I'm Out Of My Tree...

I'm actually going into the real world for the next few days and doing some real work...to feed my minions. I'll be back Sunday or Monday. Same nutty place, same nutty blogger. See you then.

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I'm Out Of My Tree...

Democrats on an Escalator

Somebody. Hello! There are two [Democrats] stuck on an escalator, and we need help. Now. Would somebody please do something.

HELP!

Puerile and dumb, but good nonetheless.

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Democrats on an Escalator

Even the Oldest Zombie Thinks b. Hussein Is Nuts

You know it's a bad day in hell when the Zombie who knows best calls b. Hussein out for his power grab.

West Virginia Senator Robert Byrd (and I use the term "senator" loosely), in his own nutty way, railed at the president over his appointment of White House federal policy czars as a power grab by the executive branch. In a letter to b. Hussein, Byrd wrote:

As presidential assistants and advisers, these White House staffers are not accountable for their actions to the Congress, to cabinet officials, and to virtually anyone but the president. They rarely testify before congressional committees, and often shield the information and decision-making process behind the assertion of executive privilege. In too many instances, White House staff have been allowed to inhibit openness and transparency, and reduce accountability.

That's quite rich coming from a former Exalted Cyclops in the Klu Klux Klan. It's actually one of his saner moments. And, as a result, Robert, I want to say to you, from the bottom of my pinky hangnail, "Thank God, for you. THANK GOD, for you," as you did about Senator Edward "I don't drive too well, but I'm a great swimmer" Kennedy some months ago:

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Even the Oldest Zombie Thinks b. Hussein Is Nuts

SNARK Double FEATURE!

Houston Lawmakers Caned in Public for Being So Stupid

Houston Mayor Bill White had all of City Council caned in public this afternoon for even suggesting the city pay off some debts so that first-time homebuyers could own homes.

The friggin’ “Credit Score Enhancement Program” would have given up to $3,000 in grants to losers trying to qualify for mortgages through the city’s homebuyers assistance program, even after Rick Santelli’s much publicized rant last week. City officials say some applicants fall short of eligibility by only 10 or 20 points on their credit scores, because they own too many big-screen TVs, reclining theater seating, and deluxe barbeque grills for their income level, and paying off some debt balances could quickly make them more attractive for government handout indoctrination.

Apparently, city officials weren’t smart enough to take a look around the rest of the country and see nearly double digit unemployment in some areas, and bank failure after bank failure, precisely because certain “ineligible” individuals couldn’t afford to pay their mortgages when banks, pushed by Democrats, relaxed lending rules.

Council members professed their "embarrassment" about the proposal, after every person in the country with even a basic understanding of balancing a checkbook flooded the City Hall switchboard with calls of outrage.

White made all council members stand outside City Hall and receive 7 lashings with a cane, then took a beating himself. Area senior citizens, who long ago paid off their mortgages, did the bludgeoning. One older woman seemed to particularly enjoy imparting the beatings. During each one she could be heard saying: “I…paid…for my…home…without…a dime…from you idiots!”

Afterward, City Councilwoman Anne Clutterbuck, visibly bruised and shaken, said she learned her lesson: “I’ll never…ever…even THINK of giving taxpayer money away so freely again.”


The War on Shrimp

The House of Representatives voted today to approve the Captive Shellfish Safety Act (HR 80) in an effort to ban human Americans from owning raging shellfish. (The Gorgons, the nation’s alien inhabitants, would be exempt if the bill becomes law. House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, a Gorgon from Caul-i-for-n-i-a, said her family members needed to maintain sustenance from shellfish, the main intellectual entertainment on that planet.) The bill moves to the Senate after 323 Gorgons voted in support, with 95 Americans opposing.

If the bill passes the Senate and becomes law, it would be illegal to transport shellfish and other moist and mucousy things in shells from beneath the sea across state lines for individual use as pets.

Brought up on the House floor only yesterday, the bill gained momentum with lightening speed due to some Gorgons resenting American individuality and gall to own such beasts. The bill's co-sponsor, Earl Blumenauer (G-Ore.), said the debate centered on two main points of contention: that regulating shellfish ownership was a pressing national issue (even bigger than Porkulus) and "that it would stop the ability of Americans (in-bred bastards that they are) from having shellfish as a pet in their own home."

Responding to questions from the American people about the importance of the bill, Blumenauer released a statement that read, in part: "We all feel very badly about the woman in the hospital, who had her face ripped off by a shrimp last week, and we think outlawing ownership of shellfish in this country is one of the most important events of our lifetimes, bigger than economic instability, bigger than individual freedom, and bigger than the question: ‘Do I order filet minion or Costoletta Di Vitello Arrostita Servita Con Patate Novelle Al Forno E Funghi Misti (veal chop with roasted potatoes and mushrooms) on the taxpayer after we get out of session tonight?’ We’re dealing with the present and future of America here, people.”

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SNARK Double FEATURE!

The American Form of Government

I am not a "fascist." You lefties are...and you don't know jack...because you have no concept of freedom.

Learn here:



UPDATE: You can also learn a lot more over here.

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The American Form of Government

When the SS Comes to My House…

Next time the sign in Chip Harrison’s car might say something like: “I’m sorry, Mr. Policeman, Mr. Messiah, and Mr. Secret Service Guy. I love babies more than I do the president. I want them to stay and him to go away -- when his term is over…let me make that clear…WHEN HIS TERM IS OVER…OR HE’S IMPEACHED.”

If the sign fits in the window.

Or maybe it will say something more direct, but legal, such as: “Go Frig Yourself, Mr. President.”

But what it WON’T say is: “Abort Obama Not the Unborn.” Why be clever when it gets you associated with “hate groups?”

If you’ve spent any time around this nutty place, you probably have a clear understanding that I’m not exactly in love with b. Hussein. Hmm…does that make me part of a “hate group?” Should I be expecting a visit from the Secret Service, too?

There’s still time to find out…and I’m pretty sure how it will go….

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Two men in black stand rigidly at the door. One reaches out like a dumb friggin’ robot to push the doorbell.

RIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGG! RIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGG! RIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGG!

What appear to be explosions erupt inside the house. A vicious dog barks 40 times a second. A chorus of high-pitched screeching approaches the door amid the warnings of the attack dog. The cacophony is so loud one agent puts a hand over his ear. The silhouette of a man becomes clear through the door’s tempered glass. He appears to be bobbing and weaving, as if he were a boxer. He seems to trip… over two smaller silhouettes, and a white amorphous mass, the front of which seems to bounce off the floor like a jackhammer. Up and down. BARK BARK BARK! Up and down. BARK BARK BARK! Up and down.

Secret Service Man #1 reaches his right hand beneath his jacket and flips the catch on his shoulder holster, then returns the hand to his side.

BAM! The man inside slams into the door: Shit!

He fumbles for the locks, frees them, and shouts: Hold on…wait…Dog (real name withheld to protect the guilty)…DAMMIT! DOG!...Lucy? LUCY!? (real name again withheld to protect the guilty) CAN YOU GET THIS FRIGGIN’ BEAST OUT OF HERE?

Two smaller silhouettes, apparently young children, seem to be hopping up and down, as if on a trampoline.

The silhouette of (apparently) “Lucy” pulls the amorphous white mass that is “Dog” back into the recesses of the house, the sound of a million paw nails scratching the floor loud, then diminishing, then gone.

[Narrator interruption: I shit you not. This happens any time anyone rings the door bell. Neighbor kid. Pizza man. Church lady. Secret Service.]

The door opens. Just a little. A bespectacled man with wild curly hair pokes his head through the crack.

SS#1: Sir. Are you Dr. Dave ADHD?

Man: Umm…yes. Can I help you?

Secret Service Man #2: We’re with the Secret Service, Mr. ADHD.

Both men extract wallets and flip them open so quickly to reveal identification, the man in the door blinks a few times.

Man: Is that something you learn as freshmen in Secret Service School?

SS#1: Frowns. Sir. We’re here on official government business.

Man: Smiles, like a jackass. Umm…yeah…I got that when you said the words “Secret Service.”

SS#2: Sir. We understand you write a seditious blog. We’re concerned you’re with a hate group. We’d like to come in and look around.

Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

SS#1: Sir. Can we have a look around…inside?

Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

SS#1: MR. ADHD!

Man: Collects himself. Sure. Why the hell not? Welcome to my nightmare!

Man opens the door. Two children swoop past him. From somewhere inside the house, a million paw nails scratch the floor, the sound drawing closer and closer.

“Lucy”: Dog. Dog! Get BACK here!

Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

SS#1 and SS#2 cross the threshold into the house. The two children block their path. The white amorphous “Dog” jumps between the two children, tail wagging, knocking both of them to the floor.

“Dog” jumps up and plants its paws on SS#1’s chest…and licks SS#2’s trigger hand.

Boy and Girl recover, pull themselves off the floor, and, hopping up and down, again block the path of SS#1 and SS#2.

Boy: Why are you wearing black? Hop. Hop. Hop.

Girl: Yeah. Why? Hop. Hop. Hop.

Boy: Can we have those sunglasses? Hop. Hop. Hop.

Girl: Yeah. Can we? Hop. Hop. Hop.

“Dog” jumps down from SS#1 and jumps on SS#2’s chest…and licks SS#1’s trigger hand.

Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

SS#1: MR. ADHD. If you could, PLEASE!

Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

Boy: Did you come to see Daddy’s guns?

Girl: Yeah. Did you?

Boy: My daddy was in the Army!

Girl: Yeah. The Army!

Boy: He hates Obama!

Girl: Yeah. Rock Obama! [Narrator translation: This one thinks “Obama has rocks in his head” sounds better her way.]

SS#1 smiles. So…Mr. ADHD. You’re flying your flag outside upside down. You have a seditious blog. You own guns. You “hate” the president. You want to tell us about your hate?

Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs. I’m just a blogger, man. I’m just having fun.

Boy: Want to play football?

Girl: No. Play babies!

SS#2: Sir. Can you do something about these children?

Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs. I’ve been trying. For 7 years. That’s why I blog. So I can take my frustration out on dumb people. Your boss just happens to be the dumbest one around. Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

Girl: Rock Obama!

Boy: I lost my tooth. Grins widely. See?

Girl: Daddy makes fires in the fireplace so I can warm belly? Pulls up her shirt. See?

“Dog” still licks SS#1’s trigger hand.

Boy: Want to see my room?

Girl: No. Mine!

Boy: I like pizza! Do you?

Girl: Yeah. Pizza!

Boy growls. [Narrator: This is an involuntary reflex, we think. Or maybe he really is a monster.]

THUD! Everyone turns around to see Man lying on the floor.

“Lucy”: Hun? Hun, are you okay?

Man was laughing so hard he could no longer stand up. “Dog” hovers over him and starts licking his face.

SS#2 turns to SS#1: Umm…I don’t think this man belongs to any hate group. But he sure isn’t right in the head.

SS#1 turns to “Lucy”: Ma’am. Can we call someone for your husband?

Man stops laughing: Yes. Please! Take me away! I’ll even go to the gulag. Just…get…me…out of here!

Man then laughs. And laughs. And laughs.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

If you made it all the way through my crap, you deserve a reward:

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When the SS Comes to My House…

Bumbling Gibbs Responds To Santelli

Hey, Robert...the American people think you're a friggin' jackass illiterate crackpot who's helping drive Wall Street down...down...down...and down.

Go frig yourself, and your boss...I'm with Rick Santelli.



UPDATE: And Rick responds.

Or...a less-caffeinated version:



UPDATE II: And CNBC's roundtable discussion on Santelli and the White House response. (P.S. Shhhh! They think Rick is right (as in correct)!

UPDATE III: And shithead socialist Keith Olbermann...who took the attack route and misREPRESENTED Santelli's arguments...probably because he has a great tax shelter in the Cayman's for his friggin' millions...as "big business against poor American."

What "businessmen" (i.e. bankers, Mr. Olbermann) did to this country is exactly what the Democrats wanted them to do to this country. I call upon you, Mr. Dickhead, to come forward and bailout a few homeowners yourself.....(silence)....Yeah...I thought that'd be your response.

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Bumbling Gibbs Responds To Santelli

25 Friggin’ Random Things About Me That Facebook Doesn’t Own

Earlier this week, Facebook made the bonehead move (I’d say “of the week,” but then the president signed GoFrigYourselfus and trumped all such claims for the foreseeable future) of changing its licensing policy.

By posting User Content to any part of the Site, you automatically grant, and you represent and warrant that you have the right to grant, to the Company an irrevocable, perpetual, non-exclusive, transferable, fully paid, worldwide license (with the right to sublicense) to use, copy, publicly perform, publicly display, reformat, translate, excerpt (in whole or in part) and distribute such User Content for any purpose, commercial, advertising, or otherwise, on or in connection with the Site or the promotion thereof, to prepare derivative works of, or incorporate into other works, such User Content, and to grant and authorize sublicenses of the foregoing.

Naturally, Facebook users had a friggin’ Boston Tea Party, in our silly way. (My contribution was virtually “flipping the bird” at Facebook for the day...puerile, I know, but it made me happy.)

The revolt worked. Facebook backed off…for now.

My issue wasn’t -- and still isn’t -- about “privacy.” It’s about ownership: The links from Facebook back to this blog and the content from here that I post on Facebook didn’t come from Facebook, isn’t owned by Facebook, and Facebook can go frig themselves if they think they can ever reuse it without crediting me.

So…I’m posting here my mindless contribution...as goofy as this thing is...to the “25 Random Things About Me” craze that swept Facebook earlier this month, so that it’s officially recorded as being mine.

Posted on Facebook, 2/14/2009

1. I just finished a friggin' hilarious blog post about Nadya Suleman called "The Adventures of Womb Woman."
2. Now I'm cracking open a beer (after midnight)....and it ain't no friggin' cheap-ass Budweiser.
3. I've been tagged a half dozen times with this exercise in the last week or so, and...while I appreciate the interest...this is the only time I'll respond...I have other friggin' nonsense to write. (That said, I'm tagging a bunch of you...those who've tagged me already...and those who haven't....so if I rub you wrong...friggin' sue me!)
4. I stepped on a rusty nail on my 5th birthday. I stepped on a rusty nail the following year. Therefore, I am intimately familiar with tetanus shots and the paralysis they can impart on your arm.
5. I once traded a Susan B. Anthony for a pack of Topps baseball cards. I got a Cal Ripken. It was worth it.
6. I have more shit that I've kept since I was a kid than my wife can possibly comprehend...if she really knew, she'd have me sell it (for nothing)...or burn it... just to free up space for the kids' crap we've kept since they were born.
7. My first car was a Ford. My second was a Datsun (that's a Nissan, for you newcomers). I have many fond memories of the reclining seats of both.
8. I liked the Ford a hell of a lot more, however. I've owned only one "foreign" car since (a Mazda). I'll now own Fords until they die or I do.
9. I joined the Army the day after Reagan bombed Moammar Qaddafii. Reagan's gone (We could always use him again, though). Qaddaffi's still in power; go figure.
10. I lived in Germany for about 4 years, 3 in the Army, 1 as a civilian. I know every bar in the city of Frankfurt ...I speak fluent German only when under the influence...and I can't wait to take my wife there whenever the friggin' economy gives me a break.
11. I was the lead singer in a metal band called False Premise when I was in Germany. We sucked...royally. But I had the time of my life. Thanks...the ladies will remain unnamed.
12. I never made it to Hollywood to follow in the footsteps of my boyhood heroes: Mötley Crue, Ozzy, and the Sex Pistols. I'm really friggin' glad I didn't.
13. I was pretty sure at the age of 20 that I'd never live past the age of 30. I still don't know how I made it into my 40s.
14. I went to college in a town called California. It's south of Pittsburgh. I met my wife there. She saved my ass. I'm eternally in her debt. I also met many of my lifelong friends there. I also learned to root for the Steelers, and will never root for another.
15. I was a reporter for the newspaper publisher who spent more money trying to bring down Bill Clinton than anyone (Pittsburgh Tribune-Review). It was a bizarre time. The newsroom wasn't always a pleasant place to be.
16. Working for a newspaper, particularly that newspaper, was one of the most interesting things I've ever done. Nine years later, I'm still in touch with many of the people I worked with...and I still remember all 47 going away parties I attended, including mine.
17. I have been a writer since I was a child. I didn't know shit about writing, however, until I met Alan Natal in California. I will forever owe him. I friggin' LOVE YOU man...and I always will. "We were somewhere outside Barstow when the drugs began to take hold."
18. I know about 3 dozen other people who owe Alan Natali as much as I do...and I know they love him, too.
19. And all of us owe Ron Forsythe just as much. I hope you're giving Zeus an earful, my friend.
20. I have been married for 10 years to my wonderful wife, ZZZZZ, and I owe her my life.
21. Then again, she talked me into having 2 children...so I'll never forgive her. We all need balance in this life.
22. So much so, that I'm willing to concede that my children are the second greatest thing that's ever happened to me. My wife is the first.
23. But all three of them have contributed to my becoming a blogger: the end of the day is made for resolutions, and there's nothing more resolving than blogging like a friggin' maniac about anything that will bring you peace. Writing is striking from behind the mask: I am SO glad there's always someone out there to take what I'm dishing out.
24. Somewhere along my first week of blogging I fell into doing satire. I'm never friggin' going back.
25. My favorite word is "FUCK"...just don't tell my kids. (They think it's "GOTOBEDNOW!")

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25 Friggin’ Random Things About Me That Facebook Doesn’t Own

How to Get Fired from the MSM

I applaud CNBC's Rick Santelli's fire and honesty on the subject of Porkulus, but, unfortunately, I suspect he'll soon be selling "miracle products" on TV at 3 a.m. with Vince and Billy Mays:



ACTUALLY, I'm quite fond of tea parties. And I've always wondered why so many Americans seem to take government crap up their ass anymore (that's right...the government doesn't crap out...it craps UP your ass).

I've heard tell we're lemmings, we're sheep.

But...I wonder.

Would you be interested in a tea party, too?

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How to Get Fired from the MSM

Great Moments in Al Bundy's Life

And now for something completely different...

One of the reasons I no longer watch much TV is...well...I have this friggin' blog to feed.

But there's really not much on TV anymore that appeals to me. I can handle a gazillion seasons of Lost, 24, and House for only so long.

But Married With Children? I could watch that show forever. Al Bundy is an island unto himself...in Al Gore's twisted world of rising oceans and sinking land masses.

Luckily, Uncoached could too, as evidenced by this posting of "Great Moments in Al Bundy and Hot Chicks."

Sorry ladies, but I must offend...mi compadre in matters of family doth need worshiping. (And, if truth must be told, it shows how lame we men really are...but I digress.)



Go ahead...click the link...you know you want more.

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Great Moments in Al Bundy's Life

SILENCE! The Takeover Continues...Bloggers Beware!

Now that the next gold rush...I mean, free-for-all for government cash (that doesn't exist) is on to expand the welfare class again, thanks to b. Hussein's pompous signature of GoFrigYourselfus today, next on the evil Zombies' agenda is the Fairness Doctrine...the outright silencing of talk radio in America.

But...HARK!

The evil plot has many tentacles (the leathery sound of Zombies rubbing their hands together maniacally should be filling your ears right about now...gee...I hope their fingers don't fall off).

Not only will you soon cease to hear your favorite voices (rather than join the legal battles sure to follow or struggle to find any "progressive voices" people will listen to -- and advertisers will sponsor -- in order to "balance" their airwaves), many radio stations will choose alternative formatting...like the Adventures of the Thin Man, The Green Hornet, and daytime soaps...which will soon fizzle out on TV anyway.

It gets even better....

If Henry Waxman, the odious Creature from the Black Lagoon in the flesh, has his way...this is what you'll read here on these pages at some point in the future....
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...because WaxMonkey (he does kinda look like a little bald monkey, doesn't he?) has it in for bloggers, too. (Some of you probably might like me to shut up anyway...and, I have to admit, it would be nice to put my ADHD to better use...like trying to find a baseball player who hasn't done steroids for my kid to idolize.)

As yesterday's American Spectator article quotes a House staffer saying, WaxMonkey wants to stick his claws into the Internet and find out:

Does one heavily trafficked Internet site present one side of an issue and not link to sites that present alternative views?

Umm...gee...WaxMonkey....I don't claim to be "heavily trafficked," but I sure as shit claim to present one friggin' side of an issue. Why the hell should I present the other side when I don't believe it, or believe in it? Besides, what's the old radio adage? "If you don't like the station, turn the dial."

Does this mean that WaxMonkey and the FCC would have places like Ace of Spades, Newsbusters, Atlas Shrugs, Iowahawk, and other popular "one-sided" sites shut down if they don't adhere to the rulings of "advisory boards" that would act as watchdogs to ensure "community needs and opinions" are given fair treatment?

Will we soon be required to file a license with the FCC, or these local "advisory boards," in order to blog? Will the Huffington Post (yeah...right!)?

Does this not alarm you?

It should.

But no...I'm just some little right-wing wacko who sees DANGER! WILL ROBINSON! DANGER! in the encroaching (liberal) federal power grab. (You mean like the FCC being able to adopt new rules that put a lid on the First Amendment without having to run them through Congress or the President? You friggin' BETCHA! That's why the Zombies are ALSO looking to put a lid on the defender of all the Amendments.)

And besides, all D.C. really has to do is say: Google...you have an agenda...so do we. So let's have Quid pro quo...now!

Then...

SILENCE!

Follows.

UPDATE: Shit...why am I worried about my ability to spew idiocy when REPUBLICANS are talking about helping b. Hussein nationalize the banks!?! That's it. I'm pulling my market accounts and investing in gold...and pre-Obama stamp ammo.

UPDATE II: Well...I'll be damned. b. Hussein doesn't like the Fairness Doctrine. That doesn't mean I believe him.

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SILENCE! The Takeover Continues...Bloggers Beware!

Promises, Friggin' Promises

Let's count how many times you've screwed 62 million American Zombies out of their votes -- and 240 million of us who didn't or couldn't vote for you -- in two minutes (yeah, b. Hussein...I'm talking about GoFrigYourselfulus):

Leave it to bloggers to point this crap out -- meaning, where's the friggin' "objective" media?:

1. NO LOBBYISTS IN MY ADMINISTRATION. Umm...I guess Tommy was going to be an errand boy? "Here, Tommy...can you clean up after my puppy, too?" (Well...that's not really in this video, but he said it, and it's not true...so why not lump it in here?)

2. Make government open and transparent. Ummkay...when you say "transparent" do you, like, mean brick walls? 'Cause I haven't seen it yet...

3. Make it "impossible" for Congressmen to slip in pork barrel projects. Mr. President...you're a friggin' idiot if you think I can't read what's in that jackass bill. (I guess before you do the Fairness Doctrine, you should eliminate the teaching of reading in this country...so your subjects don't get smarter than you...oh...but how are you going to stop us homeschoolers?)

4. Meetings where laws are written will be more open to the public. (Even Congressional Republicans shut out.) Gee, b....you think we're really that dumb?

5. No more secrecy. I actually think W. was more open at this point than you are.

6. Public will have 5 days to look at a bill. NOT EVEN 12 HOURS, JACKASS...you're a FRIGGIN' liar...what's the matter, did Nancy convince you she really had to have it done before she flew to Rome on me?

7. You’ll know what’s in it. Really...how...by friggin' osmosis? Or waiting for Helen Thomas to tell me what's in it?

8. We will put every pork barrel project online. OH...GO FRIG...YOURSELF, b. We're too smart for your friggin' dumbass charisma. Keep it up...you're shaping up to be the next Jimmy Carter in record time.

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Promises, Friggin' Promises

Zombies Must Have Dinner Before Porkulus

New York Post

b. Hussein, all in a rush to pass that urgent piece of socialist crap I'm lately calling GoFrigYourselfulus, decided the bill wasn't urgent enough for him to stick around bleary D.C. all weekend. He's off to Chicago for a getaway with Mrs. Hussein...

Is that GoFrigYourselfulus in her doggie bag?

Savoring every morsel, perhaps, before kicking off a zombie economy?

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Zombies Must Have Dinner Before Porkulus

Night of the Living Democrats

On oldie but a goodie from JimJab...

Zombies attack; REPUBLICANS BAD!

"Who knows what other danger lurks in the darkness..."

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Night of the Living Democrats

The Adventures of Womb Woman

Narrator: Look. Up in the sky! It’s a UFO! It’s the Goodyear blimp! It’s…WOMB WOMAN!

She’s not your average super hero. (With all that frontal weight, she can barely get off the ground and fly, anyway.) Yet, she’s able to transform 6 artificially-inseminated embryos into 8 babies. Why, Womb Woman doesn’t even need, let alone want, a man. (“They’re…like…so hairy and stuff.”)

But SHAZAM! can she carry a load in a single bound! Heck, right now, inside that incredibly ballooning repository of juiced embryos grows the nation’s future. Not a month after popping out kids 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13…phew!...and 14, she’s cooking her next bun(s).

Mild-mannered-graduate-student-welfare-mom by day, Womb Woman by night, Nadya Suleman is a former secret weapon created after an organic bean sprout experiment funded by the Democratic National Committee went horribly wrong. Researchers were hoping to create the first of thousands of organic superfoods that would drive commercial “red state” farmers out of business. Instead, the experiment went awry, and Suleman developed amazing powers to produce dozens of children without the help of a single man.

The Bush administration (rightfully so) kept her hidden in Guantanamo for fear she’d mass-produce terrorist cells in her mother’s living room (it’s only a three-bedroom house, so animosity towards a cruel government that wouldn’t buy them a mansion was inevitable). But when President b. Hussein issued the order to close Gitmo, Suleman was released…and the president quickly gave her a secret job, special counsel on child production.

Now, unleashed on America as Womb Woman, to expand the population and help Democrats redistribute wealth, she’s lovingly called -- in confidence -- “Leviathan.”

We catch up with the president and Womb Woman in the president’s secret lair: Young Jeezy’s posh Atlanta apartment. In the background, we hear the lyrics to Jeezy’s “My President Is Black.”

b. Hussein: “Leviathan, I’m confident this is going to be a good year for us both. We just got Porkulus, and I’ll sign it in the morning. We’re rolling out the National Bank of Obama next…and soon we’ll go for the Fairness Doctrine and silence all dissent in this country. With you expanding the welfare class, we can’t be stopped. But I really need you to do something…more immediate…for me. Would you…ah…be my Secretary of Commerce? I’m kind of flailing about here, looking for anyone who’ll take it. You can handle big numbers; and we know how well you manipulate the system. I believe you have something to share with everyone…so much more than helping us expand the welfare class.”

Womb Woman: “Thanks, b., but I only carry ‘em and spit ‘em out. My mom and the nanny service does the rest. You want me to help populate the country with welfare babies? I’m cool with that. But don’t expect me to watch over them and tell them where to go and what to do. Go ask Hillary to have her village pitch in. I gotta go see my publicist. I hear there’s a deal in the works for an exciting reality show called In-Vitro Survivor. I want to be in on the ground floor.”

Womb Woman attempts to fly off…but her cape gets caught around her belly. B. Hussein tries to unfurl the cloth and give her a boost from behind, but he stumbles. Her ample behind is too heavy to push, even for him. And the cape is now wrapped around her head…only her eyes show.

b. Hussein suggests she use the door instead and try to fly from the alley. He closes it behind her and wipes his brow. He unhooks his Blackberry from its belt holster, pushes the secure button, and speed-dials Chief of Staff Rhambo Emanuel. [He does not hear the silent patch that breaks into the line as a hacker hijacks his $3,300 “secure” phone and starts to record.]

Rhambo: Yeah. What is it? I’m trying to break off another finger in some Republican’s eye, so he’ll vote for the next bailout package. Umm…are we on a secure line?

b. Hussein: Yeah, cuddlefish…I’m on the Blackberry.

Rhambo: Ok, lover. I miss you.

b. Hussein: Listen, I don’t have a lot of time. Nancy Pelosi wants to come in here, before she flies off to Rome, and give me an earful about a bill that would require every American to buy two of these stupid super golfcarts we built into the stimulus for government employees…ha ha ha…Rhambo…I still laugh my ass off every time we call that thing a “stimulus”… anyway…I really should have myself checked for ADHD…like I was saying…ah…we really need to do something about Leviathan.

Rhambo: She won’t take the Secretary of Commerce job?

b. Hussein: You called it, dude. She just wants to have babies. Forget managing them.

Rhambo: I think I have something in mind.

b. Hussein: Good. We need to end this little affair. Hmmm….[licks his lips]…Can’t wait to rub your finger stub.

Click! Both men hang up. The hacker…far away…on a truly secure line…smiles.
……………………………………………………………………………………………
Meanwhile, Womb Woman has managed to cross the country…after three pit stops to have her shoes inflated, her belly lubed, and her lips enhanced. She now sits in her own secret hideout, the livingroom of her parent’s three-bedroom California home:

Womb Woman: That jackass is up to something.

The Nanny: Well…he’s probably not up to 8 dirty diapers an hour. Say…I just noticed you were out. Didn’t you pick any up while you were out?

Womb Woman: Cool it, bitch. The government grocery truck is supposed to come by at 3. You’ll get your diapers. They will provide.

Nanny: Oh…yeah…the stimulus. I almost forgot. Oh…speaking of almost forgetting…you have a couple messages over there on the table. One from…hmm…oh yeah…one from Chrysler, another from GM, and 2 each from Bank of America and Citigroup. They all want to advertise on your belly. Something about tying your waistline to the size of the discounts they’re throwing at customers. I don't see why they just don't hire your PR firm if they’re all after the same idea.

Womb Woman: I don’t have time for that nonsense! Be quiet, now! I’ve got to figure something out.

Womb Woman picks up the phone and dials the number of her fertility doctor.

Womb Woman: Hey, doc. What’s up?

Doctor: Why, hell, Nadya. Nice to hear your voice. I see the government’s been paying your cable bill so you can watch Cartoon Network. By the way: How’s your next batch of kids coming along?

Womb Woman: Right as the mail, doc. Right as the mail. Hey…listen…I have to ask you a question: What would happen if I slipped some of that stuff you give me to help my embryos multiply…what would it do to a man?

Doctor: Well…if you gave him enough…and this is really just speculating…because I’m already in enough trouble over your “eight isn’t enough”…but, well, he might lose his hair, start speaking with a girl’s voice, and spontaneously grab his crotch and break into Michael Jackson’s tired ‘80s dance routines.

Narrator: Tune in next time, when Womb Woman spits out 14 more children, invites the president to a secret dinner, and tells him she’s never had a man and wants to act out the New York Times blogger's fantasy of making love to him. Meanwhile, Rhambo’s evil plot to do in Womb Woman tightens, while the Hacker goes national with his secret recordings!

Same womb time! Same womb channel!

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The Adventures of Womb Woman

(8) Bad Friggin' Decisions

TMZ

What's worse than having no job, mooching off the government and your parents in their three-bedroom house, AND having 6 kids with no father?

Having no job, mooching off the government and your parents in their three-bedroom house, having 14 kids with no father, AND ripping off compassionate (read: DUMB!) people.

Yes, Nadya Suleman, who TMZ calls "OctoMom," as in this headline (accompanying the above image)...

OctoMom -- It Was a Very Goodyear

...now has her very own website so she can, of course, take donations. (Is that Neil Young I hear singing "Welfare Mothers" in the background?)

She must be collecting money so that TMZ can catch her buying more video games with more of your money. (And so they can put forth more zingers like this one: "14 Wii controllers will run you $559.96." I am submitting my application for employment just as soon as I finish this post.)

The creepy Suleman doesn't think she's sucking on the government (welfare) teet. To follow her line of thinking, the $490 a month she receives in food stamps, and the federal disability payments she receives for 3 of her other 6 children, must be our gift to her.

And we keep giving.

The state of California...the BROKE state of California, mind you, the state that has instituted mandatory Fridays off without pay for state employees and given California taxpayers an IOU this year...will be into the Suleman octuplets for probably around $1 million for birth and aftercare (this, of course, is before Suleman changes her food stamp application and likely applies for further disability...because you know at least half of those 8 new kids are going to have behavior problems, since there's no way in hell she'll ever be able to mother them all equally).

This...is...all...sounding...too...funny (not funny "haha," funny "faux pas").

Because...you know if Angelina Jolie is "creeped out" by someone...well...then she's REALLY friggin' creepy.

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(8) Bad Friggin' Decisions

My Plans for the Extra $13 a Week I Get from GoFrigYourselfulus

The Congressional Gods have smiled and come to a tentative agreement to merge Porkulus and son of Porkulus into something you can probably call GoFrigYourselfulus.

The highlight? For me? The taxpayer the stimulus is supposed to convince that it’s cool to spend my money again and help get the economy moving back toward the end…I mean black?

I’ll get a whopping extra $13 a week in my paycheck. That’s friggin’ AWESOME, Mr. President, dude! I…am…so...stoked. Why, it makes me just want to go out and ask the president a question in such an excited manner that…like Julio Osegueda (who ALSO gets an extra $13 a week…hot DAMN!)…I, too, get discovered and get a real job (even for a day).

So…in my excitement…and in honor of President b. Hussein and Osegueda, I’d like to spell out what I’m going to do with my stimulus.

1. I’m going to call DirecTV and add the Playboy channel. The channel is only $12.99 a month for the first three months, and it promises fun had by all. But I’m not going to stop there. Since I’ve spent ONLY one-quarter of my monthly stimulus on the channel itself, I’m going to print up leaflets (on used paper, of course) and invite the three “homeless” guys who hang around my office begging for change in their brand-new Nike Zoom Lebron IV shoes (retail value $109) to come by my house every first Wednesday of the month and let them watch the new channel. I’ll move all of the furniture out of the TV room and lay down plastic (so they feel more at home). I also plan to splurge and get them each a fifth of Vladimir vodka, which is pretty much top shelf for homeless guys…if they really are homeless.
2. So now that I’ve spent about $20 of the $52 dear sweet valiant charming worshipful b. Hussein has given me each month…I think I’ll spend a little bit there on the wife. Yeah…instead of letting her hit the Salvation Army Thrift Shop for clothing, and the Peanut Corporation of America for protein (we’ve got to pay for DirecTV somehow…it says so right there in the Constitution that it’s our right to have a million channels or more...your risk of food poisoning be damned!), I’m going to give her a treat: I’ll let her spend $20 a month at Wal-Mart! That’s right, with all the “price-slashing!” that goes on at that awesome place, my baby should be able to pick up an extra pair of drawers for herself, 3 boxes of mac and cheese for the kids, and maybe even a moldy, 99% fat steak for me once in a while. Hey…all the best for my family, man.
3. So that leaves me $12 a month. THANK YOU MR. PRESIDENT. LORD, JESUS, THANK YOU! I’ll be a little more creative with this last gift from God…um…I mean The Messiah. Hmm…let’s see. Oh. I know! Since gas is now as cheap as it was when George W. Bush took office, I think I’ll take up driving again! That’s right, no more leaving for the office at 4 a.m. so I can walk the 30 miles every morning and still make it on time. Why, think of the money I’ll save in shoes! I won’t have to spend $15 every month at the used shoe store for the next pair of Pro-Keds I’ll wear to shreds. I can just fill the tank with good old petro (right up until the time it all runs out because b. Hussein doesn’t want anymore offshore drilling…one must protect the plankton, you see!).
4. Now…for the rest of my stimulus. Oh…wait…that’s all there is. Wow. It’s amazing how fast it takes to spend $52 a month. I guess I’ll be watching my stimulus just like I do my 401k…go down…and down…and down.

Gee. If it takes me about 7 days to spend the extra $52 a month I’m going to get from the stimulus, I wonder how fast it will take the federal government to spend $830 billion (give or take a few billion…what’s a billion anymore, anyway?). What’s that? Most of it won’t be spent until 2010, 2011, and 2012?

Hmm…that’s awfully slow-moving for a supposed “jolt” to the economy, to quote our dear President b. Hussein. My…I wonder who’s really getting the rest of all that money? Is there a greater design?

Maybe this will help me figure it out:

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My Plans for the Extra $13 a Week I Get from GoFrigYourselfulus

21st Century Man (b. Hussein mix)

Based on “20th Century Man” by the Kinks, one of my favorite friggin’ songs. With apologies to Ray Davies….

This is the age of political machinery,
A Chicago Way nightmare,
The wonderful world of socialism,
“Stimulus” defenseless nation bad debt buyout,

This is the twenty-first century,
But too much coronation
It’s the age of insanity,
What has become of Ole Glory and the Constitution.

Ain’t got no ambition, I’m just disillusioned
I’m a twenty-first century man but I don’t wanna be here.

My senator said he can’t understand me
He can’t see my adulation
Just give me some more welfare please,
I’m a paranoid deluded product of the Obama century.

You keep all your weak modern socialists
Give me Ronald Reagan
You keep your tax-cheating cabinet members
I’ll take Jefferson, Franklin, Washington and Cato,

Lord, we gotta get out of here
We gotta find a solution
I’m a twenty-first century man but I don’t want to die here.

I was born in a welfare state
Ruled by Obamatocracy
Controlled by federal mandates
And robots dressed in grey
Got no privacy got no liberty
‘Cos the twenty-first century people
Made sure I’d never be free.

Don’t wanna get myself shot down
By some Obama civil defenseman,
Gotta keep a hold on my sanity
I’m a twenty-first century man but I don’t wanna die here.

My senator said he can’t understand me
He can’t see my adulation
Just give me some more welfare please,
I’m a paranoid deluded product of the Obama century.

This is the twenty-first century,
But too much coronation
This is the edge of insanity,
I’m a twenty-first century man but I don’t wanna be here.

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21st Century Man (b. Hussein mix)

Arlen Sphincter: Why I Support Porkulus

I’m Arlen Sphincter, and I wasn’t born into this world. I fell out of a Democrat’s ass…and I’ve been leaving a stain wherever I travel since.

I support Porkulus because I’m a dope of epic proportions. Not only did I start my political career as a Democrat, but you have me to thank for the invention of the asinine single-bullet theory in the Warren Commission Report. Being only a paper supporter of the 2nd Amendment and not actually owning any weapons (accept for the pen I use to sign big-spending legislation), I don’t have any concept of the trajectory of bullets or what happens if one would enter two human bodies and supposedly skewer 15 layers of clothing, 7 layers of skin, and some 15 inches of tissue, striking a necktie knot, eviscerating 4 inches of rib, and shattering a radius bone along the way. I would think that bullet would appear pretty pristine, don’t you? Yeah. I told you I fell out of someone’s ass.


I support Porkulus because the law (or the appearance of it) has always been my guide. I eventually became a Republican (in name only) because I thought it was way cool back in the ‘60s before all the peaceniks came along (or I would have joined them instead). But my real love, above “bi-partisanship,” has always been the law. (That’s why I toe the line and still French kiss Democrats on so many fronts because I “refuse to criminalize” uproariously fun things to do, like having abortions and letting immigrants stay here and have abortions at your expense.) Long before I was one of the [obligatory gag reflex] most respected members of the U.S. Senate, I was an attorney in private practice. I represented greenie wacko Ira Einhorn, the “Unicorn” killer who is credited with founding Earth Day, thank you very much…who also just happened to kill his girlfriend and stuff her in a closet for a couple years. I got the judge to let him out on ridiculously low bail, and Ira fled to Europe for nearly 20 years, avoiding conviction until 2002. That’s just one of my many acts of lavishly spending the taxpayers’…I mean...government’s money. Porkulus, you see, is the biggest piece of crap law to come along in the history of mankind. I just couldn’t resist the chance to be the vote that makes it all happen. (I also fantasize about starting a Congressional pony farm and decorating the ponies’ manes with pink and purple and yellow ribbons, but even Democrats think I’m nutty for it.)

I support Porkulus because I ALWAYS do dumbass things with your…I mean…the government’s money. I count as one of my most meaningful accomplishments the near-Congressional hearings I almost got going on the important subject of the New England Patriots spygate case. I consider the sanctity of the National Football League paramount to our country’s national defense. Why, if we let this kind of thing continue to go on, you just might turn off your TVs…and start paying more attention to what we’re doing here in Congress. You might look for (real…not bullshit) hope and change. I say…I say…I say let’s spend your (government) money to get to the bottom of this…so that Operation NFL-BigScreenTV-AmericanMindMeld can continue as planned. (Shucks…did I just write that? Um…well…I meant to say, so that you fine people can have balanced and honest and wholesome and unrated violence to watch on TV five months out of the year.)

I support Porkulus because I’m a proud conspirator in undermining lots of things. For example, I played a key role in the developments that led to William Safire coining the term “Borked.” You see, I was one of the idiots who backed then Senator Joe Biden (now our thoughtful-speaking vice president) and helped Democrats excoriate Ronald Reagan’s Supreme Court justice nominee Robert Bork and reject his nomination because of his political beliefs. (Why should we have looked at his judicial record when his “beliefs” and his video rental history surely would have governed his thinking on the nation’s highest court? Why, my beliefs always govern my thinking...that’s why I vote like a Democrat! P.S. Please don’t let anyone know my favorite movie is Howard the Duck.)

I support Porkulus because I’m goofy as all hell. I chose the Scots law anachronism (because I am one) of “not proven” in the impeachment proceedings against X-42, instead of just being clear and voting “not guilty,” because we practice Scots law every day here in America. Didn’t you know? Hell, I’m a show off at heart. That’s why I puff up my chest like a rooster when there’s any perception of wrong doing by anyone (see the Patriots), but then I settle down to roost on some hen’s eggs because I’m really just a eunuch.

I support Porkulus because I think it’s wonderful the Democrats are going to saddle my great-grandchildren with socialism, high taxes, poor economic futures, and fun had by all. After all, it’s not every day you get to be completely stupid and attach your name to an $827 economic spending bill that helps Americans buy digital converters for their 1978 TVs, gives money to such powerful economic engines as NASA and the National Science Foundation and the National Institutes of Health (NIH), and has little, if anything , to do with direct relief to the people who really fuel this economy: taxpayers and businesses. (Screw you guys, anyway, you filthy taxpayers and businesses. You’ve never done anything for me, accept keep me in office for 29 years.) Besides, I want the $6.5 billion for NIH medical research to be used for embryonic stem cell research that lets me live forever. THEN, I will run for PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSE (because by then, it will take the taxes of all living organisms in the entire universe to support the annual federal budget)!

I support Porkulus because it’s been said that when I’m within two years of running for re-election, I always throw my big puffy chest to the side of conservatives in my party, so they’ll help me defeat whatever legitimate conservative the good people of Pennsylvania put up against me. I’m up for re-election in 2010. I’ve been here for 29 years and haven’t moved up the ladder. I need a break (before I get to live forever and run for PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSE)…and I know that my support of Porkulus will guarantee that next year the good people of Pennsylvania will shove me back up that asshole from whence I came. [Lord, friggin’ let it be so. Amen!]

That way I can go play with some ponies on a farm somewhere until the NIH cures me of asshole-itis, and I get to live forever and become PRESIDENT OF THE UNIVERSE.

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Arlen Sphincter: Why I Support Porkulus

The Greatest Swimmer... Ftfthfthfthftfhfth... Cough!... Cough!... in the World

TV Ad Pitchman: "To be the greatest swimmer in the world, Michael Phelps doesn’t just train every day, he smokes…"

Michael Phelps: "Hawaii Maui Waui, skunk red hair, Thai stick, and purple haze…"

Ad man: "And smokes…"

Phelps: "Hash, free base, tons of angel dust…"

Ad man: "And smokes…"

Phelps: "Seriously -- smoking around the clock…"

Ad man: "Anything he can stuff in his bong…"

Phelps: "Citrus buds, California bud, Afghani. I was told I was supposed to smoke like 10,000 to 12,000 grams a day. That’s impossible. (But I sure do try…I’m a regular Tommy Chong…I even smoke dog shit!)."

Ad man: "The Michael Phelps three-month suspension…showing nowhere."

UPDATE: And...no...I don't care if he smokes...or if it's illegal. I'm just making fun of his golden-boy image. We all fall. Some just more publicly.

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The Greatest Swimmer... Ftfthfthfthftfhfth... Cough!... Cough!... in the World

Guess the Mustache: Democrat or Porn Star?

"Guess"? I didn't know there was a difference. Oh. My apologies. I confused the term "porn star" with "stimulus whore."

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Guess the Mustache: Democrat or Porn Star?

Hanoi Jane Blogs

Doesn't my hair look GREAT?!?

Like. Hi! I’m all excited today! I just started this blog! At 71! Which is so funny, since I'm such a luddite (wow! I didn't even know I knew such big words)...I'm a big fat technophobe. Like. I didn't even start shaving my armpits until my friend showed me how to do that last summer.

Like. I also didn’t even google anything until my friend taught me how this past summer…because…well…I'm dumber than Nancy Pelosi!

The FIRST thing I googled was my name! I found some awesome pictures.

These bring back great memories (for me):



They're from my August 22, 1972, broadcast from the Hotel Especen, in Hanoi, Vietnam.

I have such fond memories of that time (even more fond than snookering Ted into marrying me for 10 years and then taking him for $40 million...and then losing most of it by investing in Enron).

The next thing I googled was my actual speech. I remember every word like it was yesterday (you can forget that apology I made in 1988…it was as about as sincere as my love for Ted).

This is Jane Fonda. During my two-week visit in the Democratic Republic of Vietnam, I've had the opportunity to visit a great many places and speak to a large number of people from all walks of life-workers, peasants, students, artists and dancers, historians, journalists, film actresses, soldiers, militia girls, members of the women's union, writers.

I visited the (Dam Xuac) agricultural coop, where the silk worms are also raised and thread is made. I visited a textile factory, a kindergarten in Hanoi. The beautiful Temple of Literature was where I saw traditional dances and heard songs of resistance. I also saw unforgettable ballet about the guerrillas training bees in the south to attack enemy soldiers. The bees were danced by women, and they did their job well.

In the shadow of the Temple of Literature I saw Vietnamese actors and actresses perform the second act of Arthur Miller's play All My Sons, and this was very moving to me-the fact that artists here are translating and performing American plays while US imperialists are bombing their country.

I cherish the memory of the blushing militia girls on the roof of their factory, encouraging one of their sisters as she sang a song praising the blue sky of Vietnam-these women, who are so gentle and poetic, whose voices are so beautiful, but who, when American planes are bombing their city, become such good fighters.
I cherish the way a farmer evacuated from Hanoi, without hesitation, offered me, an American, their best individual bomb shelter while US bombs fell near by. The daughter and I, in fact, shared the shelter wrapped in each others arms, cheek against cheek. It was on the road back from Nam Dinh, where I had witnessed the systematic destruction of civilian targets-schools, hospitals, pagodas, the factories, houses, and the dike system.

As I left the United States two weeks ago, Nixon was again telling the American people that he was winding down the war, but in the rubble-strewn streets of Nam Dinh, his words echoed with sinister (words indistinct) of a true killer. And like the young Vietnamese woman I held in my arms clinging to me tightly-and I pressed my cheek against hers-I thought, this is a war against Vietnam perhaps, but the tragedy is America's.

One thing that I have learned beyond a shadow of a doubt since I've been in this country is that Nixon will never be able to break the spirit of these people; he'll never be able to turn Vietnam, north and south, into a neo-colony of the United States by bombing, by invading, by attacking in any way. One has only to go into the countryside and listen to the peasants describe the lives they led before the revolution to understand why every bomb that is dropped only strengthens their determination to resist.

I've spoken to many peasants who talked about the days when their parents had to sell themselves to landlords as virtually slaves, when there were very few schools and much illiteracy, inadequate medical care, when they were not masters of their own lives.

But now, despite the bombs, despite the crimes being created-being committed against them by Richard Nixon, these people own their own land, build their own schools-the children learning, literacy- illiteracy is being wiped out, there is no more prostitution as there was during the time when this was a French colony. In other words, the people have taken power into their own hands, and they are controlling their own lives.

And after 4,000 years of struggling against nature and foreign invaders-and the last 25 years, prior to the revolution, of struggling against French colonialism-I don't think that the people of Vietnam are about to compromise in any way, shape or form about the freedom and independence of their country, and I think Richard Nixon would do well to read Vietnamese history, particularly their poetry, and particularly the poetry written by Ho Chi Minh.

Then…I was so giddy with finding all of my old “lapses of judgement,” I decided to find one of my more recent ones…you know…when I said “cunt” on the Today Show!

That’s one of my favorites! It changed my life. It really did!

Ooh! This blogging stuff is really cool.

I can’t wait to make my next post and tell you about flying to New York with my dog Tulea and having her shit on my lap when a goose went through one of the plane engines and we dropped 10,000 feet. I was so pissed, I marched right up to the cabin and banged on that steel door until the head flight attendant tased my ass and I got hauled away to jail…again…when we landed.

Until next time, Toodles!

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Hanoi Jane Blogs