Q: Why did Mitt Romney put on his magic underwear?
A: He was afraid Obama was going to beat him in the polls.
Really, "Popeye"? Isn't "Enormousforearms" a better fit?
A: He was afraid Obama was going to beat him in the polls.
"Last Sunday, homosexuals paraded around naked in the streets of San Francisco at the annual Folsom Street Fair. There were no arrests. They did more than walk the streets nude -- they beat each other with whips. The leather/fetish homosexuals led each other around like dogs with metal collars; they set up booths where visitors could get flogged; they sold hard-core pornography; they promoted BDSM (bondage, domination, sadism and masochism); they mutilated their bodies with metal spikes. And after promoting lethal sex acts -- the kind that causes AIDS -- they raised money for AIDS." -- Bill Donahue, head of the Catholic League
I don't ordinarily argue with crazy people. In fact, I try not to argue with regular people. It's not like they're suddenly going to say, "Oh, you're right! I appreciate your taking the time to straighten me out and return me to the path of rational thinking." No, they begrudgingly admit you're right only after all other options are dashed, and even then they call you an asshole under their breath.
Crazy people, though, don't even address the issue. They just repeat themselves, over and over, and when they get tired of that they ladle another heaping mess of craziness on top.
I know some of us want America to return to its role as a great nation, and I'm thinking I've got a good idea towards that end. We've got a national Do Not Call list that protects us from telemarketers; we could also use a national Crazy list that'd free us from arguing with totally irrational fools.
It'd be pretty easy to prove Bill Donahue is crazy just from the paragraph above. First, he says they were "promoting lethal sex acts" at the Folsom Street Fair. I didn't go to that particular event, but I'm pretty sure they weren't chanting, "Let's all buttfuck without a condom NOW!" I'm thinking they didn't give away a free goldfish if you could ejaculate into a dude named Stan.
Mr. Donahue seems oblivious to Catholic history when it comes to whipping and flogging, unless he can explain why it turns a guy in San Francisco into a pervert when it turns a guy in a monastery into a saint. Saint Jose Maria Escriva mutilated his body with metal spikes: he wore a chain of barbed prongs to, uh, further the glory of God. Saint Francis De Sales wore an iron belt and hair-shirts to torture himself, in between bouts of self-flagellation. Why is BDSM devout when it takes place in a monastery but profane when a loudspeaker is playing Kylie nearby?
"Okay, Donahue is a moron," you'll concede, "but crazy?" No, there is hard evidence of that.
Nudity is legal in San Francisco. Wearing dog collars and whipping consenting adults is legal in San Francisco. So why does he say, "There were no arrests"? Nobody did anything illegal. The statements are totally unrelated, which is the mark of insanity. It's like saying, "I went to the park today and flew a kite. There was no chicken salad." Or "I saw my landlord on the street today. The groundhog is neither ground nor a hog."
But there is no national Crazy list, so our logic goes unaddressed and then disappears under tomorrow's pile of bullshit. Which makes me wonder: if we repeatedly waste our time arguing with nuts, doesn't that make us nuts too?
On an unrelated note, I hear Bill Donahue went to church on Sunday. Grown men paraded around in their robes while telling nervous little boys what to do. Organs were played while in a darkened corner of the parish guilty-looking people ducked into a small booth where a priest was lurking. Nearby, people listening closely could hear talk of the most vile sorts of sins.
Astonishingly, there were no arrests. There's nothing like a pretzel, am I right?
Naturally all the gays are terribly concerned. "What's wrong with us?" they're asking. And the homophobes have a fresh new round of ammunition. Everyone agrees it's a "wake-up call." It's clear: when you talk to a homo, when you drive near a homo, when you work with a homo, it's seven times more likely he's tripping or blotto or tweaked.
The fact that this study was put out by the Lesbian & Gay Foundation, an allegedly pro-gay group, doesn't make it any easier to say that it's just flat-out wrong.
The report questioned gays who attended various pride events and compared them with the regular, presumedly heterosexual population. Red flags should go flying when you check out page 10 and notice the ages of the people polled.
The gay group has twice as many people in the 16-24, 25-29, and 30-34 age groups as the presumedly straight group. The largest gay subsection is 16-24, making up 29% of respondents. With the straight group, the largest subsection is aged 60+, making up 22%.
Gosh, then, let's examine which group abuses more drugs. Whaddaya know -- gay kids smoke more weed than GRANDMA. Homosexual youth use cocaine a lot more than your dad.
These researchers aren't stupid, though. They note that the age discrepancies are problematic. On page 11 they say that the gay people surveyed are much younger than the general population, and admit that "Care ... needs to be taken when making comparisons [with] the population of England as whole."
On page 12 they repeat that "Making comparisons between the drug use reported [by the gays] and that reported by the general population is not straightforward because the [gay] sample is younger by comparison."
Uh, and THEN THEY COMPARE THEM.
So is it possible to learn anything from all this work? I think we can agree on two conclusions:
Company officials said the incident was confined to an employee dormitory and “no production facilities or equipment have been affected.”
As Apple has maintained in the past, there are absolutely no labor problems at the Foxconn facility, where 79,000 people live and work. Sure, maybe things weren't so great in 2010 when 14 workers committed suicide to protest working conditions. Maybe there were a few lingering problems last month when 150 employees threatened to jump off the roof if things didn't improve.
Once these problems were solved, though, everybody was thrilled to be there. Two thousand people just randomly started rioting today, Foxconn management insists, because somebody microwaved leftover pizza at 3 a.m. and the smell drove everybody nuts.
Well, the winners were announced today, and it's totally heartwarming. Weighing heavily on the list are probably 147 animal rescue organizations, but the National Novel Writing Club will also be getting a hefty paycheck and three or four marching bands will be getting new uniforms.
Sure, it would have been nice if the Ali Forney Center had gotten a dollar or two to help them provide services and shelter for LGBT youth who have been rejected by their families, but with just 662 votes they didn't make the top 200. Still, it warms my heart knowing that $40,000 is headed towards restoring a rundown castle and keeping pigs in slop.
Jane Seymour's Open Heart jewelry collection, originally available at Zale's starting at $139.99, is being liquidated online from just $24.
According to Ms. Seymour, the design is meaningful on many levels. It symbolizes the idea that if one's heart is open, it will never stay broken. It shows that two people can become one while still retaining their individuality.
Additionally, Jane says the hearts are also a stylized version of the female form.
Gwyneth Paltrow told InStyle magazine that, in an effort to make a passive pastime more educational, she only allows her daughter Apple and her son Moses to watch television in either Spanish or French.
Naturally they wanted to do all the tourist things. They went to the Statue of Liberty, Museum of Natural History, Soho, Chinatown, and Little Italy. Last night we went to Times Square and watched a scruffy illegal Elmo hit on a cross-eyed Minnie Mouse.
"We're seeing Letterman tomorrow," Nephew announced.
"That's always fun," I replied. "Who are the guests going to be?"
"John Goodman and Melissa Etheridge."
I nearly choked on my giant pretzel. Poor guy, I thought. What, was Samuel Gompers busy? I mean, I love the left-wingers, but in terms of entertainment value they're right around putting your hand in ice water and watching your scrotum shrivel up.
John Goodman played a blue-collar drywall contractor in the anti-authority, poor-is-good Roseanne. He's worked with Aaron Sorkin and George Clooney, which is this century's version of entertaining migrant farmworkers with Pete Seeger. What's he going to talk about: union busting in third-world nations?
And Melissa Etheridge. Really, did anybody still listen to cruelty-free, socially-responsible music? That went out with Space Food Sticks. Had she been holed up in a sheep farm in Australia for the last ten years trying to come up with a rhyme for Pakistani?
I felt bad for my nephew, but mostly I wondered why Letterman made such a ridiculous mistake. Had he finally gone off the deep end? I mean, why on earth would they alert prospective audience members that they'll be taking hours they could be spending on the Toys R Us ferris wheel to listen to lengthy diatribes against Paul Ryan and stories about micro-lending startups in Bajnipoor? That if they aren't members of PFLAG with backyard compost heaps they'd have more fun hitting themselves with rocks?
It couldn't have been more obvious: the Letterman folks were saying that if you weren't the most rabid, die-hard Democrat, you should stay far away.
This morning I was flipping through the New York Times when I caught an odd sentence and everything became crystal clear. John Goodman and Melissa Etheridge on Letterman tonight?
Nope. His guest is President Obama.
"We've sent over fifty thousand people into the wild to find Bigfoot," said History Channel president Nancy Dubuc. "That's enough to fill Dodger Stadium. And they have racked up unprecedented records of success ranging from a few strands of weird hair to grainy film footage of leaves shaking on a bush."
While some might guess viewers would abandon the program given its lack of hard evidence, it appears they are staying put. "I think the next one is gonna get him," said Sparky Whistler of Bag O' Pretzels, Wyoming. "Every time it's like they're gettin' just a little bit closer."
His girlfriend Wynona agreed. "One day he's gonna run into a hunter with a cellphone camera," she said.
Fan Curtis Bloowa celebrated the landmark program with an informal competition. "I printed up bingo cards listing the different ways they've tried to find Bigfoot," he said. "I got squares labeled, 'Setting up motion-detector cameras,' 'Wearing night-vision goggles,' 'Hanging fish from trees,' and 'Howling really loud.' When this new program did something somebody else already tried, you get to cross off a square."
The program started at nine o'clock, and Mr. Bloowa's brother-in-law called bingo at 9:02. "I can't believe I won new suspenders!" the lucky man recalled.
The success of these programs has come as a surprise to Ms. Dubuc, but she isn't complaining. "When I first signed on here I thought we'd be doing something intelligent," she said. "Tracing the causes of our civil wars, profiling our patriarchs, delving deep into the history of America's historic structures. But then somebody offered me a Bigfoot show, and I was desperate. It was cheap, and I needed to kill some time. I had no idea that four years later our number-one expense would be Pabst Blue Ribbon and camouflage pants."
She sipped champagne and put her feet up on her desk. "As our viewers have clearly shown us with their remarkable loyalty," she concluded, "there's nothing they like better than a game of cat and nonexistent mouse."
Take today's comic, for example:
I'm sure folks all over the country are taking their scissors to this little panel, as it could be quite helpful when looking for homosexuals to attack. Let's examine the differences between the hetero Chuck Norris and the homo salesclerk that Mr. Garcia draws:
HETERO: Strong and silent.
HOMO: Uses words like "fantastic" and "lovely."
HETERO: Loves denim. No sleeves or buttons on shirt.
HOMO: Pink shirt with contrasting cuffs and collar. Turns up the cuffs on his pants.
HETERO: Angry eyes, strong nose, impressive facial hair
HOMO: Perky upturned nose, weak chin, clean-shaven
HETERO: Lots of muscles, hairy chest, hairy arms
HOMO: Smooth chest, flexible wrists, three fingers on each hand.
If you're worried that beating up a gay might be hazardous to your health, don't worry: Mr. Effeminate's friends -- they've got the contrasting collar and upturned cuffs too -- are clearly more interested in moving his body than calling the police.
Still, in the interest of equal time, I'll admit that there might be one little area where homos might take offense. Really, a salesclerk recommending a brown belt with blue clothes? Girlfriend, any queen worth her salt knows that --
Okay, dude. We'll pretend that you accidentally made "obama" lower-case while capitalizing "Romney."
But we're not going to pretend that this teleprompter six feet from Romney is a hairdryer, asshole.
In the season premiere of the groundbreaking new series Iyanla: Fix My Life, life coach Iyanla Vanzant confronts the heartbreak and personal crisis of Basketball Wives star Evelyn Lozada, estranged wife of NFL star Chad "Ochocinco" Johnson.I love the way Oprah makes sure that programs on her OWN network always have lessons for us ordinary folk. From this show, for instance, we learn not to divorce the millionaire husbands who picked us up back when we were lingerie models.
"Gidget." As one of the hunky, shirtless surfers handily explained, it's a contraction of the words "girl" and "midget." Ha! Isn't that adorable? But don't bother running to the computer: the producers didn't follow up this film with a feature called Gewess or Bigro.
The lyrics of the title song nicely sum up our girl.
She acts sorta teenage, just in-between ageGot that? You've got to admire the writer's tolerance. Even though she's underage and possibly illegal, it's totally cool with him.
Looks about four foot three.
Although she's just small fry, just about so-high
Gidget is the one for me.
If she says she loves youOh. Okay. I'll keep that in mind in case the chloroform wears off.
You can bet your boots she loves you.
If she says she hates you
That can also mean she loves you.
It very well may beIt's hard to put all these lyrics into a safe, sane context. I mean, this was some fluffy teen movie, but the message couldn't have been more clear: "Hello, America! I'm Frankie Avalon. I want to teach your post-pubescent females how to love."
she's just a baby,
If that's a bad feature,
I'll be the teacher --
Gidget is the one for me!
As I watched the film in horror, I thanked my lucky stars I wasn't alive back then. Because while it may have been heaven for clueless heteros, gays didn't have it quite so good. Even today if I went to any part of 47 states and told some random stranger that I was dating a boy midget, I'd get shot in the face. If I included the words "just a baby" and "I'll be the teacher!" I'm pretty sure the Pope would assign me to some church.
There's a hit song from the 60's that echoes this sentiment called Lollipops and Roses. It's purportedly a love song, though it sounds like a how-to book for lonely dudes with vans. Like Gidget, it's a tribute to those lovely little creatures who are halfway between being a girl and a woman.
One day she'll smile, next day she'll cry,] Maybe Mitt Romney thinks everything was better in the 60s, but we gays know better. Though they were clearly very knowledgeable about relationships, all those ho-daddies in Gidget probably wouldn't have Watusied to my song, Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots and Rum.
minute to minute you'll never know why.
Coax her, pet her, better yet, get her
roses and lollipops and lollipops and roses.
Hey. Hot day, isn't it? I'm sweating like a pig. I may look like hell in my matching tank top and mandals, damp and pasty white flesh inches from your face, but don't worry -- I've got a suit with me so I'll look really nice when I'm not around you.
Oops. Sorry. Like I said, it's hot, and this little terrycloth bracelet I'm wearing only absorbs the sweat dripping down the bottom half of my right arm.
I was like seriously freaking out until I realized they came from my pillow. I'd used it to smother an owl.