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Archive for January 26th, 2009

(Originally posted Tuesday, October 30, 2007)

This year, a “sexual theme park” opened in London’s Piccadilly Circus, which its sponsors hope will dispel notions of sexuality as somehow dirty or unhealthy.

Here are a list of rides currently operating at the park:

“The Matterhorny”

“The Panty Raids of the Caribbean”

“Water Sports Arena”

“Face Mountain”

“The Wild D-Cup Ride.”

“Sexual Boundaries Frontierland”

“Gash Mountain”

“Finding Cha-Cha Submarine Ride”

“The House of Shoe Mirrors”

“The Flying Coochie Ride”

“The Rockin’ Tug”

“The Zero G-String Ride”

The “Everybody’s Family” Treehouse

“The Magical Carousel of Polyamory”

“Will You Love Me Tomorrowland”

“Glass Bottom Boat”

“The Enchanted Peter”

“The Great 90 Degree Muff Dive”

And the multicultural excursion, “A Thai Hooker Gave Me A ‘Round-the-World’ After All.”

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Chad the Dictator

(Originally posted Tuesday, October 30, 2007)

“Chad The Dictator,”
A Novella, by Eric R. Rasmussen

My frat brother Chad is a great guy. Has a pool table. Likes snowboarding. He always pays for drinks at Hootenany’s, our favorite off-campus bar. If you were a member, he’d do anything for you-loan you his car, take you to rehab, or give you money for your girlfriend’s abortion. A stand-up guy.

And he just happens to be the son of a dictator of a small country in Central Asia called Krazikstan. It’s a family dynasty, and Chad is heir apparent to take over someday. It has been expected of him since age 3 when his older brother died after being blow-up in his covette stingray by a mixed terrorist force of ethnic Pashtuns and militant capitalists. That’s why they sent Chad to the U.S. To be safe and to be educated.

He doesn’t talk about it much. Knucklers (that’s what we call ourselves in our fraternity) are supposed to be able to tell each other anything. But nobody ever asked Chad about his country, and if you did he’d kind of shrug.

“Yeah, I’m going to be president and caliph and Ceasar of Krazikstan. Pretty stupid, huh?”

He does drop strange items into conversation. Like once we were banging these two blow-up dolls, Chad and I, in the game room of The Tomb, as we call the house. When we were finished, he looked bemusedly up at the ceiling, cleaning himself up with a Boston Red Sox snow hat that belonged to one of our frat brothers. He sat there in beautiful Endymion repose and exhaled these words: “Spice exports. My bete noire.”

“What in the hell did you just say?” I asked him, getting up off my blow-up doll. I call her Dot.

“Export/Import problems. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Then he finished wiping his cock and barked out loud, “David’s going to shit bricks when he sees how I spooed in his hat, you think?”

Chad didn’t even really have an accent. He looked only vaguely Slavic-the cobalt blue eyes gave him away, and the high wrinkled forehead. He used to have bad teeth, but he had spent months at the orthodontist and had came out with perfect choppers.

When we were all drunk, sometimes we’d get bold and ask him more.

“So, are you, like, going to wear an armband and military garb,” one of our frat brothers asked.

“Well, naturally for parade dress,” Chad said. “What, you think you can come out in your underwear for something like that? It’s my sovereign nation we’re talking about for Chrissakes.”

“So you wear it all the time?”

“No! Not when I’m in business deals. Sheeesh!”

“What do you wear then?”

“Something Saville Row. You got anymore questions douchebag?”

“Do you got an army?”

“Natch.”

“What do you do with it?”

“Keep order, dude! Shit, these are baby questions.”

Of course, everybody wanted to be Chad’s wing man when we were out looking for honeys. Barney’s was the bar next to our fraternity, where fine-lookin’ debs would come out and sip champagne and pretend they were bad girls. Chad liked them okay. But he’d fuck a townie too. He was just like that. No pretension. What a guy! We went out one night to a sports bar and found these two locals who worked at the bottlecap factory up river.

“So, girls,” I’d ask. “You read any books lately?”

“Like what?”

“You know, like Norman Mailer.”

“What, like a novel?”

“Yeah.”

“Oooo,” said her friend, feigning interest. “They’re talkin’ about litera-chewer!” She made the jerk-off sign.

“You know,” I said, “My friend Chad here’s got his own country.”

He stabbed his thumb hard between my eleventh and twelfth ribs.

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“Which country?” said the “literature” girl. “I’d love to see another country.”

“You ain’t heard of it,” he said. “It’s not even a tit on the map.”

“Well, I’d like to go there.”

“Me, too,” said her friend.

“No, no, no. They don’t have places like Barney’s in my country, because of the dry laws.”

“But if you were, like, president, you could let people drink all damn night.”

“What, and make the mullahs turn against me?”

“Well, you could just kill them.”

He shook his head.

“Then who’s going to keep the god damned charities running? I’d be risking the breakdown of the basic social organizational themes of the country, girl! Don’t you know that? There’d be panic in the streets, and I’d have to get the Republican Guard to come out with hoses and … oh, never mind, you don’t understand.”

“Well, sorr-ee” she said. “Poor guy. Can’t even hose down your own mullahs.”

We were walking home later and he got up my ass.

“What’d you have to bring up my country for?”

“I thought it’d impress them.”

“You’re all wet, Hunsacker. A couple of Cosmos would have gotten that girl in bed. You don’t light the whole magazine on fire for two lousy townies. Don’t you know that? What a fucko!”

We went to another bar, got drunk and put each other in headlocks, then knocked into people and got called “shit heads,” then twisted each other’s nipples until we puked into a bowl of Funyans, first him, then me. Then Chad bought drinks for everybody, went to the bathroom, and came out with his underwear on his head. He drank a Martini like that.

“So, what are you going to do? You’re going to go back and run Sowhackistan?”

“Krazikstan. Yeah, so the fuck what?”

“Well it must be hard is all I can say.”

“I know. Guy’s got to rule with an iron hand.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. Water cannons. Tear gas. Rubber bullets. The whole schmear.”

I sat thinking about this.

“You got torture rooms, too?”

“What’s the big deal? Sometimes you gotta wet bag somebody. Kick a little ass. But you know, it’s only like for, sedition or something.”

“You got sedition there?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I don’t know, Chad. Seems not cool.”

“Hey, you go over there and be a Sultan and Eternal President and “Dear Father,” Lord of Men and All the Fish in the Sea and tell me how easy you think it is.”

“But fascist dictatorship. That’s old school. Why’s it got to be that?”

“Because it’s small!” he erupted. “And because we got mountains, and thus 40 different languages, and separatists and slanderous publishers and state-owned oil and molybdenum that people want to invade us for. So there you have it, a recipe for insurrection.”

He was nodding out, slumped over with the underwear still covering his head, breathing the jock part of it into his mouth sometimes. But he had an iron gut with liquor, and shook himself out of it, clear headed as ever, so he could go on ranting like that.

“If you’re talking about turning it into a democracy, you douche, then you’re talking about needing scale. You’re talking about capital. You’re talking about high tech. You’re talking about building a consumer base for a stable market economy with faith in the judicial system. But with the manpower I got, and the weapons I got, I got to use a little intimidation, that’s all there is to it. Fear is your friend. That and a national anthem. You don’t understand the dynamics, not living here in your bubble. You all got it easy over here, cause there’s money and technology, and everybody speaks English. And you’ve got MTV and Xbox. But not in the fucking country I inherited, where most of us pray to Mecca in mud huts and store chick peas in bags and our idea of Xbox is shooting at other people’s sheep.”

He took another drink of his martini, and then the bartender looked over, and a then this tall foxy brunette with sad, understanding eyes and a Brooks Brothers camel hair jacket. She slid over, and the sympathy was oozing out of her. Fuck, I knew he was going to score.

“When there’s civil unrest, everybody turns to you. You gotta tell them their houses won’t get burned down, that their currency is not shit–that the schools are running and the trains leaving on time.”

She nodded, almost teary-eyed, and he went on.

“Everybody’s always asking a dictator, “What have you done for me lately? “Help me, El Presidente. Help me!” Well fuck you bub. I’m the one keepin’ it all together and promoting civil security, so don’t you say shit to me about extending the power grid outside of the capital.”

“Gosh, Chad.”

“Yeah, your blues ain’t like mine. Sing it sister.”

“It sounds just so hard,” said the foxy brunette, and she ran her hand over her hair. Shit. I rolled my eyes. Fucker. He was going to do it with her. Oh, yeah, he liked to milk it-having a country and all.

“You know,” I piped up, “My dad was an alkie and never home.”

The Brunette turned to me.

“Huh?”

“I just said that my dad…”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Tortured prep school kid.”

Then she turned back to Chad.

“You’re right. People don’t know what it means to be a leader. They project everything on to you. All their fears and hopes, and it’s all on your shoulders. You poor guy.”

“Yeah, you seem to really get it.”

He had taken the underwear off his head then, and lit a cigarette, which he let dangle from his bud-like lips. She bummed one, and they sat smoking. Then they left together, and as they were going out the front door, he turned to me, and winked.

“In the bag.”

Fucker.
To be continued….or not….

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(Originally posted Monday, October 29, 2007)

Top Internet Myths Being Debunked By Snopes.com

–*Ramadan is a Muslim holiday meant to celebrate the attacks against America on 9/11.

–*Diet Coke, when drunk every day for a year, erases all the memories of life between ages 5 and 12.

–*Barack Obama is first cousin of Saddam Hussein and Osama Bin Laden and his wife wears a hijab.

–*Mexican nationals in this country illegally have already annexed certain portions of Los Angeles.

–*The Statue of Liberty is a natural formation sculpted by wind and rain.

–*There was a spike in birth rates nine months after Sept. 11, 2001, nine months after the August 2003 blackout in the American northeast, and nine months after the final episode of “Friends.”

–*Construction workers sifting through the rubble at the World Trade Center site found I-beams in the shape of a minus sign, a double integral, an ancient Indian mandala, a happy face, and the Starbucks logo.

–*Osama bin Laden owns Snapple, Wrigley’s Spearmint gum, and the entire Beatles back catalogue.

–*A good way to remove an embedded tick is to blow it off with a .9 mm Glock.

–*Atheist groups pressured Congress to have the hit TV series “Touched By An Angel” changed to “Disabused of Some Stupid Ideas By An Atheist.”

–*Albert Einstein said that compound interest was the most powerful force in the universe, and in the same statement coined the phrase “I gots to get paid!”

–*The band Kiss’s name is an acronym for “Kids in the service of Soupy Sales.”

–*The Chevy Nova didn’t sell in Mexico because “no va” means “it doesn’t go,” and this was followed by the even bigger failure of a car whose translated name means, “I shit in your milk.”

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(Originally posted Sunday, October 28, 2007)

Hi folks, I’m Dennis Hopper. You might remember me as the director of “Easy Rider,” as the creepy sadist in “Blue Velvet” or the doped up photographer in “Apocalypse Now.” Maybe you remember how I banged blow-up dolls in “The River’s Edge.”

You might have seen me in “Speed.” Or on it.

But what you might not know is that I’m also a proud registered member of the Republican freakin’ party man and have been since ole Ronny Reagan swaggered through town. Now, you might want to know what an ex-party boy hop head like me is doing in the Grand Ol’ freakin’ Party.

You might wonder why I’m rubbin’ elbows with Newt Gingrich, handing over thousands to the RNC, and proposing faith-based initiatives. In my day, faith-based initiative meant I thought I could fly and I was going to jump off a freakin’ rooftop.

Now, I know what you’re asking ol’ Dennis: How do the values of me and George W. jibe-what with him promoting law and order and me stickin’ ice picks into cops’ brains in my movies. Well, I’m a nonconformist, man. I’ve always thought outside the cube. To me, there’s nothing at all strange about filming an orgy in Taos one second, and then charging Howard Stern a few mil for saying “anal” on the air.

Oh, sure, it may seem far out to you, man, that one day I’m banging a blow-up doll in “River’s Edge,” and the next day getting a leg over for supply side economics, promoting the freakin’ Laffer curve to prove that raising taxes decreases freakin’ revenue.

Yeah, but if you try to box in old Dennis, somebody’s going to get hurt, man. It’s because I’m extreme man. Yesterday I was an extreme radical and today I’m extreme Republican. I’m the guy who’s suckin’ amyl nitrite through a gas mask in one hand and tellin’ you to invest in a 401(k) with the other. So really, no change at all. Except that I look around, and you know, there’s guys like me all over the place.

In fact, I’m so fed up with ex-radicals turned Republicans, that I’m switchin’ back man, just when you expected it the least. I’m going to rejoin the Democratic Party man. Because they need me. They need some wild men. Some Jimmy Deans. They need to eat some peyote buttons and sit in the desert and howl at the moon. That’s why I’m runnin’ for president, man. I challenge Barack Obama to a knife fight, man. And also I want to know if he’ll buy one of my paintings.

Because when I die, when they die, when it dies, will they say it was a kind party? A wise party? That it was a party with plans, with wisdom? Bullshit man! Who’s going to tell them? Me!

Don’t do drugs. Thank you.

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Class Action Suits

(Originally posted Saturday, October 27, 2007)

Have you recently paid too much for a cable bill? You might be eligible for a class action lawsuit brought by Weaver and Cox. Our lawyers are very experienced with class actions lawsuits of all kinds, and will fight for you and your rights.

Have you recently been injured in an accident with a vehicle owned by a corporation or the government? Then you may be party to a class action lawsuit and not know it.

Have you found glass or some other foreign substance in your crème brulee? Then you might be a party to a class-action suit.

Have you seen red spots in your eyes after staring at the sun too long? You, too, may be eligible to join a class action lawsuit.

Have you recently become obese after 15 years of eating continually at fast-food restaurants? You may be eligible.

Have teen-agers ever laughed at you? That, too, may make you eligible for a class action lawsuit.

Have bits of meteorite fallen onto your lawn and killed your Siberian Husky? Have you gotten a bladder infection after unprotected sex, even after drinking lots of cranberry juice? You may be eligible.

Was Coca-Cola not effective as birth control? You may be eligible for a class action suit.

Are you unhappy with your girlfriend’s weight? Do you get unwanted erections while doing high-school level calculus? Are you traumatized or made jealous by the sight of another woman’s expensive Jimmy Choo strappy sandals? Has your favorite baseball team lost the World Series? Then you may be party to a class-action suit.

Remember, here at Weaver and Cox, we don’t believe in a no-fault world, and that’s why we’re willing to bring suit for a variety of infractions that we believe are actionable.

* A cable bill that’s too high.
* A cable bill that’s too low.
* The common cold
* Yellow gunk on the hood of your oven.
* Rude stewardesses.
* Impotence experienced under the influence of cocaine.
* The lack of melanin in redheads.
* The discomfort among stepchildren at Christmas.

And a lot more …

* Your attraction to any woman who on close inspection turns out to be a man in drag
* Class resentment
* Dust
* Unpleasant odors found anywhere you walk
* Animal mortality
* Human mortality
* An allergy to shellfish
* Oedipal fixations on your mother
* Envy of rich people
* Unrequited love for actress Lisa Kudrow

And a whole lot more….

* Itchiness
* Irritable bowel syndrome
* The uncertainty of living in a Godless universe
* Plaque
* Nettle rash
* Staph infection
* General melancholy
* The bitter taste of aspirin.
* The guilt a boyfriend makes you feel when you won’t perform oral sex on him
* The guilt you feel growing up either Jewish or Catholic
* And lastly, all the unmanageable, ceaselessly piling garbage in your kitchen which, through psychological sublimation, somehow makes you sexually frigid.

Remember, we here at Weaver and Cox are on your side. There’s almost nothing that causes you pain or anxiety or discomfort that we can’t sue somebody for. Call us today and tell us about anything you don’t like, and we’ll make you party to a class-action suit. The call is free. An operator is standing by.

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(Originally posted Friday, October 26, 2007)

2 CBS
CSI Miami: David Caruso’s acting choices become very suspect

3 ABC
Women Detectives Telling Dick Jokes

4 NBC
Keeping Tom Selleck On Celebrity Welfare

5 Disney Movies
High School Musical: The Goths sing a thoroughly depressing number.

6 Disney
Hannah Montana: Hannah’s dual life is shattered when her good friend Kurt the grunge rocker ices himself.

7 Animal Planet
Extreme Meerkat Smackdown

10 ABC Family
One-third of Americans believe in ghosts and UFOs, and it’s probably because we’re helping keep them stupid with movies on this channel.

11 CNN
Anderson Cooper tries to stay above a story about Anna Nicole, but is simply sucked down into the shit and mud just like all his contemporaries

12 CMT
Please Help My Truck More Than Make Up For the Size of My Penis

12 CMT
Making 20 Panels of Particle Board Into a Home

13 Crosswalk Channel
Democracy Now: Trying, Convicting and Imprisoning Henry Kissinger, All In Our Imaginations

14 CNBC
Extremely Rich People Arguing About Things Totally Abstracted From Most People’s Daily Reality, Featuring Minutes and Minutes of Jim Cramer Sucking His Thumb

16 Comedy Central
Those Shows That Want To Be “South Park” and Can’t Be “South Park” Being Extremely Disgusting to Overcompensate For Not Being “South Park”

17 Court TV
To Catch A Dissenter

18 Fox News
Blood In The Face News

19 HBO
King Kong

20 VH-1 Classics
Keeping Wang Chung, Rush and Queensryche On Celebrity Welfare

21 Cinemax
Fourier-Analyzed Throbbings

22 History Channel
The Utah War: Hot Mormon Action

23 IFC
“Roadside Prophets” is shown, possibly because it is fire-resistant and can’t be burned

25 Lifetime
Lisa Williams: Life Among the Unimaginative

26 E! Entertainment
College Girls Without Moral Compass Go To Vegas with Snoop Dogg

27 Court TV
Forensic Files Goes To Vegas with Snoop Dogg

28 Nickelodeon
Avatar: The Last Airbender Goes To Vegas To Drink Himself To Death

40 Oxygen
The Orgasms of Madison County

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(Originally posted Thursday, October 25, 2007)

Things Eight-Year-Olds Say After Hearing Adults Say Them Without Knowing What They Mean

“Hey dad, I’m bringing sexy back.”

“Don’t you judge me!”

“Mommy. You are such a dolt.”

“That dress really works for you.”

“You’re not my type.”

“You’re not the woman I fell in love with.”

“You’re just using me to get to her.”

“I don’t drink box wine.”

“Well, nobody said life was fair.”

“Did you hear how great The Fantastic Four’s opening weekend box office was?”

“This is my fight and I’m going to finish it my way.”

“It’s just too soon for homosexual marriage in this country.”

“I don’t know if I could love you like I did him.”

“I like a fine cigar.”

“There are a lot of unanswered questions about Kennedy’s killing.”

“You really know how to hurt.”

“I’m a bit of a loner. And hard to get to know.”

“Only gay people like Bette Midler.”

“Sex when you’re in love is better.”

“Let’s get real, okay.”

“You aren’t man enough to stay.”

“You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“Europe needs to get its shit together.”

“I don’t think Gore really wanted to win.”

“We must stabilize the region.”

“I don’t like mock-Tudor.”

“I don’t believe in God.”

“Well, isn’t this a fine mess?”

“It’s all up to me now.”

“I can tell when you’re faking.”

“Speak well of me when I’m gone.”

“I hate drama.”

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