Testicle Tuesday...Real World hotties

Anyone who know's me is privy to my obsession with MTV's The Real World. I've been watching these mindless sycophantic brats for a decade and a half. One of the primary drawing cards of an ordinarily annoying cast is the bevy of beauties MTV has paraded before the camera. So here is my contribution to the morass of pop culture, the definitive countdown of the hottest girls in Real World history.

1. In compiling these TT countdowns I've never had an easier choice of who to put as Hottie No.1. Mallory Snyder was on the Paris cast and has also adorned the pages of the Bible of maledom...the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.

2. Jacinda Barrett was part of the London cast and has went on to star in Ladder 49 and other bit parts. She's anAussie so her accent will melt steel.

3. Johanna Abotta was featured in the Austin season and was on the recently concluded Fresh Meat Real World/Road Rules Challenge. She just looks sweet.

4. Jamie Chung was recently voted the hottest girl on reality television by Stuff Magazine...I might put the afore mentioned Mallory Snyder at #1 but I can't really argue too much with their choice, can you?


Just a quick segue to next week, the girls on Road Rules are even yummier. Grrrrrrr.

Just had to share this...

Man, just when you thought the Tanya & Nancy saga was the most bizarre sports story ever...

At my alma mater where I got my undergrad degree the football team is embroiled in controversy. Seems the backup punter is accused of assaulting and stabbing the starting punter in his leg...the kicking leg...the leg that got him a scholarship. The bench warmer, who's been been booted from his dorm room and has no Greeley address, is now out on $30,000 bond and faces serious criminal charges. There's no time frame on the return of the starting punter.

HE'S A FREAKIN' KICKER, TRYING TO ICE ANOTHER KICKER!

Let me repeat...

HE'S A PUNTER, TRYING TO SIDELINE ANOTHER PUNTER!

For the love of Ray Guy and everything holy, WTF!

The University of Northern Colorado is a Div. IAA, they're not even on television. What's mystifying is how the backup couldn't win the job, the starter is averaging a paltry 37.6 yards a punt.

Trust me when I say there is very little incentive to stay in Greeley, Colorado. It's in the middle of hail alley, the swath of land tha is home to the most frequent and violent hail storms on Earth. It stands adjacent to a ConAgra meat packing plant, a plant that was at one point the largest such facility in the world, and let me tell you the stench from the bovine ejectus when the wind is right will bring tears to your eyes, not to mention the fumes from the rending house where they burn off the blood, organ, and tissue waste. At times these odiferous eminations with leave a film on your toungue.

If Colorado was given an enema the hose would go in Greeley.

This is the setting of a sordid melodrama that would make the ancient Greeks issue a collective, "Huh?"

A punter at a Div. IAA school that rarely plays on TV bumping off the starting punter who can only kick 37 yards at a time in a town that is a cultural and scholastic black hole.

Wrap your minds around this...I dare you.

Testicle Tuesday...sportin hotties

I love sports, so, naturally I thought it would be interesting to compile a list of the loveliest athletes in creation. And, eureka, here it is. Enjoy the luciousness of sporting femeninity...

1. Jennie Finch is a gold medal winning pitcher on the U.S. international softball squad and she's won numerous hot female athlete awards, and who am I to argue.



2. Many remember Jamie Sale as one half of the Canadian pairs figure skating duo that got jacked out of gold in the 2002 Winter Olympics because of the psycho French judge (a redunancy) but the Shrub remembers her for exuding hotness.


3. Regan Lauscher is the yummiest luger on Earth. She makes her sports living in skin-tight suits zooming down a bobsled track at 80mph.


4. Kati Wilhelm is a biathalon specialist. Now before you get any ideas about her sexual proclivities let me remind you the biathalon combines cross-country skiing with target shooting. She knows how to handle a rifle and she's German, so beware if she finds you annoying.


5. Amanda Beard was recently voted the sexiest female athlete in the world by FHM. Look at these pics and you'll understand why...



6. I chose Barrett Christy because she looks exactly like this girl I dated in high school who just happened to be the sweetest person I've ever known. Plus Barret can throw down on a snowboard, winning multiple Winter X-Games gold.

WHAT'S THE WORLD COMING TO?

Paris Hilton, the ditsoid debutante heiress of the Hilton Hotel fortune got busted for a DUI. The fact she was driving after imbibing libations for hours is in no way shocking. We so saw this coming, like we saw the Jessica Simpson-Nick Lachey implosion from a mile away. I mean Ms. Hilton is a true Hollywood train wreck; B-list celebrity with alcoholic and narcissistic tendencies who's living off the fame of marginal hotness and the horrendously stupid and vapid reality show she did with now arch enemy Nicole "I'm not skinny enough" Ritchie. Her getting busted for a DUI is akin to Michael Jackson getting caught doing adolescent boys, we issue a collective "Duh" and move on.

What's appalling about this whole sordid story is the stunning lack of police corruption. The woman is cute and worth a bundle. The arresting officer couldn't think of more creative road-side jurisprudence. I'd demand a hotel, Ferrari, cruise, or gratuitous felatio. We all know Paris would comply with any of these simple requests. But nooooooo, the police pick this moment to be disturbingly noble and err on the side of law & order.

Where's the crooked/horny cop when you need one? Where's the compelled body cavity search? Where's the evasion of police procedure? Where's the stereotypical country pokie saying, "You sure got pertie lips"?

My world makes no sense anymore. I used to be able to wake in the morning and count on four things to center my universe; the French would be mind numbingly annoying, the Colorado Rockies would stink on ice, a national political figure would say or do something horribly stupid, and the police would continue to wallow in corruption.

There was a time when I could look upon my local constabulary and say with pride, "There goes the biggest bunch of criminal mother fuckers in the country." But the illusion is no more. And the Shakespearean irony is that of all people to walk the straight & narrow with it had to be when you pulled over the richest uber slut in California. Bravo.

Testicle Tuesday...Hot Heroines

Today's intstalment features the hottest estrogen infused super heroes/villians in cinamatic history, in order of hotness...

1. Tie--Michelle Pfeiffer, Halle Berry...both of these scorching hot little kittens deserve their own coveted TT all to themselves. But, in the name of argumentation & debate, I thought I'd couple the two hottest versions of Cat Woman and just drink in the leather and whips...so who's hotter, Halle or Michelle...I can't decide.


2. Lost in the commercial success of Buffy the Vampire Slayer series was the fact Kristy Swanson was the original Buffy, and arguably more of a tasty treat.

3. Few starlets can match the raw sensuality Rebecca Romijn brings to the screen. Who will ever forget Becky all in blue playing the stunning and dastardly Mystique in the X-Men movies. God I love chicks who can carry off loud makeup and hair.

4. Many an hour of my pre-pubescent years was spent oggling Linda Carter's goodies as she pranced around as Wonder Woman. Tie me up with the lasoo of truth you little she-devil.

5. Batman & Robin was an utterly forgetable film. What was unforgetable was Alicia Silverstone scurrying about as Bat Girl in full body spandex. I love American cinema!

Great lawyer jokes

1. As the lawyer woke up from surgery, he asked, "Why are all the blinds drawn?" The nurse answered, "There's a big fire across the street, and we didn't want you to think you had died."

2. God decided to take the devil to court and settle their differences once and for all. Satan heard this, laughed and said, "And where do you think you're going to find a lawyer?"

More to come...

My God...

I hope this isn't where Starbucks gets their dairy products.

*shudder*

Testicle Tuesday...yeah yeah yeah, I know I'm late

As a reward for waiting an extra day to oggle hotness personafide I bring you the top five Hotties Flying Under the Radar...

You may recognize this sultry brunette from the Mercury commercials. Her Name is Jill Wagner and she is smokin hot, yummy, tasty, damn near perfect.




Jody Lyn O'Keefe is a bit player on several movies and the ill fated Nash Bridges. Go on, soak up her hotness...if you dare.






This saucy little tart hails from the Farheit commercial, her name is Jelena Abbou, and she is spankalicious.






The first time I saw the Overstock.com commercial I nearly molested my TV. This Euromynx was born in Germany and has the sexiest voice this side of Kathlene Turner & Demi Moore. Her name...Sabine Ehrenfeld.






Reno 911 is wicked funny and this stunning lass spices up the show occasionally. Mina Olivera is her name, hotness is her game.




Now I'm off to contemplate my takeover of the free world, one Tesicle Tuesday at a time.

Now you know

As a gimp, you know, a drooley/cripple/quadriplegic, people always ask me what it’s like to be disabled. So, I thought I’d expound upon the experience.

The first thing when explaining a foreign situation to someone is to put shit into perspective. Here’s the perspective…

The most profoundly tragic loss when I broke my neck was not the loss of independence, not the death of my athletic ability, or even the loss of control of basic body functions.

The truly most profound tragedy was the loss of the ability to masturbate.

Oh, you more sensitive types are rolling your eyes and saying “What does masturbation have to do with your disability?” Only two people would respond in this way; the hermaphrodites who can fuck themselves, and women.

Now let me expound upon the true tragedy of my plight. I’m a guy, and as such I require four basic necessities for daily survival; food, beer, oxygen, sexual release. That’s it, that’s the list. For the last sixteen years I’ve been cruelly deprived of a basic element of maledom, the ability to pleasure one’s self when the need arises. And arise it does…a lot.

There comes a point in every male’s life when you realize spanking your monkey is fun, and cathartic. The first time a guy rubs one out is a momentous occasion, the type of event that warrants a parade and fireworks. You feel ashamed at first, especially when you’re eventually caught by a parental unit. But after a few months you realize your completing the circle of life, partaking in a ritual that has been repeated for time in memoriam. I bet those cavemen were spanking fools.

The Catholics have it all wrong…masturbation should be exalted, not vilified. EVERY guy has done it, from the Pope right on down to the pubescent alter boy. I bet Christ Himself jerked a load. The man was knee deep sheppards’ daughters, not to mention that tramp Mary Magdalene. Can you imagine being buns up and receiving a frosty load from the King of Kings? I bet his spooge had healing properties, but alas, I digress.

Now picture the world of the future. A medium exists where every conceivable type of smut is available at your fingertips. In the early to mid 90’s a little communication device changed forever the way we males beat our meat. The Internet brought a universe of porn to our desks. It was Sharia, Nirvana, Moksha, Elysium, Asgard/Valhalla, and Utopia all wrapped into one well lubricated fist. The avenue to consumption of mass quantities of porn was finally open. I had achieved universal masturbatory consciousness.

I had dreams about this shit in high school. I would lay awake at night pondering an existence where I could view lesbians with strap-ons drilling the bejesus out of each other. And I could view it anytime I wanted in the privacy of a locked room. And it was free.

Imagine having your wildest dreams of childhood come to fruition. Your six and under the tree at Christmas was a mound of presents, every toy you’d ever thought of, and you want more than anything to open them, but you are fooled by a sadistic mirage. The tree stands barren as the last vestiges of your innocence are sucked into a black hole of despair.

Such was my plight on September 24, 1996. This was the day I was to get high-speed internet access. I was excited, just plain giddy with excitement. The cable guy couldn’t leave fast enough for me. I said my goodbyes and bellied up to my computer for hours of salacious entertainment. Then reality hit me in the face. I paused, looked down at the stick of driftwood that passes for my penis, and I wept. I had finally known deep sorrow, the kind few will know.

Now, every guy reading this, at least the ones in possession of a soul, are like, “Sorry man, that sucks”. You women are asking yourself, “What’s the big deal ya perv?”

Let me put this into perspective, channel the spirit of my foremothers, and let you catch a glimpse of my daily life.

Imagine you own a 100,000 square foot house. In it are thousands of rooms, more rooms than you could possibly visit in a lifetime. In these rooms are every conceivable type of shoe and chocolate ever devised. You have shoes from the Orient, ancient Egypt, and modern-day Hollywood, chocolates from Switzerland, Germany, Italy, and Hershey, Pennsylvania. You can lay in an alabaster tub full of Prada and Godiva chocolates. You’ve had fantasies about this very experience since you were a wee girl. The house is yours, you can visit whichever room you choose anytime you want, no one is watching, and it’s all free. Then you realize you have no mouth or feet.

Welcome to my world y’all. Who will weep for this little boy lost?

Testicle tuesday...Bond girls countdown

No other franchise in the history of cinema has given the public the bevy o' buxom beauties as the James Bond films. So, in order to educate my loyal readers about all that is yummy I bring you my Top Ten Bond Girls...

1. Honor Blackmon: Golfinger (Pussy Galore)



2. Izabella Scorupco: Goldeneye (Natalya)



3. Tanya Roberts: A View To A Kill (Stacy Sutton)



4. Jane Seymour: Live And Let Die (Solitaire)



5. Tania Mallet: Goldfinger (Tilly Masterson)



6. Ursala Andress: Dr. No (Honey Ryder)



7. Claudine Auger: Thunderball (Dominique Derval)



8. Barbara Bach: The Spy Who Loved Me (Anya Amasova)



9. Denise Richards: The World Is Not Enough (Dr. Christmas)



10. Teri Hatcher: Tomorrow Never Dies (Paris Carver)



p.s. I'm feeling much better...the ill effects of anemia have passed me by. Thanks for the well wishes.

Shrub's illin'

Wasup y'all? Shrub here. My doctor informed me that I'm severely anemic. I've never been so tired and today I think I'm spiking a fever. So, I may have to take a sojourn at a local hospital for a brief stay to peruse the menu and channel surf through shitty TV. I'll keep you posted as to my state but if I don't post for a while you know why.

Just deserts

The following is a true story...

A Charlotte, North Carolina lawyer purchased a box of very rare and expensive cigars, then insured them against fire, among other things.

Within a month, having smoked his entire stockpile of these great cigars and without yet having made even his first premium payment on the policy the lawyer filed claim against the insurance company. In his claim, the lawyer stated the cigars were lost "in a series of small fires."

The insurance company refused to pay, citing the obvious reason that the man had consumed the cigars in the normal fashion.

The lawyer sued.. and WON! (Stay with me.) delivering the ruling, the judge agreed with the insurance company that the claim was frivolous. The judge stated nevertheless, that the lawyer "held a policy from the company which it had warranted that the cigars were insurable and also guaranteed that it would insure them against fire, without defining what is considered to be unacceptable fire" and was obligated to pay the claim.

Rather than endure lengthy and costly appeal process, the insurance company accepted the ruling and paid $15,000 to the lawyer for his loss of the cigars lost in the "fires".

NOW FOR THE BEST PART...After the lawyer cashed the check, the insurance company had him arrested on 24 counts of ARSON!!! With his own insurance claim and testimony from the previous case being used against him, the lawyer was convicted of intentionally burning his insured property and was sentenced to 24 months in jail and a $24,000 fine.

Thursday stream of conciousness posting

As I sit pondering the after life of the annoying terrier that resides next door who barks non stop from 5am-8am some random thoughts and observations are flowing through my cranium…

There’s a strip mall about a five minute walk from my front door. What’s quirky is the residents. In the corner is a Planned Parenthood clinic…and right next door…a liquor store. I’m not making this up, I’m not that clever.

I lived in Greeley a while back. Greeley is a town of 60,000 about 75 minutes north of Denver. Just north of Greeley was a little burg called Eaton, complete with its own liquor store. The name of the establishment, pray tell…Eaton Liquor. I’ll give you a moment to digest that nugget.

I’ve written on this before but felt the need to reiterate. Landry’s, one of the largest seafood restaurant chains in the country, has locations in the downtown aquariums in both Houston and Denver. Once again, I’m not making this up.

Holy shit! This guy has balls of steel! This guy’s nuts too!

This shit is wet-your-pants funny. So is this.

The most aptly named blog ever. Bravo Jamie R.

Auntie Morg, I want thank you for posting Brit Eklund’s magical posterior on the last TT. Her ass was spankerific.

A friend and I are trying to put together a comedy pilot/video. Think of the Dave Chappelle Show for gimps. Anyone with skit ideas or funny yet apropos names for the show just post in the comments or email me.

I’ve been doing the internet dating thing for a while and the sheer volume of crazy Russian chicks seeking visa is staggering. Russia must be a shit hole right now.

By for now kids.

Testicle Tuesday...back after all these weeks...

As a video game junkie I love when those crafty techno geeks endow the, eh hem, well endowed with the duty of saving man kind. Two of my favorites, along with Angelina Jolie, are the two pictured here...





I defy anyone to find two hotter video game vixens turned big screen heroines than Charlize Theron in Aeon Flux and Mila Jovovich in both Resident Evil movies. Mmmmmmmmm, damn fine acting!

Using Native-American imagery as sports mascots

On August 11, 2006, a petition was filed with the United States Trademark Trial and Appeal Board of the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office wherein six Native-Americans seek to invalidate the Washington Redskins trademark held by Pro-Football, Inc. The petition claims that the term “redskin” is overtly derogatory and injurious. This follows a similar filing from 1992; a final decision is still pending.

This latest salvo in the fight to eliminate Native-American caricatures as sports Mascots has stoked the fires of debate. On one side you’ve got the Native-American community that claims such mascots and nicknames perpetuate negative stereotypes and are blatantly hostile. On the other side you’ve got dozens of college and professional sports teams who assert the right to coin whichever name they choose. Fans of these teams cite tradition and identity as the driving force to maintain these mascots and nicknames.

Schools such as Arkansas State, University of North Dakota, University of Louisiana at Monroe, University of Illinois, and Florida State continue to take heat for their use of Indian imagery for their respective sports programs. In August 2005, the NCAA banned the use of Native-American mascots during post-season tournaments. Some schools, even in the face of sanctions that would prevent participation in any official post-season championship tournament, have chosen to fight to retain their mascots. Arkansas State and the University of North Dakota remain staunchly defiant while other schools, St. Johns, ULM, Northeastern Oklahoma State University, and others have either changed or are mulling mascot changes. The NCAA Continues to be adamant about the ban. A few high profile programs have won appeals to retain their nicknames; Florida State, Utah, and Central Michigan. The University of Illinois Fighting Illini has appealed multiple times but to no avail. Illinois may eventually have to surrender its beloved Chief Illiniwek.

On April 13, 2001, the United States Commission on Civil Rights issued a position statement that called for the removal of all Native-American mascots from team sports. “The stereotyping of any racial, ethnic, religious or other groups when promoted by our public educational institutions, teach all students that stereotyping of minority groups is acceptable, a dangerous lesson in a diverse society. Schools have a responsibility to educate their students; they should not use their influence to perpetuate misrepresentations of any culture or people…The fight to eliminate Indian nicknames and images in sports is only one front of the larger battle to eliminate obstacles that confront American Indians. The elimination of Native American nicknames and images as sports mascots will benefit not only Native Americans, but all Americans.”

At the heart of the debate is the legal framework upon which claims of discriminatory or hostile representations of Native-Americans are constructed. The NCAA has the legal authority to ban schools from post-season competition but not the authority to compel name change. Only the individual states that preside over their respective state-run university systems can dictate such changes. The fight to force private institutions and independently owned sports franchises to change their monikers has a legally deleterious effect. If the government through legislative edict or judicial fiat eliminates the use of Native-American imagery for private sports entities based on a tenuous application of Constitutional law the ability of private institutions to remain autonomous is compromised. This is not a bridge we as a sports culture can cross.

When examining this debate think in terms of what’s best legally, not philosophically or even morally. No one would feel comfortable with sports teams called the Niggers, Spicks, Slopes, Whaps, Kykes, Porch Monkies, Jungle Bunnies, Chinks, Slats, Beaners, Wet Backs, Red Necks, Hebes, Sand Niggers, etc. It is a given that many Native-Americans view the portrayal of their culture as an overt attempt to hold down their people, as would any sensible ethnic minority should any of the above epithets be used to name a sports team. But if a team is a wholly private entity then can we really dictate to them how and in what fashion they can name their teams. If you object to a state-run program referring to itself in a racially derogatory way then by all means assert your tax payer rights. If you object to a privately run sports team’s allegedly defamatory nickname then exercise your right as a consumer and don’t buy the ticket, merchandise, sponsor’s products, etc. Organize a boycott, speak out, or shut up. The American system of jurisprudence is not capable of deciding such matters efficiently, nor should they be expected to compel the wholesale reversal of innate stereotypes or prejudices.

On a personal level I find the Washington Redskins mascot to be distasteful and can sympathize with those Native-Americans who cringe at the very mention of Daniel Snyder’s team. But it’s not my place or my desire to force the National Football League to change this particular trademark.

As the Native-American community, the NCAA, individual universities and colleges, and professional sports franchises fight this one out I take solace in the fact my beloved Denver Broncos and Colorado Buffaloes nicknames offend no one… except those nitwits at PETA…don’t even get me started on those dumbasses.

Journey into Hell

And just when people thought they truly knew or knew of the most twisted figures in all the history of the world, along came those sadistic few responsible for crafting the Colorado Bar exam. I’ve never been subject to the infamous rectal exam but I envision it is not dissimilar to the act of intellectual sodomy that is the bar exam.

If you want an idea what sitting for the damn thing is like wake up at 5am. Drink cold coffee, eat a stale doughnut, and find an antiseptic environment. Just pull up a chair at your table and do the New York Times crossword puzzle or sudoku or any other exercise designed to screw with the intellect. On Day 1, for your added pleasure, and to prepare you for the essay portion, go out to your driveway, have a family member or friend park the car on your head, do the crossword, and let the car sit there for 3 ½-4 hours. Then Day 2.

Repeat the morning ritual of bad coffee, doughnut, the whole smack. Go to your sterile environment and do the mental gymnastics of your choice. Now, every two minutes, get up, walk to the nearest door, open it, put your head in, grab the handle, and slam the door on your head. Repeat this EVERY two minutes one hundred times or for 3 ½ hours, which ever comes first. Take a 90 minute break for lunch then do it all over again. Break for lunch then repeat.

The following step must be followed on both days; for added atmosphere, find the one person with the harshest, shrillest voice you can find, have them stand behind you the entire time and scream, “You’re a dumbass! You’ll never pass! Give up now!” Now wait two months for the test scores.

And people wonder why attorneys are megalomaniacal or overtly uptight.

I truly wonder who writes these tests. They are the personification of pure evil. They have no reflection.

Here’s my vision of those responsible for putting fledgling attorneys through such rigor.

Imagine a dark room. The only light comes from two candles at either side of a stone alter at the end of the ominous space. On the alter appears to be a Black’s Law Dictionary, a copy of the United States Constitution, the Model Penal Code, and a sundry of other legal journals and treatises. Twelve figures clad in black robes with hoods obscuring their faces enter and form a semi-circle in front of the alter. The mysterious figures begin chanting in a foreign tongue, but the words Mammon and Baal can be easily recognized. The chanting grows to a fever pitch and a door behind the alter opens and out strolls a high priestess. She rounds the stone edifice and stands silently in front of the trappings of law. The chanting subsides and the priestess grabs the law dictionary and holds it high while she shouts an incantation in Latin. She repeats this with all the items on the table.

The room darkens and a faint hum is heard. Suddenly the air is violently torn apart and the Prince of Darkness himself now floats menacingly over the alter. This version of Satan is not the heavily muscled red devilish figure seen in the movie Legend or Hellboy but a more congenial and cerebral vision, perhaps Al Pacino in Devil’s Advocate.

“Ahhhhhhhh, my favorite time of year, bar exam time. Now, I’m a busy man so I’ll need help writing the questions.”

Beelzebub grabs the Model Penal Code and touches it to his forehead, ostensibly to channel the negative energy necessary to properly delegate such an important task. “Whom shall I choose? I need a natural fit to write criminal law multiple-choice questions and an essay. Hmmmmmmmmmm…I’ve got it…Hitler, you seem familiar with everything criminal. Have at it!”

The Devil grabs the Constitution and repeats the ritual. “Who knows conlaw? Ah yes, Richard Nixon, please come forth.” Nixon oozes out of the floor and the Devil hands him the Constitution. “You’ve seen this before. Make me proud.”

“Whom shall pen contracts questions?” The Devil pauses, and snatches a copy of the Uniform Commercial Code off the table, “I need someone who knows about deals gone wrong…anyone seen Faust? Hehehe, bet you’re feeling like a dumbass right about now. Here, let me see if you’ve learned anything.”

“I need a sufficiently dire soul to write some property questions…ohhhhhhh Genghis Khan, would you be a dear. After all, you did conquer more property than any body in history.”

“Now who has a keen grasp on evidence…it’s a toss up between Jeffrey Dahmer and Al Capone. Both are adept at concealing evidence, both in their idiosyncratic fashion, but who am I to judge. I’ll flip a coin…heads it’s Dahmer…get it, hah, I’m so clever. Tails! Capone, you rapscallion, knock ‘em dead.”

“Jeffrey, don’t go anywhere, I have a feeling you may yet have work to do.”

“Torts! I love when the old ladies and children die needlessly. Who’s twisted enough to think this shit up? Heh, perfect…would the Marquis de Sad please step this way. Man, I thought I was a hedonist. Make the body count and severed limbs really gruesome yet contemporary."

“Those who have been assigned the multiple choice please write an appropriate essay question, the more convoluted the better.”

“But wait, there’s more. I nearly forgot the Colorado state essay topics. There are so many but I can only pick four or five. Bah, I’ll have my minions craft these.”

“Corporations is intriguing. The name that comes immediately to mind is a recent addition to Hell and we’re darn pleased to welcome him…Ken Lay, you corporate charlatan, you’d be great at drafting a corporations question.”

“Charles Manson, will y…he’s not dead yet? Damn! OK, I need another familial figure to write about sticky divorces. Henry VIII, I assume you know matrimonial law and other areas of family law.”

“Now the complicated and horribly dry part…civil procedure. I think the Grand Inquisitor Torquemada knows a bit about procedure…not that he bothered to pay attention or afford the accused a chance but he has the traits necessary to pen a really good question…he’s ruthless, inquisitive, and a master of logistics.”

“Oh Mr. Dahmer, I’ve left you with a doozey. Please write me a truly juicy wills question. Just evoke the imagery of dozens of dead family members and the sticky mess their deaths leave behind. I’d have Anna Nicole write the wills portion but she ain’t in hell yet.”

“I’m tired now, I’ll assemble the test tomorrow. ‘Night kids!”

END SCENE

DISCLAIMER…The events depicted in this writing are purely fictitious. Any resemblance to real-life occurrences is purely coincidental.

I'm sooooo back, with a vengeance...bitches

Man, did the Colorado Bar Exam ever suck. It was truly the most perverse act of forced intellectual sodomy ever contrived. But it is done, now the interminable wait until mid-October to find out if I can join the elite fraternity that's responsible for spreading so much love & Joy.

Now for some quirky Shrubesque observations from the past couple months...

A friend sent me this link of a psycho German kid playing my favorite first-person shooter. Man, I thought I was obsessive. This kid needs a sound pummeling from dear ol' dad. On a tangential note, if that keyboard still works it must be made by Tonka.

Morg, Billy D, where are the TT posts? I give you guys the keys to this ride and you let it sit in the garage?! Freakin slackers!

I'm contributing to a new sports oriented web site. Check it out and let me know what you think. I'll ad the link to my list of haunts.

I've joined the ranks over at MySpace.com. What can I say, I love high school chicks.

Somewhere Jamie R is crying.

And here I thought Barbaro was bad off. Seems this intrepid equine would look at the Kentucky Derby winner and say, "Pussy!"

What the fuck are the British thinking?!

My beloved home town has some really stupid elected officials and government employees.

And all is right with the world once again. I'm so giddy I could dance like that sissy who does the River Dance schtick.

Another in the Americana file. This suave mofo killed a whole lotta people. Kinda makes you proud to be a Colorado native.

For all you home schooling zealots...

The further sterilization of the English language...a bitch is a bitch and by any other name would smell just as sweet.

6/6/06

Billy D here.
I know. Where the hell is "Tesicle Tuesday"? Well listen, I'm at work, and to get caught cruising for half-nekkid women on company time and equipment is suicide. But I just felt I had to post something today. Shrub gave me the keys to this joint while he's studying for the bar. And I know he'd want something up for today on this.
I've been laughing my ass off all weekend watching people go nutty about today's date. Fantastic. People going ape-shit over a date. Some folks are having "pray-ins", some are replaying the Y2K stuff and hoarding food and water so when the devil comes through town they'll be able to survive it for a while...amazing.
You understand, that the number 666 is absolutely meaningless, right? I mean, the number itself means nothing at all. For the Jews, around the time (90 AD-ish) of the writing of that book, three and seven (777) meant perfection. 666 was representative of something that looked perfect, seemed perfect, but was not. Now, who would better embody that better than the devil himself?
The mark, often mistakenly referred to as some branding of three sixes on your right hand, or forhead, is not some goofy serial number or barcode. You know, it often amazes me how people will take one sentance from the Bible and make it mean whatever they'd like it to. Listen to me now...
You cannot be tricked into taking "The Mark". Read it again slowly. You must take it willingly, knowing full well what exactly it means and represents. It's a mark of worship of a false god, nothing more, nothing less. Many, don't believe there will be any physical mark, but that the "mark" represents thoughts and deeds in direct relation to that worship of the false god. The "Anti-Christ" if you will. This makes a lot of sense. Either way, it's not some implant, or a tattoo, or any other of the wacky stuff folks like to specualte.
Anyway, the point is, that "number" will only be attached to the "Godless", those who choose to walk alone, or with some false god who leads them astray. So, if you're down with Jesus, walking on His path, then don't worry about it. 6/6/06 is just another day, and 666 is just another number.

Testicle Tuesday...Vintage Hotties

Even with all the current celebrity beauties, there's something to be said for revisiting the classics.

We'll start with everyone's favorite pin-up starlet. From the President of the United States down to the corner mechanic, Marilyn Monroe graced many a man's fantasy. What guy didn't want to handle these curves:

Speaking of curves, these Italian imports stacked up pretty nicely. Even today, Sophia Loren is holding up better than many women half her age.

And Isabella Ressellini...now that's a classic if there ever was one.

And finally, there's this Swedish import, Bond Girl Brit Ekland. If you haven't seen the Wicker Man, go out and rent it immediately. Forget that it's a cult classic about a group of murderous pagans. Brit displays the most amazingly divine ass in a dance so sexy that God will surely forgive you for watching it.

I must...

So, in order to study for and pass the Colorado bar exam, I have to employ a scorched earth methodology to ensure this is the last time I have to sit for the damn thing.

Therefor, I have to put the ol' blog on ice for a couple months. I will not be posting anything or participating in the weekly round table with Billy D & Morg. I've given them my login info and hopefully they'll at least post sporadically.

If anyone else wants to post shit on this here blog let me know and I'll send you the login info.

So, until August...

In memorium

I wrote and posted this in January and now post as a tribute to my late grandfather...


The following is a tribute to a true patriot…this is the ballad of a dead soldier.

When my grandfather was born on January 6, 1922, the coyotes were howling and the moon was full. Such was life in rural North Dakota. Born to dirt poor farmers he knew how rough life was in the upper Midwest. The winters were brutal and the work back breaking. This setting was the backdrop for grandpa’s formative years. It was a harsh environment that hardened the earth and oft times the heart.

My grandfather’s parents were decent people and raised five kids, four daughters and my grandpa. They were stern and uncompromising but North Dakota required such rigidity. The children were disciplined harshly and worked ceaselessly. Food as well as other essentials many long considered a birth right, were not easy to come by. There were times my grandpa had to go to his best friend’s house to eat. Times were tough but so were the people.

As a teen my grandfather joined FDR’s “Tree Army”, the now famous Civilian Conservation Corps. My grandmother once told me how grandpa took her up to the mountains to a monument outside Genesee, Colorado. His chest swelled with pride as he exclaimed, “I helped build this.” He was seventeen when he helped plant countless trees throughout the Colorado Rockies and he earned roughly $30 a month. All tolled the CCC would build 3,470 fire towers, 97,000 miles of fire road, and devote 4,235,000 man hours to fighting fires

His North Dakota National Guard unit was called up in February 1941 and shipped to Louisiana for training. In December of that year Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and my grandfather was called to action. The 164th Infantry Regiment was part of the larger 34th Infantry Division that was dispatched to Melbourne, Australia in March of 1942. The 164th was initially sent to New Caledonia to protect naval bases and shipping from Japanese attack.

Then on October 13 they landed on Guadalcanal. During the first five days 117 men from the 164th were killed. The battle for Henderson Field saw 1,700 Japanese lose their lives while the 164th lost 26 dead and 57 wounded. The unit was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation and was dubbed by the civilian press as “jungle fighters”. After the fight for Henderson field the 164th ceaselessly patrolled Guadalcanal through February, 1943 and fought numerous skirmishes with the Japanese. The 164th was eventually sent to Bougainville in the Solomon Islands where they remained until November of ’44. After all was said and done those that were part of the 164th saw 600 days of action, suffered over 1,400 casualties including 357 dead, and was the first Army unit to see offensive action in WWII. The men of the 164th would earn over 2,000 Purple Hearts, 199 Bronze Stars, 89 Silver Stars, and six Distinguished Service Crosses. My grandfather himself was awarded a Silver Star, Bronze Star, and two Purple Hearts.

I once interviewed my grandpa for a paper in junior high. I asked him what his proudest accomplishment was in WWII. I assumed he’d cite his medals or saving the life of one of his men but he answered very matter-of-factly, “making it out alive”. He then told me that the average life expectancy for an infantryman in the Pacific theatre was six months. My grandfather served for over a year and a half.

Later on when I was in high school I had the privilege of picking my grandpa’s head about WWII. As we talked tears welled up in his eyes as he told me how he saw his best friends killed before his very eyes, including the same kid who fed my grandpa on a number of different occasions. These were the best friends of his youth and it was then I realized that the war had left this rock of a man deeply scarred and it had stripped away his youth far too early.

My grandpa made the rank of sergeant at least three different times and was demoted every time for insubordination and striking a superior officer. Seems he would’ve rather suffered the indignity of losing a stripe than losing another man because some wet behind the ears lieutenant fresh out of college was spouting off orders from a military field manual. A dear family friend who we’ll call John told me once, through tear filled eyes, that he and many others in the 164th owed their lives to my grandpa. On patrols my grandfather would always take point, not out of bravado or hubris but out of a paternalistic protective instinct. After seeing many of his closest friends killed my grandpa became so withdrawn that some of the men in his unit referred to him as almost ghost like. Months of constant war fare took its toll on all.

After serving in the Pacific my grandpa was stationed at a rehab hospital for a bit to mend his bullet riddled left shoulder as well as his shattered psyche. Many of the boys he had grown up with never made it home and this haunted my grandfather.

In 1946 he met then married my grandmother. Together they had four children, my mother, two aunts, and the youngest, my uncle. They struggled to make ends meet in Bismarck, North Dakota so in the early 50’s they folded up their tent flaps and moved to Denver. Work and money were hard to come by so my grandfather worked odd jobs and eked out a meager living. Eventually he would find work as a construction foreman around Denver. When I was a kid he’d drive me around and point out the structures that he helped build. And it would surface again, that indomitable pride that my grandmother noticed in the mountains that day and that was unmistakable when he gloated over “his buildings”.

After toiling away in construction my grandpa found a job with the United States Postal Service. He worked primarily at the annex in downtown Denver, which he proudly proclaimed was the seventh busiest annex in the postal system.

He and my grandmother retired in 1986.

After their retirement they traveled a bit, once to Hawaii, Mexico, countless road trips to Montana where my granny’s sister & brother lived, and a number of other sojourns. Always the craftsman my grandpa settled in his garage, collected a vast array of power tools, and kept himself busy.

Then in 1990 the unthinkable happened. On July 3 one of his beloved grandchildren, yours truly, broke his neck in a car accident. That was the first time I ever saw the man cry was when he was bent over my hospital bed stroking my forehead trying to bring a little comfort to a scared nineteen year old. This impossibly stern and rugged man was reduced to tears and for that I will never forgive myself. After my accident he became increasingly more emotional and he would often cry at commercials on TV.

Once again his world was shaken as he was diagnosed with cancer in 1991. To be perfectly honest it rocked the foundations of our entire family. Our patriarch, our rock, our war hero was in the battle of his life against the most relentless foe he’d ever confronted. And it was a war he couldn’t win. In the early morning hours of Jan 18, 1993 my grandfather passed away, his wife of 47 years by his side. He had survived poverty, hunger, the largest military conflict the world had ever seen, and he had raised a family but he couldn’t beat cancer.

If you met him once you’d never forget him. That’s the kind of man he was. Always ready with a smile and a handshake but a stern task master. He expected a lot from people but he gave in kind. He would frequent the same restaurants over and over and over. He was known by name at his favorite Mexican food place as well as the Chinese restaurant across the street. He would even go in the kitchens, talk to the cooks, and take their knives home to sharpen them. He was a regular visitor to a nearby pawn shop where he was treated like family. My grandpa built a number of their shelves and did odd maintenance there for years. He was so highly regarded by the owner that when I tried to pawn some stuff one day they refused my business, saying, “we don’t do business with family.”

After he died my mom quipped, “It says something about a man when the biggest flower arrangements at the funeral were from restaurants and pawn shops.”

I miss him dearly. That corny sense of humor, those rough hands, that smile, the fierce glare, that appetite, the wind chimes he made, the way he doted over his grandchildren, that was my grandpa. If I were to use one word to describe this man it would be PRIDE. So here I sit paying tribute to the closest thing I had to a father and paying homage to the bravest man I ever met. I know he’s up there in Heaven cutting up with his friends and looking in on his family and doing his best to protect us. As I cast my eyes to the sky I say, “I know you’re up there old man! I hope I can make you proud, half as proud as am to call you grandpa.”

Rest in peace old man, rest in peace.

Very cool

Hehehehe, go figure.

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Cool

Got this over at Billiam's blog. Check it out, man.

What Classic Movie Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Weekly round table...the death penalty

This week we've decided to tackle arguably the most devisive topics in our country, the death penalty.

I'm up first...

As the years have passed my political ideology has morphed and evolved. My penance in law school was invaluable as I came to recognize the ominous specter of big and intrusive government. In a word my personal political philosophy is becoming decidedly more myopic, and dare say, more protectionist. But my views on what will ultimately serve these United States and protect her from harm is also nearly the polar opposite of my beliefs circa 1990-’95.

Thus, my stance on the death penalty has done a 180. I was once a “kill ‘em all” zealot. No punishment was too harsh for those who chose to snuff out the life of another or serially molest, rape, and torture. These individuals were pond scum and deserving of the most finite and dastardly punishment available and I would’ve been more than happy to flip the switch.

Times will change as do perspectives. No longer do I view the death penalty as the ultimate panacea that will cure all murder and heinous crime. Let me tell you why…

The government should in no way, shape, or form be given even the slightest discretion to kill its own citizens. It is the height of folly to assume the government will act with restraint when they’re given the opportunity to execute their citizenry.

In every state that employs the death penalty it costs nearly twice as much to execute the average death row inmate than keeping them behind bars for life. Why? Because death penalty cases are 3-5 times longer than other murder trials, the appeals process is lengthy and expensive, and court costs abound throughout the process.

The only way to reduce these hidden costs is to limit the appeals process. But this rationale is a double-edged sword. The appellate mechanism was devised as a measure to police the government’s actions in its prosecution of crime & punishment. When doling out the most severe punishment imaginable the public must be assured that the government acted properly and within the scope of its legislative mandate. And the police and prosecutors are nothing more than arms of the government bestowed with nearly limitless resources all in the name of upholding and enforcing the laws. As such they must abide by and follow the exact letter of the law or our criminal justice system looses all credibility and legitimacy. After all, if the government actors don’t follow the law why should the general public.

If the appeals process is limited you remove any meaningful impediment to rampant illegal criminal prosecutions, an especially foolish move when the punishment is death.

When the government is trying to execute one of its own citizens they should have to jump through an infinite series of litigious hoops. The one sure way to reduce the enormous cost of the average execution is to abolish the death penalty. It’s sure, cost effective, and removes the ability of our states to kill their people.

Currently in the U.S. 38 states sanction capital punishment. Since 1976, 1,023 inmates have been executed in the U.S., and 3,373 currently sit on death row. The U.S. executes on a greater scale than every nation on earth, save Russia and China. A 2005 Gallup poll revealed that 56% of the American public favored the death penalty while 36% favored life imprisonment. Nearly every year between 1976, when the death penalty was reinstated by the Supreme Court, and 1995 the murder rate went up. Since ’95 the rates have declined a bit; in fact since ’99 the per capita murder rate dipped to 5.5, the lowest such level since 1965.

These numbers suggest a couple things. First, the government, when given the opportunity, will kill its citizens with fervent zeal. Second, the death penalty seems to have little to no relation to overall murder rates. Lastly, the American public has actually been duped into believing that the death penalty works.

Does capital punishment serve as an effective deterrent? According the most studies and statistical analysis the answer is a resounding no. Is the death penalty cost effective? Hell no. Is it moral for our government to divvy out death sentences at its whim? Once again, no. You must be able to answer yes to all these questions if you feel the death penalty is a legitimate governmental exercise.

Now the government would be all too happy to keep this train of death rolling. They’re in the game to expand power and placate the masses. Their very DNA dictates a willingness to throw John Q Public under the proverbial bus. The death penalty is a tool and serves a fickle and amoral master.

Since attending law school I’ve become genuinely fearful of expansive government. The thought that my country and state can execute me and have the majority of Americans condone such practices doubly scares me.

Now, Billy D...

Ah…the death penalty. The sound of “Old Sparky” as a few thousand watts course through it’s metal veins. The smell of crispy-fried man-flesh wafting through the air.

Kidding. It may surprise some of you to know, I am not a proponent of the death penalty, with very, very few exceptions.

See, first of all, to put one to death for some heinous crime, is to give them an easy out, and sometimes, exactly what they want. No, we can do much, much better.
For starters, even though many states still carry that penalty on their books, they’ve not used it in decades, and won’t for many more. So what’s the point? As a deterrent? No, it’s entirely useless for that. It stops no-one from carrying out whatever madness it is they seek.

Let’s say, for capital crimes, instead of placing an inmate on death-row for the next thirty years while appeal after appeal moves through the system until said inmate dies in prison, we get a bit creative with the punishments.

First, we set up a few special facilities made just for these folks. Super-prisons like the one in Colorado. Say a few in Northern Alaska, and maybe two or three in Death Valley. So if one were to escape, it’s a slow suicide at the hands of the sun or a polar bear.

Now, 23.5 hours a day you sit in your cell. You get fifteen minutes a day for recreation, which takes place in a concrete room, maybe ten feet by ten feet. The other fifteen minutes out of the cell is for a shower.

The only item allowed to you in your cell is a Bible or Koran, or whichever Holy book you choose. But that’s it. No TV, no radio, magazines, whatever. Nothing.

Oh, and no phone calls, letters, no type of communication with the outside world whatsoever. For all intents and purposes, you are dead to the outside world.

Cruel and unusual? You’re there for a reason. Not for robbing a bank or for rape or embezzlement (As an aside, for those type of sexual crimes, either life in prison with no parole, or 25 years and physical castration should do the trick) but because you committed a capital offense.

Then again, instead of wasting all that free labor, maybe we start work farms where these type of lowlifes work day in and day out for the rest of their natural lives doing some horribly repetitive and useless task like breaking rocks with a hammer or whatever.

See, I don’t think there’s anything to be gained from the application of the death penalty except vengeance for vengeance’s sake. While I do understand that, as if it were me who had lost someone to a heinous act I’d want my revenge too, but the state has to be the overseer in it all, and at times the voice of reason.

Now, I did say “with a few exceptions”. Any offense involving children in any way, including murder and/or sexual violation automatically warrants the death penalty, which is then carried out swiftly. The defendant is limited to one appeal, which is reviewed by a three judge panel within thirty days. If it’s turned down, on day thirty one the offender is publicly executed by being drawn and quartered. This, I think, actually would be a deterrent to some. But it would have to be public, maybe pay per view or something. Whatever it took to get the word out.

But as far as killers go, half the time they’re ready and wanting to die anyway, they’re just begging for someone to do it for them, so why reward them with a granted wish. Make the punishment last a lifetime, and make it harsh.


Now, Morgan...

My husband and I were watching the news the night it was announced that the body of 9-year-old Jessica Lunsford was found buried within sight of the Florida home from which she’d been abducted a month earlier.

I remember my husband saying, “If someone hurt you or the kids I don’t even want to think of where I’d go, it would be such a dark place.”

I understood. Part of me was already there. In Jessica Lunsford I could see my own children. In her killer, John Evander Couey, I saw a man who deserved not just death, but a horrible one. If such a man broke into my home with the intention of harming my family, I can assure you he would not walk out alive.

I am in favor of killing in self-defense. Likewise, I could hardly blame a person whose rage led them to take the life of their loved one's murderer. If Jessica Lunsford’s father had gotten hold of Couey before the police did and ripped the man limb from limb, the actions of such grief and rage would be fully understandable. What parent wouldn’t want to avenge the death of a beloved child? I know I would.

The concept of revenge satisfies some hunger in us. Movies are full of it and we cheer when the bad guy finally gets his. Revenge supposed to bring “closure,” a relatively new and ridiculous concept that somehow implies getting even sets everything to rights.

But real life is different. The victim won’t be brought back to life when the killer takes his last breath. The victim’s family may feel a moment’s satisfaction as the man on the gurney draws his last breath, but such satisfaction should hardly be the basis for public policy.

That’s just one of the reasons I oppose the death penalty.

The prison system’s job is to keep bad people off the streets. It has no business killing people on behalf of crime victims.

This stance makes people indignant. “If the murderer is put to death he won’t do it again,” they say. But the same thing can be achieved by keeping him behind bars. If John Evander Couey, a career criminal with a 30-year record, hadn’t been turned back out, Jessica Lunsford would still be alive.

And let’s not forget that while Couey admitted his guilt, some death row inmates maintain their innocence.

“Oh, they all do,” you may say. But some are, indeed, wrongly convicted. Here in North Carolina, death row inmate Alan Gell was released in 2004 after it was revealed that prosecutors withheld key evidence at his trial, including an audiotape of one of the witnesses saying she’d “made everything up.”

Gell is far from alone. I won’t bore you with statistics, but go to this Web site for an eye-opening look at just how flawed the system is: http://www.deathpenaltyinfo.org/article.php?did=412&scid=6

It seems especially egregious to put people to death when exoneration is so readily available to those who can afford it. Look at O.J. Simpson and Robert Blake. Both men are likely guilty, but were lawyered up enough to walk away with their freedom. Escaping the ultimate penalty shouldn’t depend on one’s wealth or celebrity.

A system that can’t adequately dispense justice has no place putting people to death. The system should work to determine guilt or innocence. If true guilt is found, the killer should be put away to await the Hand of God.

The death penalty involves years of expensive appeals followed by a death far more gentle that monsters like Couey deserve. This is a man who raped a little girl and buried her alive. The hard part of me objects to his slipping off into a state-ordered permanent sleep. The hard part of me wants to think of this man as an 80-year-old, staring at the walls of his prison cell, painfully choking on his own phlegm. Perhaps as he lies there, he tries remember what the sun felt like on his face. But each time he tries the fleeting memory is replaced by the cold hopelessness that has haunted him throughout his lengthy confinement.

There are some penalties worth than death.

Testicle Tuesday...Ben's Jenns

What do you get when you combine one shitty actor with two smokin hot starlets? Another ingenious theme for Testicle Tuesday.







Like him or not, you can't challenge the success Ben Affleck has had with Hollywood tail. The boy is vying with Warren Beaty as the most discerning Lotharios Tinsel Town has ever seen. Affleck has shagged the best looking Jenns on the planet, Jennifer Lopez and Jennifer Garner. The boy's got mad skills.


**Update...the answer to the Movie Quote Quiz was Stanley Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket.

Movie quote quiz

Since all you chowderheads missed the quote profered on Testicle Tuesday I'll give you the answer...the "gorgeousness and gorgeousity" reference was from A Clockwork Orange.

Now, since I'm such a congenial host I'm going to give you another chance to solve the quotation and give me the correct movie from whence it came.

Let me lay a few ground rules...

1. No Googling the quote, t'would be unsporting. You'll be on the honor system.

2. One guess per person.

3. Must name the movie and actor, if possible. If the actor's name escapes you then submit your movie guess.

4. Whomever guesses both movie and actor, or should every one negate to name the actor, the first correct identification of the movie the quote is drawn from will pick the Testicle Tuesday theme/hottie. The movie must be right or y'all are SOL.

5. Contest ends Monday at midnight.

Depending on the success of this little venture this may become a weekly feature.

Now for our quote...

"Your ass looks like about 200 pounds of chewed bubble gum"

OWWWWWWWWWWWWW

Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch.

I'm going to curl up in the fetal position for a while.

A few quick points before I cower and wimper in the corner...

How'd you like to be the cops who had to retrieve "evidence"?

If there was ever an excuse to hit a woman this certainly qualifies.

What does the rehab from such horror entail? Are there exercises?

Did this guy have to get his own nads back? How do you approach your wife on that one?

Weekly round table...feminism

We've decided to discuss the virtues, or lack thereof, of feminism.

First up is Morg...

My 9-year-old daughter has a dilemma. She isn’t sure what she wants to be when she grows up. Lately she’s talked about being a biologist - a biologist who studies foxes. But she also likes to write, so she thinks she may be an author. Or possibly do both.

I can’t imagine looking down at those hopeful eyes and saying, “Darling, what are you talking about? Sure, you’re bright. But you’re a girl, and girls were meant to make and raise babies. That is all you should be thinking about. Now go pick up after your brothers. It’s good practice for how you’ll be spending the rest of your life.”

Not so many generations ago that was the message that many young girls got. If it wasn’t conveyed directly, it was conveyed through societal expectations, media and families that automatically funneled females towards a life of domesticity. Women who did pursue higher educations were directed towards traditionally female careers - secretaries, teachers or librarians. The common joke was that a woman women to college to pursue her MRS. Degree.

“Go through the motions of pursuing a career if you must,” society said. “But don’t forget your place.”

Then in 1963, a little book called "The Feminine Mystique" was published - a book that dared to ask the question in the back of so many homemaker’s minds: “Is this all?”

For a public raised on "Donna Reed" and "Leave it to Beaver," the question bordered on the heretical.

But then, women began to respond and soon it was clear that the answer to the question "Is this all?," was a thunderous "It can't be. It won't be. We won't let it."

That acknowledgement of that collective unrest spawned the feminist movement that subsequently threw open doors for future generations of women to choose paths beyond hearth and home. But like any dramatic social change, it also inspired debate.

So has feminism been good for America?

If you’re a member of the Religious Right, the answer is a resounding, “No,” yelled as you thump a Bible conveniently opened to the passage where it says women should be “keepers at home,” and conveniently not open to Proverbs 31, which describes what sounds a lot like many of today’s working mothers.

The right winger has one image of the feminist: a hairy, man-hating lesbian who ends each praying that the Goddess grant her another pregnancy to abort.

But that's only because they're bitter. Conservatives like for people to know their place, especially if those people stand to challenge them for a piece of the pie they consider theirs by God-given right. Just when they thought they had it all wrapped up, here come the women and the black folk, mucking it all up.

Let's face it. No one likes to lose their bitch. It's even worse when your bitch becomes your equal. It's twice as bad when she beats you out for that promotion or becomes your boss. Ouch. Personally, I don't think they'll ever get over it.

But ironically, the same right-wingers who rage against the “scourge” of feminism hypocritically enjoy its benefits every day. The stay-at-home mother who looks down her nose at her employed counterparts has nothing but praise for her child’s female pediatrician, and the conservative businessman who decries what feminism has done to society is all too happy when working women spend their money on his goods. And I doubt few churches who preach “traditional values” turn down the faithful tithes of its working, female members.

I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again. Don’t rail against what feminism has done to society and then turn around and enjoy its benefits. If you’re opposed to women working, then the only right thing to do is completely boycott women in the workplace. That means if you get T-boned at the intersection by an SUV, you should refuse aid if a female paramedic that shows up. If you’ve got a medical condition, make sure the drug you need to save your life wasn’t produced by a company that employs women. Don’t wear clothes designed by women. Don’t read books written by women. Don’t go to movies that feature female actors. Clean your own offices at work. Don’t eat at restaurants or shop at stores that hire women. The list goes on.

The primary argument against feminism is that it hurts children by robbing them of an at-home mother. But feminism didn’t pull unwilling mothers out of the home. The women’s rights movement simply opened opportunities beyond the home. This has led to varying dynamics. Some mothers went to work, either full or part time. Others stayed home. In some families, mom goes to work and dad stays home. In other cases, like mine, mom stays home but works.

The important thing to remember - the thing that critics of feminism would like you to forget - is this: The career opportunities women enjoy may mean more choices, but they are choices couples make together. And there are more than a few men who enjoy the higher standard of living that second income affords.

Do some women regret the choices they've made in the wake of feminism? Critics of feminism point at the angst of unmarried, childless women as evidence of feminism’s downside. There’s something to that. Indeed, some women, having put off childbearing to develop their careers, find themselves losing the race against the biological clock.

But is their fate any worse than the 50 percent of women whose “traditional” path to marriage and family ended up in divorce? I’d wager the childless, 45 year-old woman with a good career but who can't find a man to father her children is still better off than the single 45-year old woman who can’t find a man because she already has them. And let’s not forget that life isn’t always rosy for men, either. There are plenty of middle-aged guys saddled with regret. Regret often accompanies choices, but that doesn’t mean we should be denied them.

Which brings me back to my daughter, the fledgling writer/ biologist. A career isn’t all she wants. She also wants to be a Mommy, and she’s never asked me if she'll have to choose. Why? Because she’s grown up with a mother who fully enjoys balancing the rewarding demands of a family with the rewarding demands of a career. She's seen how both my work and my family make me happy. And how they make me whole.

As a woman, a mother and a feminist, I want nothing less for her., of feminism.

Now, Billy D...

Feminism. I hardly know where to begin. While I do think it probably had a useful purpose at some point, somewhere between the beginning and the pot of gold they originally sought, that whole scene kind of got turned into something resembling militant lesbianism 101.

I know many of you will vehemently disagree with what I’m writing, but, in my opinion, feminism has done far more harm for our society than good.

Yes, I know. Women can vote now, they’re in the workplace, they’re captains of industry… whatever. Look, let me try to explain myself.

Women should be home, procreating and raising children. Now, before anyone reads anything into that statement, let me explain. I do NOT mean barefoot and pregnant. What I do mean is, when the man is out at work, the woman runs the home. And I mean runs the home, not just vacuuming and baking cookies. I mean, schooling the kids, setting and maintaining a household budget, keeping the house clean, doing all those errands that need to get done during the day, while the man goes out and makes a living to pay for everything.

Now, before the rise of the wicked institution of feminism, this is pretty much how things were. But now, women need that extra-curricular “fulfillment”. Why the quotes? Look, if your job gives you the fulfillment you don’t get from raising your children to be everything they could be, then it’s not fulfillment you’re seeking. It’s approval from someone outside your family circle.

A pat on the head from a snotty neighbor, or a nod of approval from your withered and dried nasty sister. Something.

Look, I’m not discounting the role females play in making the world go ‘round at all. But the ERA thing turned into a screw men thing quite some time ago. At this time, I know many, many more women who will tell you that the leaders of the feminist movement today do not speak for them, than those who say they do. Why do you suppose that is?

Because they don’t hate men. They’re told they’re supposed to, but they can’t seem to actually do it. They’re told they’re less of a human if they have children, and downright garbage if they decide they wish to stay home and raise them like they were born to. Yes, BORN TO. Men hunt and gather, women nurture. Sorry ladies, that’s just how it is.

Now, because a woman chooses to define herself, and her own role she’ll play in the world, her sisters will become angry and attempt to chastise and discredit her. Shout her down, shame her, and with any luck, get her to change her mind and abandon those kids to a day care to opt for the mediocre job where she will spend her days hating every minute and watching a clock, instead of laughing and loving her children, and enjoying and loving her husband. Makes no sense.

Is that new car or bigger house worth it? In a few short years when the children are gone and you’re left all alone, except for your job that you hate doing, will you still feel “fulfilled” and satisfied? I doubt it. Do you suppose your children will call you on Mother’s day and thank you for doing such a great job at “XYZ” company, and tell you it’s OK that you missed the plays and the ins and outs and ups and downs of their lives, because they understand children are a burden best left to day cares and extended relatives to raise?

No, in all likelihood, they’re going to act out and attempt to gain mommies favor and attention any way they can. Don’t worry though, eventually they’ll figure out that’s not going to happen, and find someone or something else to fill that void. Indiscriminate sex, drugs, booze… whatever.

Look, women are not equal to men. They’re not. And men aren’t equal to women in certain areas either. They’re not supposed to be. Each was designed for a specific purpose, and to complete certain tasks. That’s the nature of it, the way it was designed. When feminism fights this, we, and our children lose every single time.

Now me...

I love feminists, they’re such easy fodder. So, in order to further the debate regarding the unending virtues of the great unwashed I give you my comprehensive list of the different types of feminism and the basic tenets of each individual school of feminism. As a side note, I got the list straight from Wikipedia, lest you doubt my accuracy. So I did my normal three and a half minutes of research and discovered there are actually different branches of feminism…and there’s a lot…twenty five recognized disciplines within one movement.


Amazon Feminism-six foot tall blondes with big boobs standing around quoting Margaret Sanger.
Anarcha- Feminism-screw the rules and give me what I want…I’m PMSing so don’t mess with me boy!
Anti Racist Feminism-even the spicks, slopes, sand-niggers, jigaboos, whaps, and other ethnically diverse women are all equal.
Cultural Feminism-bitching about men with Mozart playing in the back ground.
Eco Feminism-let’s hug a tree, rub our crystals, and bitch about men.
Equity Feminism-gimme my shit monkey boy!
Existential Feminism-huh?
French Feminism-can the French get any more feminine?
Gender Feminism-seems a bit redundant if you ask me.
Individualist Feminism-I am woman, hear me roar, or screech, or whine, or complain, you get the picture.
Lesbian Feminism-once again, redundant.
Liberal Feminism-we’ll elect the most hideously deformed troglodyte we can find.
Male Feminism-the Tony Awards!
Marxist Feminism-your vagina is now property of the state.
Material Feminism-I want nice stuff for all women.
Pop Feminism-Madonna is the Godess!
Post colonial Feminism-ah those kooky French & British. Those lovable little scamps just occupied half the globe’s surface, enslaving millions. Who cares when we can watch Desperate Housewives.
Post modern Feminism-now lesbian porn in one window and Gloria Steinem’s Revolution Within in another. The Internet’s a beautiful thing.
Pro sex Feminism-hey, I’m pro sex too. Bring all them ho’s on!
Psychoanalytical Feminism-lie down on this comfy couch and we’ll tell you how perky your breasts are and how you’re a wonderful person.
Radical Feminism-bitches all!
Separatist Feminism-give us our own island…it’ll be call Titty Tonka.
Socialist Feminism-healthcare for all women…the men can go screw themselves.
Spiritual Feminism-my soul is mine…piss off!
Standpoint Feminism-I have no opinion on this one.
Third-world Feminism-bitch about men while sweeping my dirt floor, because, after all, my hut must be as tidy as my vagina.
Transnational Feminism-we can cuss men out in multiple languages and dialects.
Trans Feminism-is this the same as trans fatty acids, I hear they’re really unhealthy.

As you can see I find feminism fodder for my satirical energy. Now, I’m not advocating abolishing feminism, just retooling it a skoch.

First of all, in order to regain any semblance of credibility feminism may have once had a changing of the old guard and their philosophies is in order. The Naomi Watts, Gloria Stienem, Margaret Sanger cabal who would denigrate and vilify stay-at-home moms need a refresher course in tolerance 101. The theory forwarded by these so-called leaders of the “movement” that women who choose to forgo work and raise their children are intellectually inferior is reason one why mainstream feminism will be demonized as intolerant and not worthy of anything other than disdain. Their shrill harpyesque whining serves only to alienate those they hope to gain allegiance with.

Secondly, their tent is most decidedly small and not inclusive. Differing opinions than the deities of feminism are roundly dismissed as being, once again, intellectually inferior. Those who disagree in the slightest are labeled as misogynist and oppressors of the already down trodden. By employing such rhetoric they are, once again, doing a disservice to their own cause. Tone down the harshness and shut up and listen for a change.

Lastly, all things male are under continual assault by feminism. The Duke Lacrosse story is a prime example. There have been two separate rounds of DNA testing performed that have yielded not a single genetic match to the accused or any of the team mates. Yet the feminists insist the allegations are valid and that the accused players should be tarred & feathered. Here’s my point, if your contention is proven false, fall back and re-evaluate. Don’t hold to your position just because you want to fry a couple idiot macho jerks. And all this negativity towards predominantly male institutions is just so much conjecture. Take a breath ladies, acknowledge the male logistical superiority.

All feminism has to do is tweek its philosophy a bit and they might find acceptance where there was once blood hatred. Because, have no doubt you feminist voices, many out there hate you and all you stand for. But you’re reaping what you’ve sewn.

Testicle Tuesday...child actresses turned uber hotties

Drew Barrymore and Natalie Portman were adorable child stars who sprouted to be full on examples of gorgeousness and gorgeousity. Who knew when you saw Fire Starter or The Professional for the first time that you were witnessing future hotties in motion?

And here's one in waiting...




Emma Watson, who plays Hermione in the Harry Potter series, is already stunning. She's going to be in the upper pantheon of beautiful celebreties in a few short years.

Take care y'all...until next week

Wait...I've got a test...whomever can guess which movie the "gorgeousness and gorgeousity" reference is from earns the right to pick next week's hottie.


*Update...you guys are pathetic. I'll give you a hint...the movie had a color in its title.

Perfection, Shrub be thy name

Today, by sheer accident, I achieved perfection.

I’ve always been taught perfection, by definition, is unattainable. Not so, for I reached, touched, and felt that which is flawless this very afternoon.

Let me set the stage for you…

I was at this place finishing some errands when I felt a twinge. ‘Twas not your ordinary twinge but the ominous harbinger of deadly forces afoot. I sensed something was about to burst, so I stealthily made my way to a deserted corner of the store and unleashed Hell on Earth.

What flew out of my rectum was a cloud of noxious gas that would’ve gagged a maggot. I’d let the perfect fart.

Now the sheer volume of gas that escaped was startling as was the thermo-nuclear explosion that emanated from ‘twixt my butt cheeks. The loud music playing over the PA masked what was the crowning achievement of my time here on terra firma. This fart had volume, duration, and stench. It was beautiful.

As a male you learn to love the smell of your own farts, and this was no exception. I wanted to bottle it in a glass vial that I’d wear around my neck and open up and sniff whenever I was in a bad mood. I’m smiling just thinking about it.

As the cloud deepened and ripened I found myself giddy, giddy as the first time I grasped a female breast under the bra. I giggled with the glee of a Leprechaun and the joy of a child waiting for the ice cream man. I wafted in the essence of eternal bliss, immersed myself in the pungent juices, and marinated in the odor. I was in rapture.

This thing would’ve stripped the bark off a tree. I could ingest burritos for the next month, glue my poop chute closed, open it up in June, and the gas that would escape would pale in comparison to today’s odiferous emanation.

Oh, to say I was moved to tears is a misnomer. I cried because perfection is so rarely seen let alone felt. It was the type of fart we men all dream of, the kind as little boys we listened to with doe-eyed enthusiasm as our elder male figures regaled us with salvos from turkey dinners at the holidays. They were gaseous gods and we were Plebian mortals.

But today I reached for and grasped immortality. This was the kind of fart that changes the chemical composition of the air and can cause atmospheric degradation. Now I know why the angels haves wings, to keep the aroma of such events from destroying the ozone layer.

Behold perfection peasants, and remember, thou art mortal.

Happy Matriarchal Parental Unit Day!

For all of you women out there who've decided to unleash your demon spawn upon the world, you've got your day, enjoy.

Seriously...

I'd like to share a quote that does honor to this special day...

"All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother."-- Abraham Lincoln


Thanks mom, you're the best.