christina musical selections, I would have to pick the first album. It's absolute shit. Even if the suspected terrorists are getting their afghans in a twist over the fact that a female is singing about her ding dong, they won't be able to ignore the fact that her first album sucks the big one, especially that overplayed rancid fecal matter "What A Girl Wants." HOWEVER. If they're actually playing them selections from "Stripped," we need to change the entire staff down there. Hell, we might as well transfer the entire chain gang to the Times Square Marriot and treat them to some $40 filet mignon. That album is incredible. Furthermore, hearing a song like "Fighter" can not be a good message to send to incarcerated criminals. If it turns out that the suspected 20th hijacker is watching the music video for "Dirrty," I propose disbanding the entire military.
In conclusion:
This is torture, gulag-style:

This is incredibleness defined:

Why don't we give each individual prisoner his own Playstation system so he can play Grand Theft Auto when he isn't being interrogated for taking a semi and shooting a few pieces of lead into American soliders? I should have Donald Rumsfeld's job. Fo serious.

Friday, June 17, 2005

Hey, Look at Me

This is a post asserting my existance to nobody in particular. Theoretically, I'm one of the driving forces of this blog, but I haven't actually gotten around to posting anything yet, much to the consternation of one E.E. Grimshaw. Gonna have something real to say soon. Swear.

Nader the Nigger.

I haven't been this pissed since Joey Ratzinger dismissed my suggestion of naming himself Popity Doo Dah and instead went for the mundane Benny 16. For some reason, there are more people in this country who believe Ralph Nader should be in the White House than there are starstruck idiot savants that think Tom Cruise isn't actually taking it up to the poophole. It boggles the mind. If you ever have a conversation with a liberally-inclined individual (read: an NYU student not in Stern) about George Bush, one of their first lines of attack is going to be some inane blather about how he stole the election in Florida, paid off some judges and illegally squatted in the Oval Office. Bull. Shit.

If you don't like the fact that a man with absolutely no personality, who was in the public eye for eight years under an incredibly successful administration, couldn't decisively beat George Bush, tough. Had I not been a wee tot of 15, I would have voted for Mr. Gore. He stuck his tongue into Tipper's mouth on national television. Obviously he was willing to pull out all the stops.
However, the fact that the race was as close as it was is a tribute to Bush, not Gore. I'm not going to get bogged down on these two though, because my point is that too many people are pointing the finger at Bush for stealing the election when they should be lynching Ralph Nader. Bush got 2,912,790 votes, about 600 more than Gore. Nader got almost 100,000 votes in Florida. This isn't brain surgery.

Nader was essentially running on the premise of legalizing pot and turning most of the country into a national park reserve. Now, if you were one of those 97,000 people that voted for Nader, which political party do YOU think you'd most likely be affiliated with? If Nader didn't run, Gore would have won. And yet, for some reason, people voted for Nader AGAIN in 2004! The mind REELS. Kerry was a cardboard cunt and probably deserved to lose, but Nader has to be the biggest narcissistic douchebag in thie history of politics, which, in the era of Al Sharpton and Ann Coulter, is quite an accomplishment.
Somehow, SOMEHOW Ralph Nader survived 17 assassination attempts and continues to trek across the country promoting...I don't know, maybe a clitoral stimulation device, it's really irrelevant. The point of all of this is that Ralph Nader made it into the papers again because he used the word "nigger." I am not politically correct by any stretch of the imagination, but what sane person of this earth thinks that flippantly tossing that word out into the general public is a good political strategy? To put this into its proper context, because it's not as if he called Al Sharpton a nigger, I direct you to the following excerpt:

Speaking Wednesday night at a Washington fund-raiser to retire the debt from his 2004 presidential campaign, Nader complained that Democratic Party powerbrokers had kept him off the ballot in such Southern states as Georgia and Virginia - which reminded him of the oppressive Jim Crow laws that denied African-Americans equal rights.

"I felt like a [n-word]," remarked the 70-year-old white multimillionaire graduate of Princeton University and Harvard Law School.

Number one: Ralph, you're a cunt, but you're not black.
Number two: Perhaps the Democrats took a look at the election results from the last go around and noticed that you FUCKED THEM OVER.
Number three: It is not fair that I did not get into Harvard. And that I have about 40 dollars to my name.

The other part of this article that I thoroughly enjoyed was when Ralph compared himself to the Black Panthers. I love when people compare themselves to organizations that are a) no longer in existence and b) would never have allowed them entrance if they WERE in existence.

Pop quiz: Which one of these is a picture of Ralph Nader?

I admit it. It was trick question. Shame on me.