And Now A Word From Our Sponsor

You asked and we answered! Restless Rhino Records is proud to announce a brand new collection of Nina Simone's dreariest hits. This special release will be available only in 2014, and features such heart-flattening tunes as:

• Why? (The King of Love Is Dead)
• My Sweet Lord/Today Is a Killer
• Go To Hell
• I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free
• Why Must Your Love Well Be so Dry
• Nobody Knows You When You're Down
• Either Way I Lose
• Don't Explain
• Save Me
• Isn't It A Pity?
• Ain't No Use

That's a whole lot of music for manic depression, yours for just $19. But wait! There's more! Pry open those swollen eyes to get a gander at these sad-sack songs:

• If I Should Lose You
• He Ain't Comin' Home No More
• Take My Hand Precious Lord
• Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood
• How Long Must I Wonder
• Who Am I?
• The Desperate Ones
• In Love in Vain
• The Other Woman
• I Can't See Nobody
• Ain't Got No
• Mississippi Goddam

Sounds great, right? BUT THAT'S NOT ALL! We've also included a special CD of the Sad-Sack Songbird's somberest ditties about drugs, getting old, a lack of traffic, and rapidly-changing atmospheric conditions.

• The Pusher
• Who Knows Where The Time Goes
• Lonesome Cities
• Everyone's Gone to the Moon
• The House of the Rising Sun
• I Think It's Going to Rain Today

And you can have ALL that for just -- wait!!! WE'RE STILL NOT DONE!!! If you act by midnight tonight, we'll throw in the Down-In-The-Dumps Diva's dreariest love songs:

• The Human Touch
• Do What You Gotta Do
• Don't Take All Night
• Consummation
• Don't Smoke In Bed
• Love Me Or Leave Me
• My Man's Gone Now
• You Took My Teeth

Sadly, this amazing talent has been lost forever. The bitter balladeer's fans can only dream about the violin-tinged tunes she'd compose about recycling, or Sea World, or Spotify. Still, you'll find yourself playing these songs over and over, like when you throw a party and your guests won't go home, or when you're going to a funeral and you want it to look like you care.

Don't ask your local retailer for this collection: instead, find it in the stacks and take it up to the counter while frantically yelling, "YOU'VE GOT TO SELL THIS TO ME NOW!!!"

"The [Rose Parade] 'gay wedding' float is symbolic of America’s ongoing moral disintegration: in the name of 'tolerance,' 'diversity' and 'inclusion,' we proudly parade our sin down our streets – defying our Creator and aggressively corrupting the minds and souls of future generations. As historians have documented, sexual immorality, escalating fornication and the abandonment of fidelity in marriage bring about the collapse of civilizations; the United States will be no exception. No wonder developing nations like Jamaica don’t want to emulate us." -- Pete LaBarbera, president of Americans for Truth about Homosexuality

He suggests as a compromise that the float feature the words, "THIS ATROCITY VIOLATES GOD'S TEACHINGS IN LEVITICUS, AND THESE PEOPLE ARE ALL GOING TO HELL!" written in chrysanthemums and pampas grass.

(Meanwhile, "developing" nations like Jamaica? Sixty years ago they were a significant force on the bauxite market. These days their GDP depends on how many toy airplanes eight women can make out of old Dr. Pepper cans.)

Rejected Newlywed Game Questions

Goshdarnit. I just got a rejection notice from The Newlywed Game. I really thought I had a shot at freelance writing for them. I mean, their questions masterfully ride that fine line between coy and crass, and I was pretty sure my sample questions followed suit.

If your husband made whoopee with a library's alphabetical card catalog, would his manhood:

(a) barely bother Elizabeth Barrett Browning
(a) handily harass Gerard Manley Hopkins, or
(a) visibly vex Voltaire?

Let's pretend your husband is a lawyer in the bedroom. What Latin phrase would he use to describe your bewigged jurisprudence?

(a) Modus ope-randy, or
(b) Non compos -- needs Mentos!
(c) In flagranti delicious?

For the wives: complete the following sentence. "The first time I saw my husband's penis, I nearly called a doctor. I was 99% sure he had --"

(a) en-stiff-alitis
(b) limp-phoma, or
(c) pole-io

If what you yelled on your wedding night was a disease, would you have a bad case of

(a) Whoopee! cough
(b) Hey! fever, or
(c) Dang!-grene?

If you and your husband had a "Facts of Life" night of love, would he rather:

(a) pop in at Mrs. Garrett's
(b) get a Blair job, or
(c) shoot on your Tooties?

On the subway, a real New Yorker will note which tourists aren't holding on, and will move away from where they're going to land.

So, I'm watching Bloo the cat while my friend Danny is out of town. He looked lonely, so I brought him down to my apartment for a few hours. I was sniffing the air when the always-tactful Emma came to visit.

ME: Can you smell cat pee in here?

EMMA: I can smell cat pee OUTSIDE.

Furious. Completely furious. A neighbor hired me to help him with his Christmas decorations, but I guess we got our wires crossed. I knew it was a stupid idea! But still I waste three weeks building Santa's pork chop.

While in Bermuda, thirty black women could finally put their palm-frond fans down for a whole weekend.

And that's why I have plastic slipcovers on all my furniture.

Brooklyn Party Chatter

HOST: "The landlord says he caught somebody on the security camera leaving my last party and throwing up in the hallway. That wasn't you, was it?"

GUEST: "No! I didn't puke until I was blocks away."

"It seems like, to me, a vagina -- as a man -- would be more desirable than a man’s anus. That’s just me. I’m just thinking: There’s more there! She’s got more to offer. I mean, come on, dudes! You know what I’m saying? But hey, sin: It’s not logical, my man. It’s just not logical." -- Phil Robertson, star of Duck Dynasty and Tea Party hero, speaking to GQ Magazine

"Logical." Yes, sex is all about being "logical." That's why Anna Nicole Smith couldn't find a boyfriend. That's why all those insane "Real Housewives" are single. That's why nobody will fuck Miley Cyrus. Poor things have to dress like tramps to try to attract guys. Nobody will have sex with them. "It's just not logical," men say, though maybe that's just if they're Vulcan.

If we're going for logic, we should all fuck watermelons. They don't get pregnant, and you can eat them afterward.

"Start with homosexual behavior and just morph out from there. Bestiality, sleeping around with this woman and that woman and that woman and those men. Don’t be deceived. Neither the adulterers, the idolaters, the male prostitutes, the homosexual offenders, the greedy, the drunkards, the slanderers, the swindlers—they won’t inherit the kingdom of God. Don’t deceive yourself. It’s not right."

All the other sins just "morph out" from homosexuality? Oh, puh-LEEZE. Like heterosexuality doesn't "morph." As teenagers, dudes start off begging chicks to go to "third base" and by the time they hit thirty they're snorting coke off Nigella Lawson's ass.

And really, just male prostitutes? Like female prostitutes are cool, but the dudes -- they always use your Kiehls.

Still, I think we can learn a lesson here. Maybe GQ shouldn't take ethics lessons from a huckster whose company received an "F" from the Better Business Bureau. And maybe we shouldn't listen to a lecture on deception from an idiot who spends most of his life standing in a pond pretending he's a duck.

And Now A Word From Our Sponsor

Yes, it is indeed the most wonderful time of the year! Christ our Saviour was born, families reunite, and everyone can finally address the scourge of vaginal dryness.

Luckily, Swiss Navy lubricants tackle that problem head on. Like the three Wise Men, there are three varieties of lubricants to choose from: original, all natural, and we're hoping the red one means strawberry. Regardless of which one you choose, we're pretty sure you won't be left saying, "What the fuck is myrrh?"

So pick up Swiss Navy lubricants this holiday, because nothing says "Tis the season!" like a lubricated vagina.

Scientists Rethink Concept Of Infinity After Watching "The Sound Of Music Live!"

Prominent experts on physics and relativity are now questioning widely-held beliefs about time and space after watching "The Sound of Music Live!"

"Several of our members watched the program," said Dr. Murray Klosterman, chair of UCLA's Department of Physical Relativism, "and we all had the same response. First we checked our TV guides. Then we checked our online cable guides. And eventually we all came to the same conclusion: how could a seemingly-infinite television program have both a start and finish time?"

Dr. Klosterman said he performed many informal tests the night the program aired, each indicating to him that relativity -- the cornerstone of modern physics -- couldn't possibly be correct. "When Maria was singing about her favorite things, I put our children to bed. Then I made a cup of hot cocoa, took the dog for a walk, and did four loads of laundry. When I went back to the living room the fire was out but Maria hadn't even mentioned copper kettles yet!"

Dr. Klosterman tried to simplify the conundrum to readers without advanced degrees. "For years the theory of relativity has been easily expressed by a simile," he said. "Say there is an airplane moving at the speed of light. In one of the windows is a man holding a clock. If you're on earth, the light waves from the clock will never reach you, so it will appear that on the plane time is standing still."

"But now that postulation is thrown out of the water," he added ominously, "because a stopped clock on an airplane is like the Daytona 500 compared to 'The Sound of Music Live!'"

He paused while this reporter tried to grasp the implications. "Many new questions have been raised." he continued. "In terms of Galileo's laws, are bad musicals more powerful than mass or energy? Or is gravity itself relative, becoming stronger when one loses one's will to live?" His face glowered in the harsh fluorescent light. "And then there's one question we refuse to even ask ourselves," he whispered. "If someone on that airplane were showing a video of 'The Sound of Music Live!' what would someone on earth see?"

"Clearly," he added, "Einstein would have shot himself if he'd known about Carrie Underwood."

Still, Dr. Klosterman noted, the misfire TV revival may not inspire much change in the immediate future. "As much as I hate to admit it, perhaps it's best we ignore these questions. The program is over and gone, so perhaps we should let sleeping dogs lie."

When told the program was released today on DVD, Dr. Klosterman scoffed. "Oh, c'mon," he replied. "One DVD? The entire program? Now you're just fucking with me."

Appearing on The View yesterday, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg was asked about his plans after he leaves office. “I’ve always thought that Santa Claus is a short, Jewish, balding 72-year-old guy, so I’ll give it a go,” he quipped.

In response, Fox News' Megyn Kelly replied, "OKAY, NOW YOU'RE ALL JUST FUCKIN' WITH ME!!!"

Holiday Songs for Fox News and Florida

In The Home Of A Stranger

In the home of a stranger, in a Sealy bed
the little Lord Jesus lays down his sweet head.
With Joseph and Mary and the rifle he flaunts,
the little Lord Jesus sleeps wherever he wants.

Grandma Took A Shot At Santa's Reindeer

Grandma took a shot at Santa's reindeer
with a Smith and Wesson, I believe.
Santa learned he shouldn't land on condos,
and we ate Donner chops on Christmas eve.

Winter Wonderland

Sleigh bells ring: won't they quiet them?
In the lane, I've a riot gun.
I'm firing away
the Florida way
People need to learn not to make noise.

In the meadow we can build a snowman
and pretend that he is Parson Benz.
I hope no one bothers Mr. Snowman
I've got no problem shooting all my friends.

Later on, we'll conspire,
As we dream by the fire.
In our crosshair:
Obamacare
and walking in a winter wonderland.

I'm Dreaming Of A White Christmas

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
but there are black people around.
When the car alarm goes off,
the armed man shows off
his pistol, aiming toward the sound.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
with every bystander I fight.
May your days be merry and bright,
and may all your Christmases be white.

Manicured? Check. Hair curled? Check. Eyebrows tweezed? Check. Baby breast-fed while all of the above was going on? Yes, that too. Gisele Bundchen managed to milk every last second of the day, summoning her beauty squad after 15 hours of flying and just three hours of sleep. She explained it all with the hashtag #multitasking. That’s why she’s called a SUPER-model, people.

Of course, she could have slept on the plane, but there's something hypnotic about Tik Rack Toe on an eight-inch plastic screen.

In A Bold Attack Against The Irrelevancy Of Print, The Los Angeles Times Hires The Illustrator Of Goofus And Gallant

More examples here.

You had to tell people you were sick of vampires, right? Because now we've got to prepare ourselves for the next supernatural creature tsunami. Judging by Channing Tatum in "Jupiter Ascending" and Evangeline Lilly in "The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug," 2014 will be the year of the sexy elf.

So thank you very much. I breathlessly await scintillating dialog like this:

• "Just lie back and let me make you cookies."


• "You're tired of people talking about your ears? Okay. I can see your point."


• "Are you happy to see me or is that a pocketful of Reindeer Chow?"


• "Yeah, baby! I'm going to start calling you Lord of the Schwings."


• "Well, I've got a bridge to sell you. Just not the one I live underneath."


• "Norse mythology? Judging by what's in those little green shorts you should be in horse mythology too."


• "Mmm -- I never thought one of Santa's Helpers would want to go down to the South Pole."


• "My enchanted forest has never seen a mushroom like that."


• "Sweetie, that's not what I meant when I said I was tired of fuckin' fairies."


• "No, seriously. I really just want to put a ribbon around your Mouse Trap."


• "I'm very sorry; I never should have said I wanted to munch on your Lucky Charms."

Oh yeah? Constitutionally, I don't have any panties on.

CBS Chooses Toto's "Africa" As The Soundtrack To Nelson Mandela's Funeral

When the Pope dies, we can't wait to hear George Michael's Faith.

GM Names Mary Barra As New CEO

Cars For 2014 Expected To Be Slow But Fabulous

Nelson Mandela has stood as a figure of strength, hope, freedom, selflessness and love, and I join everyone across the world in mourning his passing. However, he was much more than just a figurehead to me -- he was my mentor, my honorary grandfather, my Tata. Since meeting him in 1993, he’s guided me and gave me a reason for being in the tough times of my life. He changed my perception of the world. -- Naomi Campbell

Fr'instance, this is now what she thinks a house looks like.

How West Side Story Would Change If It'd Been Written By Rogers & Hammerstein

• The song "I Want To Live In America" mentions thirteen types of pie.


• Instead of knife fights, the Sharks and Jets have yodeling competitions.


• Maria sings "I Feel Pretty" after making a dress out of wrapping paper and Bubble Yum.


• Maria endears herself to the Jets by teaching them how to play the spoons.


• The song "I Just Met A Girl Named Maria" has a chorus about goatherds.


• The fight scenes are choreographed by Kenny Ortega.


• In bed, Tony shows Maria his skill with finger puppets.


• Officer Krupke isn't an idiot.


• The line "There's a place for us" is followed by eighteen kids yelling, "VIENNA!"


• What kills Tony? Acute peritonitis.

How The Sound of Music Would Change If It'd Been Written By Leonard Bernstein

• Maria is kicked out of the convent because she's pregnant.


• When Maria says "fa" means a long, long way to run, some white kids hit her with a rock.


• The Nazis are played by Sal Mineo and Montgomery Clift.


• Maria's favorite things include pony kegs and Nine Inch Nails.


• When Liesl sings that she needs someone older and wiser, Rolf suggests Swami Vivekananda.


• The kids entertain party guests by playing mumblypeg.


• The answer to "How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria"? Asphyxiation.

Now in its seventh season, Roundabout Underground presents a “heartfelt, serious, beautifully written” play by up-and-coming playwright Meghan Kennedy.

Following the death of her husband, Rose locks herself in her bedroom for the better part of a year, leaving her daughter Emma to care for her through the closed door. When the church sends a pastor to help coax Rose out of her room, he soon finds that Rose is not the only one using barriers to hide her true feelings.

Spoiler: So does the mailman!

Dear Victoria's Secret:

I just read that the American Family Association has designated you as a "Company Against Christmas" because of your refusal to recognize the religious holiday.

I am truly shocked and horrified that you choose not to align yourself with their "Companies For Christmas," like QVC, Dollar Tree, and Kmart. Surely it's not just folks in cheap panties who need God in their lives. Who'd have guessed that a company that produces primetime TV shows featuring winged women in lacy brassieres would neglect our Lord?

I'm hopeful this is an oversight, and will be corrected soon. Because I for one will not shop at your stores until your ads proudly proclaim, "Merry Christmas! Celebrate the birth of Jesus! Look at my boobies and snatch!"

Sincerely,
RomanHans

Talking to poor people makes somebody a superhero? Sheesh. And I thought it couldn't get more boring than Marvel Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

I had a picture in my head of what was going to happen when I visited the Nekobukuro Cat Café at the Tokyu Hands department store. I'd hold a friendly tabby in my lap, stroke him gently, and tell him about my Burmese longhair, Pickles Marie. As I approached the ticket booth with my 600 yen ($6) in hand, these simple dreams shot into the stratosphere. Listen for yourself and see if you don't picture the Manx Minstrels practicing Pachelbel's Calico:

Imagine that: a cat chorus! I was literally quivering with delight when I entered. What were these little imps capable of? Maybe I'd get the chance to teach them Pickles' favorite song, Ave Meowria.

Like most dreams, though, this one was destined to be dashed. I wasn't flattened by fluffy felines. I wasn't crushed by a carload of kitties. I wasn't pestered by a passel of pussies. If I was in danger of anything, it was ODing on linoleum fumes.

The first cat I spotted was this one, scratching at the door to get out. Why? I wondered. This had to be Himalayan Heaven! There were comfy pillows, toys, and scratching posts. I'll bet there were a dozen cat fanciers for every cat!

Eventually I found a few more cats, but they didn't look happy to be there either. A skinny Sphynx paced incessantly in the locomotive of a pretend train.

This cutie was hiding out behind the trash can.

As I wandered around, I noticed that a wide variety of breeds was represented, but they all had something elusive in common. Maybe it was the look in their eyes?

Or maybe it was their body language.

For once it helped to be ridiculously tall. To the envy of all the other visitors, I could get close to the cats who hung like vultures from the tops of scratching post trees, staring in fear at all the kids waiting for them to come down.

Still, something told me to stay back. Though I'm pretty sure this one's ears are turned down even when he's not freaked out that somebody's going to touch him.

With no cats to pet, there wasn't much to do. I ran the lint roller over my pants a few times and sanitized all of my exposed flesh.

At the exit, the cat who'd been pawing at the door had seriously ramped up his efforts. A man had squatted down to pet him, and he leapt onto the guy's back to try to reach the doorknob. Even if he didn't have a chance of escaping, you had to admire his spunk.

Maybe a little disappointment set in. I mean, when I pictured bonding with the cats, I didn't think it'd be over escape plans. I didn't think it'd be Stalag 17 with fur.

I nearly picked up some Christmas cards but I thought I could still detect that odd look on all the little cat faces. As the door slammed behind me I sent a silent wish to the heavens that these little guys would find something they really wanted under the tree, like opposable thumbs.

Dear Nancy Silberkleit:

Congrats on getting to the top of the Archie comic book company. I've been following your career for a while now, since you're a successful woman in a man's world. I've kept up with your legal wranglings, and though they've always been a "he said, she said" kind of thing I've always rooted for you.

I was rooting for you in this latest sexual discrimination case, too, until one small detail finally made me choose sides.

Lady, when somebody accuses you of yelling, "PENIS! PENIS! PENIS!" at a business meeting, the correct rebuttal isn't, "I wasn't talking to you."

Hope this helps,
RomanHans

It takes a really special Christmas song to make you want to slit your wrists.

Rick Warren Has A Sudden, Blinding Flash Of Insight About His Followers

Story.

Moonbeams spreading their wings
Shining my rings
I got from my three husbands
Who all made me housebound.

Love this song, but the lyrics? Evidently Yoko is a feminist who does what whatever her hubby says.

I never thought I'd be saying this, but the first time I went to Japan I really fell in love with Men's Fudge.

I couldn't have been more surprised. I mean, I'm an old-fashioned guy. I have pretty ordinary likes, which is why I never thought I'd be the type to fixate on Men's Fudge. But when I saw it lying there on the counter of a Tokyo 7-Eleven it was like it beckoned to me. "Come on over!" it called. "Pick me up!"

So I picked it up. And I couldn't bring myself to put it down.

I'm not sure why I'm so entranced by Men's Fudge, but it's been a monkey on my back ever since. Every time I inspect it I find something interesting inside. Some juicy little nugget, or toothy tidbit. Frequently it's so packed full of tasty gems I just can't put it down. This more than carries me through those periods when it's tasteless or thin.

My friends, on the other hand, are mystified by the role Men's Fudge plays in my life. They sniff at it, coming up empty-handed. I know the day will come when I'll go off it too, but until then I'll paraphrase Samuel Johnson and say, "When a person is tired of Men's Fudge, they are tired of life."

So if you get a chance, pick up Men's Fudge. Maybe it won't make you move into the local 7-Eleven, but you just might find yourself waiting at the opening to grab that next issue.

The floor of the gallery will be covered with over a million dollars of shredded US currency. In tiny fragments barely recognizable as money, these bills will be crushed under your feet and muffle the sound echoing in the space. In a moment where skyrocketing auction prices distract the compassionate art viewer from looking at and engaging with art, this show puts the financial side of the art market like so much waste underfoot, instead of infecting the paintings themselves.

Which are $40,000 each.

My trip to Japan was on short notice, so I desperately scoured TripAdvisor for an inexpensive yet stylish hotel room. They rated Hotel Super Kyoto/Shijo Kawaramachi in the top 20% of Kyoto hotels, even awarding it their Certificate of Excellence, so I guessed the place would be unforgettable. I wasn't too far off.

This photo of Super Hotel Kyoto Shijokawaramachi is courtesy of TripAdvisor.

The first thing you see in the lobby is a variety of pillows on offer. No need to worry about sanitation: many Japanese wear face masks, so they won't breathe germs on all the pillows they squeeze. Like buckwheat pillows? Foam block pillows? Buckwheat and foam block pillows? Then one of those dark little cubbyholes has the perfect pillow for you.

Imagine my delight when I walked into my room. There's no pandering to luxury or comfort: this is a room made for the paranoid. The window is frosted so nobody can watch you, and it doesn't open so you can't accidentally fall out. Worried about losing something between the bed and the couch? Heck, you can barely slide a threadbare towel through there. And rest assured nobody's going to steal your clothes when you're staring at them from four feet away.

At night you rest in indescribable comfort. Okay, I'll give it a shot: "cement block covered with a layer of cardboard" comes pretty close. The budget blankets are a foot or two narrower than the bed so you won't wake up in the middle of the night wondering if somebody's run off with your knees.

Everything you need is within easy reach: a cheap clock, a couple of mugs, a laminated sheet describing the $10 charge for porn. I'm still not sure why, after just ten minutes in the room, I had the urge to carve a shiv out of a bar of soap. The Super Hotel Kyoto Shijokawaramachi is absolutely nothing like a prison, because a prison has a workout room.

I'm still curious what the cardboard ad on the TV says, but I'm pretty sure the Japanese word for "LOSER" is in there. And yes, that's a happy face made out of my loose change. I always think the cleaning lady appreciates it more when you tip her with pennies made into an upbeat shape.

This photo of Super Hotel Kyoto Shijokawaramachi is courtesy of TripAdvisor.

At breakfast I finally stopped wondering if I'd been ripped off. The spread offered everything from toast to rolls to tiny pieces of bread. Looking for a napkin? Don't bother! The Japanese don't wipe their faces after shoveling down scrambled eggs and fried rice, though they need a fire hose to clean their asses after they poop.

Anyway, I just have one small suggestion for the Super Kyoto/Shijo Kawaramachi. You know how most hotels offer you a free disposable razor? This place should go the extra mile and give you an unlit stove and a noose.

I've been looking for mascara for macho men for nigh on twenty years, so when I spotted Tex Mex's Eyebrow Pencil for Men at a Japanese drug store I just couldn't pass it up. Clearly this ain't no sissy Maybelline: no, now I can tweeze and shape my unruly brows like they do on the Rio Grande.

Ordinarily I'm a little wary of foreign brands like Tex Mex, but if these are the same dudes who turned boring old chicken into fiery fajitas then I'm dying to see what they can do with my face.

Just remember: don't overpluck because that shit never grows back, pardner.