Elayne's Prom Was Magical

From Elayne:

I too must share MY prom story.

Let me set the stage: I attended an all-girl's prep school in Connecticut (omitted for obvious purposes). Enough said?

Most of my classmates/friends were of the old Yankee WASP stock, but they admitted the handful of Jews and Catholics so as to look inclusive. For the most part we all got on well, but there was a small clique of girls that were considered "trouble" - usually in the form of witty sarcasm and teasing of the less fortunate, mouthing off to teachers, the random smoking of cigarettes in the bathroom, and random criminal activity in the forms of shoplifting and fake IDs. I longed to be a part of this clique and achieved a middle-management position once I proved I could hang by enduring endless hours of hazing during school which culminated into a violent verbal beating a party in the woods one weekend. I did not cry.

I was cool with the position I achieved since moving any higher could have brought the wrath of teachers, parents, and worse from the clique. My lot in life is middle management to this day and there's definitely a strategy that I will share in a more relevant post.

Anyway, this group loved the idea of prom which meant a lot of liquor, weed, hallucinogenic mushrooms and empty homes. We were all dating or screwing guys from other prep schools so we had to plan the proper after-prom party which was decided should be at a friend’s lake house. We were all preppie, hippie chicks, so we had to be a cool place that allowed for skinny dipping and lack of parents. Don't ask me now, but back then it was a fucking awesome idea.

Backtrack - I decided I had to show up and show out to this prom so I had my dress made. Back then, Princess Di was hot, if and you remember the 80's, puffy shit was everywhere. So, my dress was a toned down version of Princess Di's wedding dress. I thought I was a goddess in it. I actually looked like Mrs. Staypuff.

So, the night of prom, the various shenanigans and debauchery are in progress - bottles of brown liquor in purses are being shared, heavy make outs on the dance floor, girl fights, etc. Our prom theme was Clapton's "Wonderful Tonight", which my mother thought was "disgraceful" since he mentions having sex in the song. If she only knew...

So prom ends and we pour out into the cars. To this day, I can't believe a SWAT team did not descend upon the event. Someone rented a van for the trip to the lake house. On the way there, the head bitch of this clique is getting piss drunk and very LOUD. She's going off on everyone, her date, best friend, etc. It's on and it's ugly. We get to the lake house and she's just relentless, screaming, throwing stuff, etc. I had it and decided as drunk as I was, she needed an ass whooping. This story is almost over.

We move outside and we start yelling. I am telling her what I had wanted to say for a long time peppered with as many expletives I could remember in my slurry state. Before I knew it, she caught me with a roundhouse that caused me to lose my balance and fall on top of a table. I got up - and without ever punching anyone - upper cut her in the lower gut with a ferocity and emotion only seen in Schwarzenegger movies. The force of the blow took me down again. She then stood over me and my Princess Di confection and proceeded to projectile vomit all over me and my puffy, expensive dress. At this point, the crowd is cheering us on. I think most of the guys were hoping there was going to be kissing, but the vomit ruined the moment.

She then picked me up and carried me to the lake. I was thrown over the dock and landed on the top of a plastic canoe, rolled off and into the water. My dress puffed up around me like a large life raft. The sleeves filled with water and basically, I started to sink like a big white anchor. All I could do was rip the dress off of me before I drowned. It was not pretty. Mad as hell, I climbed out onto the dock in my wet pantyhose and bra and wrapped what was left of Di around me like a towel.

My boyfriend was so turned on by the whole display, that he tackled me on the lawn and ejaculated on my left leg like a dog.

A Letter to those of Faith

I came across a blog today as I was looking for an image to put on the "Jesus Can Suck My Balls" t-shirt I'm making. You can check the blog out here if you think Jesus is the Son of GOD or if, like me, you simply enjoy mocking the (mentally) infirm.

The Immaculate Blow Job

At any rate, after reading a few of the comments from one particular post about how terrible it is that people make pictures of jesus christ laughing I felt compelled to post the following:

This is ridiculous. It's like you're debating whether Santa gets dirty going down the chimney.

There is no Jesus. There is no god. You cling to a belief for which there is zero evidence because you fear a world without him and because you desperately want your meaningless life to have some eternal value.

Let's face it, none of us really mean anything to 99.9999999% of the world’s population. You have your family of origin and your family of creation. You're lucky if you have a good relationship with the former and unforgivably foolish if you don't with the latter.

Religion teaches us that god is angry, jealous, and vengeful. It teaches us to hate those who believe differently and to wage war against them. It teaches us to reject our loved ones if they fail to believe as we believe. It destroys nations, it destroys families, and it destroys people's lives.

And yet you place your heads in the sand refuse to see the truth beyond what you so desperately desire to be true. You are incapable of applying to religion the same logic you use in all other aspects of your lives.

If your god is real, why do the "wicked" persistently prosper? Why do the "righteous" consistently suffer tragedy and pain? If god can save the lives of the righteous why doesn't he? Why does he kill so indiscriminately? Why does he make people gay but them tell them they must not do that which fulfills the emotionally, spiritually, and physically?

Why does your god allow you to bomb abortion clinics and drag gay men behind trucks and burn crosses on the lawns of 'unbelievers' and burn pagans at the stake and reject the poor and the uneducated and those of other races in this country?

Your lives are meaningless with god. As an ignorant follower of the christian faith I constantly struggled with my human nature--nature dictated by hundreds of millions of years of evolution--I was constantly a victim of my own humanity and the guilt that resulted whenever I engaged in some small thing outlawed by your worthless, impotent, and irrelevant god. I married an individual with whom I had little in common after a short engagement because god is angry when we have sex before marriage.

For 8 years of that marriage I taught my children to fight their inner nature...that they must fit a specific mold dictated by a non-existent being more than 2000 years ago. A mold that is anathema to human happiness, acceptance, and love, despite what you have so foolishly accepted as truth.

It has been three years now since I rejected my faith. Because of this, my relationship with my parents is strained almost to the limit. They simply cannot accept the choice I have made and so we have little interaction. I feel rejected by them, ashamed of their blind faith, and angered by the beliefs that cause them to weep at night. My in-laws feel as though I have corrupted their child. Many of my siblings rarely talk to me anymore.

And yet my life is infinitely better. My income has quadrupled. I have 5 beautiful, amazing, loving, happy, wonderful children—atheists all. I live in a new, large, single-family home. My relationship with my spouse is better. I have more friends. I am happier because I don’t judge others against a ridiculous standard that has no relevance in the modern world. I am fulfilled for the first time in my life. I provide more service to others, not because I am required by a fickle god, but because it brings me joy. I can accept and befriend those with different philosophical ideals whether those differences are about sexuality, politics, religion, race, economics, or any other delineator. I can look at a person and see their innate value, their capacity for love and joy and pleasure—and at the same time their capacity for hate and sorrow and pain—and I’m compelled by my conscience and my love for humanity to help them achieve the former.

You are all fools for believing what you do. You’re cattle and as such you’re dangerous. You elected (as did I) Bush as President twice and he has destroyed much of what was great about America. You would elect John McCain now simply because he panders to your voting bloc. You’re incapable of independent, logical thought and as such your lives, that wonderful and amazing gift, will be wasted perpetually failing to achieve an eternal reward that doesn’t exist.

I pity you.

Sadly, as I was typing in that retarded word they make you type I noticed that the author of the blog requires that he approve all comments before they appear. Which means that the masterpiece above will never reach it's intended recipients. And so I've posted it here for your enjoyment.

May the Flying Spaghetti Monster touch you with His Noodly Appendage.

-Walter

American Security Cult Brands Students From MIT as Terrorists at Large

Not only are the raging, slackjawed criminal goons at the TSA now in charge of an ID program to credential people so they can be allowed near a ship or a pier, they’re using it to randomly brand students as terrorists at large - records which will go into permanent files that no one can see or ask to inspect without being branded an enemy combatant and bayoneted to death on the spot.

Already a batch of kids have been branded terrorists at large by the drooling goons at TSA and, to their peril, they’re pushing back. To go near piers and boats, starting this October you will need a Transportation Worker Identification Credential, a Naziffic-sounding piece of fucking fascist identity instrumentation.

Although the TSA is beating up hapless foreign students now, soon we’ll all be forced to beg for one of these credentials if we want to take the ferry to work. They’re only $132. A bargain at twice the price. Offer to lick the TSA agent’s genitals or hand him $500, and it might take less than a year to process.

Make no mistake, the TSA’s primary directive is to inflict a scheme on the US in which everyone has to have explicit permission for inter-national travel and intra-country movement from the TSA. Fences everywhere; check points everywhere; a permit for every activity under the sun required under pain of being labelled an enemy combatant.

Do take time to read the New York Times story. It’s obvious the entire marine credentialing system is another insane exercise in standardless discretion. A drooling, fuckwitted TSA goon can label you a terrorist, deny you access to the waterfront, marine transportation and, if that’s your work, your means of earning a living. Appeal? Good fucking luck, asshole.

All you’ll get are Sieg Heils and Shut the Fuck Ups from the wannabee stormtroopers at the TSA. Get used to it, assholes: from here on out, you better love life at the point of a bayonet, because that’s what life is all about in the USA. Problems, here? Problems, friend? Maybe you need to climb down on the floor with your hands behind your back so we can safely talk to you about your hatred of America and its security institutions. Your papers! Your papers! You want the ferry, we need to see the papers! Maybe you need to kiss the bayonet to understand, terrorist dog! No papers! No boat for you!

(Src: http://cynicsparty.com/2008/05/13/american-security-cult-brands-students-from-mit-as-terrorists-at-large/)

Suck it, Bitch

Why MY Prom Was Better Than the Dude's

So I was going to post this as a comment to The Dude's post below but as I wrote it the thing got longer and longer and I realized that no one was going to read it anyway unless I posted it on the main page. This is because you guys are all fickle, cocksucking, asstards and you have no sense of loyalty or honor (but The Dude and I love you anyway, just the way you are, you dirty, dirty slut).

And so without further ado:

I hated high school. I was that kid who always slept through class and drove the teachers crazy. In fact towards the end of my senior year I basically dropped all pretense and started coming to school in pajamas with a pillow under my arm (remind me to tell you about water wars, the frogs, the parking permits, and the girls' locker room after one particularly exciting football game).

I had this one teacher who got so sick of me that he used to walk in the class room and kick me out just because he was in a bad mood. I was okay with that because I had this friend with bennies that I'd get to bail on her class too and we'd jump in my 1983 Datsun Sentra and drive out to the vacant field down the road to have sex. Which brings me to the point of my post. Because as much as I hated high school, what I DIDN'T hate was high school sex (in fact, the only thing better than high school sex is whatever sex I’m having right NOW). After MY senior prom (theme: "U Can't Touch This"):

Seirously, you can't touch this.

...I banged my date for 4 straight hours at my buddy's house in his Dad's bed. It was a king and we used every inch of the extra space...in addition to the dresser and the chair and the bathroom counter top and most of the walls and much of the floor.

Interesting sidebar: whenever this chick had an orgasm she passed out and stopped breathing. When I flew out and stayed with her for her prom --she lived several hundred miles away-- we went out one night in her Chevy Blazer to a hill overlooking the city so we could bang in the back seat like goddamned minks without her parents walking in on us. Apparently I was almost as masterful then in the performance of my myriad and mind-blowing sexual techniques as I am now and she quickly reached orgasm.

Yes, ladies, it's about like that.

Then she stopped breathing.

After a few seconds, when she was persistently unresponsive, I realized I had a serious problem on my hands. There I was, lying in the back seat with a naked, underage, not-breathing chick I barely knew (we met in South Padre Island during spring break), in a strange city, in a very southern state (where they don’t take kindly to fornicators and adulterers),

"We don't take kindly to your kind around here..."

...with no concept of where I was or how to get back to her house. I was pretty sure that I had killed her and that I was going to jail for the rest of my life. And I’m not talking about one of those white-collar places where you get decent food and lots of free-time and conjugal visits and shit, I’m talking about a federal, pound-me-in-the-ass prison where some former NFL defensive lineman with a name like Bubba or Tiny...

...or maybe just call him Daddy.

...and a 16 inch cock the diameter of a soup can who’s in for raping and strangling to death the kicker on his former team makes me his bitch and I never, ever have strain to take a dump ever again...it just kinda falls out.

After I finished pissing myself, I assessed the situation and realized that I had to do something. Running was the first thing that came to mind but in a rare flash of insight I suddenly remembered, years before in Boy Scouts, orally molesting a dummy when I was supposed to be learning CPR. I leapt into action, plugged the girl's nose, clamped my mouth over hers and began some retarded hybrid of CPR and a French kiss. It was all very arousing. I was as hard as a diamond in an ice storm. After a couple of seconds of this she came to; we fucked again...I made sure I was the only one to get off.

Anywho, back to prom. After our 4 hour bang-fest we went downstairs to find that one of the chicks who had gone to prom with a buddy of mine was passed out topless on the couch. She was surrounded by a group of dudes (and chicks) standing over her taking pictures and laughing. Unlike the dude I DID get to see them later and they were magnificent. Don’t ask me how old the chick was because I’m not going to jail.

Prom Sucks

Not me. I was hotter than that and my date was shorter.

I need a trophy. I'll have to figure out how to win something so I can get a big trophy. My wife has a big trophy from when she was in a beauty pageant in high school and I'm jealous. Trophies create a sense of self-worth and I need affirmation to be happy. When I won "Mr XX" (XX being the name of my high school) in 1989 they didn't give out a trophy. I think I got free tickets to prom and a limousine ride, but I didn't like my date very much so the whole thing was kind of wasted. I took this girl that I barely knew because I'd broken up with my girlfriend Linda only a few weeks before prom and had to find a date on short notice and by that point all the hot ones were taken. The girl I ended up taking was from a different high school. Linda was from my high school but she wasn't very smart and that was the cause of the end of our love. I was reading this book called "Cultural Literacy" at the time and it said that for any person to be culturally literate they had to know a ton of key facts, figures and dates (like, for example, who is Ronald Reagan, who are the New York Yankees, what is the Brady Bunch, etc) that comprise the bulk of the fabric of American society. The book of course was arguing that people don't know the stuff anymore and so we're going to hell in a handbasket, oh the youth of today, sex drugs and rock n roll, etc. The sky is always falling. The book had seven dates in it that it claimed were indispensable for people to know: 1066, 1492, 1776, 1861-65, 1914-18, 1939-45 and 1984. I'd dated Linda for a few months and had begun to realize she might not be the sharpest tack in the bunch when she told me her favorite artist was Paula Abdul (who, when she first told me this, I thought it was a guy named "Paul Abdul" - this was 1989 and it was all new back then). So I went to Linda and said "Do you know the significance of any of these dates?" and she didn't know one of them. Not one. I could totally understand not knowing 1066, and 1984 was kind of a trick question, but to not know 1492? I was floored. The horror. I couldn't do it anymore but held out as long as I could until I was absolutely certain. A couple of days later we were standing in the main hall/entrance area to the school during lunch and I told her it was over. "It's not you, it's me" I said (I used that one all through college. It worked pretty well). "What about prom?" she said. "I think prom is out," I said. She yelled something and threw an object at me that was small and heavy but kind of soft and then ran away. I think she was crying. I can't remember if I ever talked to her after that or not. I probably did but I don't remember it. I picked up the thing she'd thrown at me when she ran off and it was a brownie. I was glad I'd called it off with Linda until the night of prom when I showed up to my date's house and she looked so bad I just couldn't believe it. I've never been into big make-up and tricked-out hair, caring more for the natural look, and this girl looked liked Tammy Faye Bakker as far as I was concerned (god rest her soul). It was the 80's so it wasn't fair to expect anything else, but I still wasn't into it. So we took photos, which I never saw since digital cameras hadn't been invented, and I took her to prom. We left a little early and I took her home really early. We made out in the car for half an hour or so but I wasn't very interested. The next morning I didn't call her and the day after that also. She went to a different school and that was back in the days without email, cell phones and texting, and girls weren't supposed to call boys as far as my mom was concerned, so I just didn't call her and we literally never spoke again. Not once. I graduated shortly thereafter and left for college and forgot her name. Now I will never find her again because you can't do a Google search without a name. I tried "Girl at prom 1989 Maryland" once but it turned up so many hits that I figured it wasn't worth it. Plus there weren't very many pictures and I need pictures. I'm a very visual person. I was already married and my wife was hotter than that girl on my wife's ugliest day and that girl's best so the whole thing was really just pointless. I'm pretty sure the girl was Jewish so I could have added the word "Jew" to narrow the search results but it wasn't worth trying again. I went and checked ESPN.com instead. When I won the Mr. XX pageant I would have been better off if if they'd have just given me a trophy.

Today's YouTube Moment

Fantastic

She's Gonna End Up Naked On the Internet (and thank God for that)

Passing the Time

The bet was this: Grind 10 Altoids into a powder and snort it for $20.

The guy at work who came up with the idea knew from the start that I was the only one stupid enough and insecure in my manhood enough to even consider doing it. Given that I only come into the office once a month or so he knew that it was now or never and so really went to work on me. His carefully considered decision to use the whole 'wuss' genre of taunts was a conception of Machiavellian genius. "You're too much of a wuss to do it". "What's the matter wussy boy?". "Here wussy, wussy, wussy". He must have thought that I'm a total moron. You will undoubtedly not be surprised to find out that he was correct.

So the bet guy announces over the office intercom the afternoon's entertainment. He's really into it. I get the feeling that if he had more time this could have been a real extravaganza, complete with coat check and valet parking. He decides that the best place for this to happen is the conference room, so that everyone gets a good look at the moron and his mints. After a long delay of getting everyone into the conference room and setting up we get ready to start.
I grind the Altoids into a powder with the back of a spoon. When the smell from the squishified Altoids hits me I start to get a bit nervous. Altoids must have been created my some overly enthusiastic mint psychopath any ways. Why the fuck are they that strong? Seriously, the guy who came up with these must have been some sort of mint extremist who, perhaps disturbed by the unholy flavor mixers who desecrate the purity of mint with such degenerate flavors such as chocolate, felt the need to bring a certain purity to the entire mint experience. This lunatic mintmonger is one thing, but why do people buy these things?

OK, the Altoids are now all ready to go. I hum 'Eye of the Tiger' for a bit to get me all revved up for the next few minutes, which are basically guaranteed to be memorable. The guys are by now convinced that this is actually going to happen, and so are a bit excitable. Nervous laughter is surrounding the table and the guys are pressing in close. A quick glance around the table confirms the ethnic variety of my work place. Indians (of the Indian subcontinent variety, not the running from cowboys who want to kill them variety), Chinese, Koreans,Russians, and other diverse representatives of their respective ethnic groups are all shouting, laughing, and in general really looking forward to seeing some idiot feeling some pain.

For a moment I get the feeling that I have been dropped into the movie 'Kickboxer' and that this is all just a prelude to my getting the crap kicked out of me by some overly muscular yet incredibly stupid behemoth, until said behemoth makes some comment about my mother or dead wife or kidnapped baby and I summon the intestinal fortitude to ignore that pain and give him a righteous beating. Upon reflection however, I realize that we're talking about snorting some mints and that furthermore, I am a gigantic dork.

So, what the hell, I grab the straw and let 'er rip.

Pain.

Apparently Altoids have some quasi-mystical properties of dislocation. I distinctly remember getting the sense that my consciousness had separated from my body and was hovering about 8 feet above the floor. I could clearly see myself sitting in the chair, straw still inserted in my nose.

Very calmly and quietly I heard myself say "no".

Fuck, I'm back in my body, or what's left of it. Actually, much like Barbara Streisand, although I actually have a complete body the only thing that seems to matter is my nose. This nose is clearly unhappy with the situation and is doing a bang up job of letting me know. The pain is exquisite. It felt as if some wayward sailor had felt the need to test out a flare gun and had chosen my nasal passages as a suitable target.

After about 10 minutes of rocking back and forth in my chair, nose and eyes streaming snot, and several hundred glasses of water and milk, I finally get my shit together enough to rub the crap from my eyes and sort of see again. The crowd is still there although they're hushed. While clearly the festival of pain I've gone through has touched these guys in some primal way, these fuckers seem to be expecting something more. What the fuck are these cockbags waiting for? My death? I'm all for making fun of someone else's pain but waiting for me to die seems a bit over the top.

Oh shit. I had forgotten.

In a terribly misguided attempt to look cool, as if I hung out with the Eagles back in the seventies and knew my way around snorting various powders, I had cut the Altoids into not one line but two. Oh man. I imagine the pioneers on the Oregon Trail must have felt the same way when they got their first sight of the Rockies after already travelling for weeks. "Fuck, we deal with Indians who want to kill us, we haven't had any water for weeks, riding through Iowa and Nebraska was fucking boring because we can't play the license plate game for the good reason that cars haven't been invented yet, and now just when we thought we were almost done, some asshole with a sense of humor decided to drop fucking mountains in our way." I mumble some stuff to the effect of there is no chance that I'll do the second line, only in a more colorful and longwinded way. After about 5 minutes of sitting there and whining I hear two of the Chinese guys exchange something in Mandarin that I do not need a translator to figure out means "fucking wussbag".

What the hell, I'll never be able to smell again any ways.

PAIN.

Apparently the first snort merely served to clean out the snot so that the second blast could get to the real work out scouring to the bone. Jesus, this really hurts. What feels like pulpy flesh is running down my throat. I'm surprised to hear my own voice when I ask for some "fucking water". I sound a bit like Henry Kissinger, only two octaves higher and after bingeing on Drano and bourbon cocktails.

It took about three hours for the pain to dull enough so that it wasn't the only thing I thought about. I still feel the after effects today, about 24 hours after the fact. All in all I wouldn't do it again, but it was entertaining. And I can honestly say that for once work was not boring.

Sexy Demotivator Day

I've Got Issues/Julie Andrews is Really Disappointed

I was talking to a friend of mine recently, we were discussing the relative charms of the scantily-clad young women who passed us by on the street in the city in which I live, when he made the statement, “Dude, you will literally fuck anything, won’t you?”

I was initially taken aback by this statement. I mean, let’s face it: we’ve all banged that one-off chick—the fat girl, the ugly girl, the hair-lipped friend—it’s every man’s responsibility to play the wing-man from time to time. It’s man code. And that’s cool because you’re taking one for the team; you’re basically paying it forward.

But no matter how many sub par skanks you’ve bagged in the name of male solidarity, no dude ever wants to be accused of pining for porcine panocha or of voluntarily fornicating with hideous monstrosities…it’s like someone accusing you of eating your meals from a trashcan or of wetting your bed. It’s embarrassing and degrading.

And yet there I was, enjoying a beer and a piece of pizza on a beautiful spring day as half-naked women pranced about, displaying their feminine wiles in ways that would get them stoned to death in pretty much any country east of Italy and south of the Mediterranean, and this piece of shit “friend” was accusing me of being this most deplorable and shameful of Lotharios.

And yet despite my self-loathing, it occurred to me that he was right. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I DO have standards; they’re just not very high. And then suddenly I realized that this wasn’t shameful, it was wonderful. This wasn’t like eating from a trashcan but instead it was like eating strange food from foreign countries that would make most people vomit. Sure, you may have to choke down a scorpion or some monkey brains from time to time but at least you’re eating. And one day, if you find yourself in a situation where the fare is somewhat limited, you’re going to eat a lot better than your buddies who've been dining solely on Alaskan King Crab and Filet Mignon.

Take, for example, the bisexual dude who works two cubes over from you: he’s basically normal, bangs some decent looking chicks, plays sports, and drinks beer but he’s better off than you because in a pinch, well, he loves the cock too and that essentially doubles his options. So while you head home to a calloused palm, a bottle of lotion, and a computer with the volume turned down so your wife won't hear, he’s getting some real action that gets him off just like you would if you had some 18 year-old, fresh out of high school trim.

Now I’m not saying that we should ALL be bisexual, hell, I know I’m not gonna be. I can’t do that shit. I’m just saying that you can’t argue with the numbers; he’s gonna get laid more than you. And while his methods may sicken you, I know there’s no guy out there who hasn’t look at a fine filly’s ass and thought, “I gotta get up in THAT!”

It’s like Coop says in the move, BASEketball, as he bares Squeek’s ass: “How to speak San Franciscan: vagina!”

And that’s cool.

But then there’s this guy:

Not Really Christopher Plummer

Meet Josef Fritzl, the Austrian man who held his daughter captive for 24 years in a windowless dungeon and sired 7 children by her. This is a guy whose definition of pussy is WAY beyond anything you or I have ever imagined.

Police spokesman Franz Polzer told CNN that 73-year-old Josef Fritzl admitted holding his daughter, Elisabeth Fritzl, 42, hostage in the windowless cell and fathering seven children by her.

"The mother had memories [of the outside world] and got used to the situation," Polzer told a press conference Monday afternoon. "The others knew nothing else."

The main question reverberating from the small Austrian town: How could a man keep his daughter locked in his basement for 24 years, where she gave birth to seven of his children while her mother and three of those children lived upstairs without an
inkling of the horrors in the cellar?

Fritzl explained Elisabeth's disappearance by saying she had run away from home, a story backed up by letters he forced Elisabeth to write, including one that begged her parents not to look for her.

Fritzl, who looks frighteningly similar to Christopher Plummer:

Christopher Plummer

...is currently facing up to 15 years in prison for REPEATEDLY RAPING HIS DAUGHTER WHILE KEEPING HER IN PRISON FOR 24 YEARS.

I'm no legal scholar but 15 years seems pretty light for this kind of crime. Particularly when you take into consideration the fact that his daughter was locked up for almost twice that. And she didn’t have the possibility of parole.

Jesus.

I’m sorry, this is just so totally fucked up that I can’t find anything cynical to say about it.

Oh wait, yes I can:

"I guess it was God’s will. After all, the Lord of Hosts works in mysterious ways."

Fuck god.

I was on Wikipedia today and noticed a glaring and inexcusable omission from their lexicon. Nowhere in that (seemingly) most relevant encyclopedic archive is there a listing, definition, description, or catalogue of the word “Assmonkey”.

Now, I recognize that many of you may wonder why this is important. You may question the term’s relevance to and application in your everyday life. You may even think me foolish for spending my time writing about assmonkeys. The answer is simple: fuck you and suck my balls.

An Assmonkey (aka: asshat, ass, assclown, asshole, asswipe, bag, bastard, bitch, cock, cockmaster, cunt, dick, dickhead, dipshit, douche, douche bag, dumbass, dumbfuck, fag, faggot, fool, fuck, fucker, fuckhead, fucktard, fuckwit, gay, George Bush, homo, idiot, ignorant, jackass, jerk, loser, moron, n00b, retard, retarded, shithead, stupid, tard, tool, twat, or wanker) is defined by the Urban Dictionary as:

Ass·mon·key: [ass-muhng-kee] noun, plural -keys, verb, -keyed, -key·ing
–noun
1. A close relative of an asshat.
2. Someone that asks stupid questions.
3. A complete idiot.
4. A politician.
“Hillary Clinton is such a fucking assmonkey.”
–verb (used without object)
5. Informal. to play or trifle idly; fool (often fol. by around or with).
“Jim was assmonkeying with the banana and now it’s stuck up his butt.”
–verb (used with object)
6. To imitate foolishly.
“I was assmonkeying John McCain yesterday. It was totally hilarious! What a fucking douche bag that guy is.”


Here’s the deal. Hillary Clinton is a fucking assmonkey.

Assmonkey

Can you believe this bitch’s gall? For the first time in I don’t know how many years the democrats have a candidate that almost everyone likes…rather than one that people simply detest less than his opponent. I mean, a candidate that smoking women write songs about and that dudes want to have a beer with. You know what, that candidate ain’t Hillary.

Look, I’ve been a Republican all my life. When I was kid my parents used to take me hunting for liberals—and this is back during the Reagan administration when liberals were endangered. I was weaned from my mother’s teat with the tears and crushed dreams of the poor. For fun during the summer we used to go to orphanages with a bunch of toys and a cute little puppy, fill out all the paperwork to adopt one of those little bastards, and then, just as we were leaving, refuse to take him home. Thos were some good times, I tell you, good ole’ Republican fun.

The point here is that I have been a hard-core porn addict right-winged, elitist, democrat hating, Machiavellian, dick-hole Republican for as long as I can remember.

But now I find myself actually starting to care about people who are not me. And I’m beginning to think that maybe we should interject some responsibility into our environmental policy, or our foreign policy, or our education/health care/economics/poverty/etc policies.

Maybe it’s time to realize that it’s not okay to get rich on the broken dreams of your employees. Maybe we actually have an obligation to take some of the unparalleled wealth possessed by the upper class in this country—wealth that they’ve obtained largely by paying their employees minimal wages, giving them pitiful benefits, and driving them like rented mules—and give it back to those who did the work in the first place.

Maybe there actually is a better system than Capitalism. I don’t know what it is but somebody should figure that shit out.

I find it ridiculous that we can look back at the conditions that existed for the working class during the industrial revolution with such horror and not see the parallel in our own society today. We call the Catholic Church barbaric for the Inquisition and the Crusades and we abhor the idea of slavery and segregation and racism and yet we still despise homosexuals and tell them that they’re not as valuable as the rest of us and they don’t deserve the same opportunities.

How is dragging a gay man to death behind a truck any different than killing a Jew in a concentration camp? How is bombing an abortion clinic any different than burning protestants at the stake? How is refusing a gay couple the right to adopt any different than forcing a woman to wear a scarlet letter A and making an outcast of her and her illegitimate child?

The amazing thing is that we view ourselves as modern and progressive and educated. And yet we destroy lives in the name of a faceless, unknowable god who is petty and vindictive and cares about what you eat or wear or say, even when it hurts no one. A god who says that infant children who don’t get baptized are going to hell or who demands that women be circumcised by having their clitoris cut out. A perverted and voyeuristic god who watches us while we have sex or take a shit.

The list of human stupidity is literally endless.

And so today—when we’re faced with 4 more years of incompetent, indifferent, and belligerent leadership by a fossilized shell of a human being who lacks the character to be what he says he is—when we have an opportunity to elect as our President a man who has consistently attempted to raise the debate above a petty popularity contest and make it about what this country needs…that fucking assmonkey, Hillary Clinton, is so self-obsessed and so ethically bankrupt and willing to whore herself to anyone, anything, or any cause that will get her elected that she is destroying the best hope for hope that we’ve had in 20 years. That’s effectively a generation.

How tragic it is, the lost opportunities of a ruined life.

Folks, dear 8 pounds 6 ounces baby Jesus...new born...not even spoken a word yet, isn’t it time that we actually take responsibility for our government? Can’t we please just tell that frigid, lying, hell-spawned assmonkey that she’s not getting the fucking nomination and start building again—and I don’t mean like we had Halliburton do in Iraq, I’m talking about building bridges to our former friends, building up our broken domestic policy, building up America's greatness again.

Or hey, maybe not. You gotta admit, "Assmonkey in '08" makes a great fucking bumper sticker.

Paris Hilton is a 15 yr-old skank

I’m not a huge fan of celebrity blogging. Having said this, I admit that there’s much enjoyment to be had by mocking the celebrities. Then again, I suppose one can derive enjoyment from mocking anyone (after all, it DOES make you feel better about yourself—like when I tell my neighbor’s kid that his parents wish he’d never been born or when I tell my wife she’s ugly and if I left her I could get someone WAY better in about 15 seconds) but I just don’t really care about the pathetic lives and ridiculously insulated ideologies of America’s celebrities.

That being said, I felt as though a recent comment by Ms. Hilton exceeded normal levels of absurdity regularly displayed by the Hollywood elite. Yesterday several news sources (including Fox, MSNBC, CNN, et al) reported that the semi-retarded heiress was planning to wed Benji Madden in a dual ceremony with fellow short-bus rider Nicole Richie and her baby-daddy Joel Madden.

There are so many things wrong with that statement that I don’t even know where to begin.

Let me start by saying that I am a fan of lists. Oh, not like The Dude is a fan (I’m semi-pro to his pro) but I have a predilection for making top 10 lists of all sorts. For example: top 10 coolest cars, top 10 chicks who need to bang me, top 10 politicians I’d like to see fit with cement shoes, top 10 threats to my sanity, top 10 people I’d like to punch in the penis and/or vagina, and so on.

Paris Hilton is on several of the lists I’ve made. In particular, she ranks very high on the last list I mentioned: the top 10 people I’d like to punch in the penis and/or vagina (so does John Madden, my arch nemesis). In Ms. Hilton’s case, however, I would require a level “B” MOPP suit (at a minimum) to protect me from the gaping, viral cesspool that is her cooter.

The bottom line here is that I hate that disease infested, empty minded, publicity whore with all my being. The bitch has no talent, is about as attractive as my aunt’s grundle (my aunt weighs like 300 lbs), and her “that’s hot” saying makes me want to blind myself with the golden brooches from my mother’s dress (that’s an Oedipal reference for those of you that are confused).

But as I usually do, I digress.

So here’s the deal. The United States in currently involved in two wars, more than 4000 servicemen and women have died in Iraq alone, we’re paying $4 a gallon for gas, we’re facing an unprecedented threat to the dollar (China effectively owns our currency—and therefore us), we’re in the middle of massive economic downturn (today’s word is recession), global warming is occurring at an alarming rate (and nobody really seems to know why), killer storms are pounding the heartland, and we have a Presidential election in less than 7 months. Why, in the name of the blessed, tap-dancing Christ are we reporting on the vacuous shit that comes out of Paris Hilton’s mouth? Does anyone really fucking care?

And what kind of sorry, stupid slut would make a public display about wanting to get married to a guy she’s been dating for like 4 hours in a dual ceremony with his brother and the starving scarecrow from my neighbor’s farm? I bet she got the idea when they were swinging in unison on the playground swing set. Because you know what that means. I swear to jumping Jesus, that girl is an intellectual giant. Somebody should name a scholarship fund after her. Or a school.

Times they are a-changin'

A new era has begun here at The Dude's blog.

As many of you know, The Dude is an intensely reserved and private guy. He's kind of like a turtle: slow, not particularly intelligent, kind of useless, ugly, and spooks easily. I can't stress the ugliness factor enough. In fact, to prove my point, here's a picture I took of The Dude at a recent family reunion:

But I digress. The Dude’s monumental ugliness aside, a new era has begun here on the blog because, for the first time in its short, ignominious history, this blog will actually be moderately enjoyable to read.

“What? Why?” you ask.

That’s a fine question, my friends. A fine question indeed.

So enjoy the new, quality content and check back every day. Because we’ll be updating regularly (and by regularly I mean at least every couple of weeks) with high-brow stuff like this:

All the best,

Walter

The Triumphant Return of John Brown

Following his 1859 raid on Harper's Ferry in an attempt to spark a slave uprising, the noted abolitionist John Brown disappeared from history. If you're anything like me and The Dude--hell even Jesus and Donny--then you've spent countless hours wondering what happened to this handsome, well coiffured man and the thought of finding out fills your body with an almost sexual excitement and longing.

Well, I am happy to report that Brown is making history again. Resurfacing in London, Brown is in the news again and women the world over are rushing to their boudoirs to pleasure themselves to his rakish good looks and perennially long facial hair.

John Brown in West Virginia circa 1857 and again in 2008 in London, England

Calling himself "Aubrey de Grey" and gripping a copy of his 1999 Action/Romance novel "The Mitochondrial Free Radical Theory of Aging", Brown sat down with the BBC recently to answer questions ranging from his theories on life expectancy to the effects of his molestation by a Catholic priest in 1975.

His book, a NY Times best seller for 61 weeks in 1999 and 2000, has recently been updated and new claims made by the erstwhile revolutionary are creating a new stir. Specifically, Brown is claiming that "aging is a physical phenomenon happening to our bodies, so at some point in the future, as medicine becomes more and more powerful, we will inevitably be able to address aging just as effectively as we address many diseases today."

Brown's theories, which include a typical life-expectancy of "a few thousands of years", have received mixed reviews from the scientific community. S Jay Olshansky, a PhD at the University of Illinois at Chicago, disagrees with Brown. Olshansky says, "The fact is that nothing in gerontology even comes close to fulfilling the promise of dramatically extended lifespan, in spite of bold claims to the contrary that by now should sound familiar."

In their book, "Fantastic Voyage", techno-guru Ray Kurzweil and physician Terry Grossman agree with Brown. "Do we have the knowledge and the tools today to live forever? The pace of scientific and technological discovery is accelerating. According to models...our paradigm-shift rate—the rate of technical progress—is doubling every decade, and the capability of specific information technologies is doubling every year. So the answer to [the] question is actually a definitive yes—the knowledge exists, if aggressively applied, for you to slow aging and disease processes to such a degree that you can be in good health and good spirits when the more radical life-extending and life-enhancing technologies become available over the next couple of decades."

Still others had a completely different view. ZZ Top bassist Dusty Hill said, "Look, I respect John Brown--the abolition movement, the fact that he's from West Virginia, hell, we even drink the same beer--but Jesus Christ man, fucking shave every once in awhile!" Hill then put on his sunglasses, twirled his fuzzy guitar, and walked from the room.

Britney Spears could not be reached for comment.

Regardless of their position on the plausability of Brown's argument, everyone agrees that the idea of physical immortality is seductive. The ancient Hindus sought it, the Greek physician Galen from the 2nd Century AD and the Arabic philosopher/physician Avicenna from the 11th Century AD believed in it.

Alexander the Great roamed the world searching for it, Ponce de Leon discovered Florida in his quest for the fountain of youth, and countless stories of immortality have permeated the literature, including the image of Shangra-La portrayed in James Hilton's book Lost Horizon, or in the quest for the holy grail in the movie Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

What do these ancient purveyors of physical immortality all have in common? They're all dead.

But with today's ever expanding technologies and scientific understanding growing exponentially, maybe a form of immortality is within our grasp. Just think of the benefits. You'd get a 1000 years of this:

And this:

And this:

On second thought, just fucking kill me now.

STUFF WHITE PEOPLE LIKE

There's an incredible blog that Elayne turned me onto called "Stuff White People Like" that is going to be published as a book by Random House in August 2008. This is because Elayne knows about almost everything that's cool.

The blog's only been around for a few months but has nearly 22 million visits already. That's because it's possibly the best blog ever. Since the content on mine sucks you should consider going to that one.

If you're white, you'll laugh. If you're black, you'll learn about white people. If you're from China the blog is probably blocked. If you're from black Africa you probably can't read. If you're from Bangladesh you can't read AND you probably don't have internet access. And if you're from Saudi Arabia you don't have time to read anything but the Koran, which is a laugh-a-minute thriller. So I suspect the blog is probably targeted at white and black people. And Asians in the US. I don't want to forget anyone.

ASHLEY TISDALE WON'T GET MORE SURGERY

Ashley Tisdale, who acts, sings, dances, etc has announced that she's not getting any more plastic surgery. She got a nose job a couple of years ago to correct a deviated septum she claims but which of course is absolutely false and...and...and...and

I'm sorry I just can't write about 22 year-old actresses anymore. Notice I haven't put up anything about lesbians lately either. I've just lost interest in the stars, in lesbians, etc. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I'm losing interest in such items that were previously critical fodder for this blog. If I ever had any mojo it's surely gone by now. I think I'm probably not going to get it back. I'm like Bison Dele, otherwise known as Brian Williams, who simply walked away from a huge NBA contract because he lost his mojo. Only difference is that I'm not black, I'm not 7 feet tall, I suck at basketball and there was no huge contract offer. But Bison and I are brothers in that we've lost our mojo. Anyway, Dele is dead now. Surely I'll follow at some point.

THE PRESIDENT IS DEAD

Charlton Heston, who starred in a bunch of old movies where the acting is terrible, died over the weekend. He was old. Heston was known as an actor but for many he was also known as President of the NRA which, in the late 90's, spawned the words on a bumper sticker that I used to see on old beat-up trucks: "My President is Charlton Heston."

For those living outside the US, the greatest country in the world, God's chosen land, etc etc, the NRA stands for the "National Rifle Association" and is the dumbest organization in America, when you average out the IQs of its combined membership. Perhaps whatever organization is made up of purely mongoloid people would score lower, but not by much.

Heston was famous for claiming that those who promote gun control laws in the US could have his gun when they "pry it from my cold dead fingers." No word yet on whether he'll be buried with his gun and, of course, where they'll put his presidential library, since all ex-presidents get a library that no one gives a shit about. Guns are shit. They should all be banned. Good riddance, dumbass.

ANOTHER SONG THAT KICKS ASS

Another song from the gym and the radio as I drive around this funky country. Nobody here understands what the guy says but the song still kicks ass. This is my kind of tune. They get right to the point. They won't allow embedding, so if you want to watch the video, which is pretty cool, go here. And since we're worried about Ray today, perhaps we should say that it's a shame about Ray as well. Almost as good.

JENNY MCCARTHY IS A BITCH

As if this bitch wasn't already annoying enough, now she's telling highly trained medical specialists that they're dumbshits for their scientific views. What an insufferable whore. I wish she was dead. She's a little older than me, I think, so hopefully she'll die before me and that will be one of the last laughs I get before I "leave this life" and become wrapped in the holy arms of Jesus for all eternity. Jesus loves me and I take great comfort in that.

SNOOP DOGG IS A MORMON

CNN is reporting that Calvin Broadus, aka Snoop Dogg, aka the ugliest piece of shit I've ever seen but one pretty funny dude, has converted to Mormonism. "Brother Dogg", as he will now be known in his social circles, apparently had been investigating the church for a year. CNN says:

In what some may consider an unexpected move, rap artist "Snoop Dogg" has reportedly converted to Mormonism. Snoop Dogg says he "can't get enough of the Book of Mormon."

In a statement, a spokeswoman for Snoop Dogg -- whose real name is Calvin Broadus -- said he considers himself extremely fortunate to have discovered such a deep sense of spiritual fulfillment at this stage in his life.

In another statement, new LDS Prophet Thomas S. Monson said, "When I was a 25 year-old Bishop living in Salt Lake City I once brought groceries to a widow named Snoop Dogg. 'Sister Dogg', I said. 'Have some gooseberry pie'. 'Oh no Brother Monson', she said. 'Call me Sister Snoop.' Then we talked about the Book of Mormon and all were edified."

I guess Snoop feels the same way. Mormonism is true and all other religions are an abomination in God's sight so no doubt Snoop feels the Spirit telling him as much. Hey, there's no way this could be a joke is there? Anyone there? Anyone?