Monday, February 21, 2011

Egypt

Men protest.


Women clean.


¡Viva la Revolución! Hey, honey, you missed a spot.

Friday, February 18, 2011

I don't know why it annoys me. Nobody bothers with crap like spelling or grammar or punctuation, so I should just let it go. Join the crowd. Type incomprehensible messages on my $500 phone and slap a few happy faces at the end.

For some reason, though, I just can't let it go. Steve is writing a text to a new guy. They went out to dinner, then to a club, but somehow they got separated and Steve went home alone. I'm eating a muesli-and-fruit cup at our neighborhood coffee shop; he's tip-tip-tapping on his phone. Naturally I'm curious, so when he says, "You want to read it?" I say okay.

And this, reproduced exactly, is what he wrote: "had a great time last night sorry i didn't blow you off"

"Nice," I say. I try to get my eyes to twinkle. "That is really fun."

Of course, I've never been great at faux-sincerity. "Okay, grandma," Steve sighs. "What's wrong with it?"

I take a sip of coffee to fortify myself. "You know, punctuation wasn't invented just to make texting difficult. You need, at the very least, a semi-colon, unless you're saying you really wish you'd orally serviced him."

Steve looks at his phone again, then back at me. "Leave it to you to read it that way," he says. "Anybody else would know what I meant."

"When you use the language properly," I say, "you remove all semblance of doubt."

He glares at me for a few minutes, then goes back to the tiny keyboard. Tap tap tap, I hear from across the table as I ferry melon balls to my mouth. Finally he says, "You'll approve of this one," and he hands his phone to me.

"went to pee and guess i missed you," it reads.

"You know," I say, suppressing a sigh, "maybe you should forget about apologizing. It sounds strange without any context. Just tell him you had a wonderful time and you're looking forward to seeing him again."

He looks like he's going to fling his croissant at my polo shirt but he picks up the phone instead. This text takes him literally half an hour to compose. He's changing screens. He's hitting three buttons at once. He's capitalizing, he's punctuating. I'm actually starting to feel proud of him. And he's going to be proud of himself, I think, as he feels the sense of achievement that comes with correctly employing one's native tongue. For probably the first time in his short life he's going to send a text that's not open to random interpretation.

"Now, wasn't that worth it?" I say as he finishes his work and hands me the phone.

He smiles sheepishly. "Yeah," he says. "You were right, of course."

And then I read this on his phone: "I enjoyed eating dinner with you on our first date. Now I'm really looking forward to number two."

It's a bit difficult for me to muster up a supportive smile, but I manage a quick, "That's excellent." He hits the send button as a waiter appears with the check, and I decide that I could use the bathroom as well.

Thursday, February 17, 2011


Apparently it kept falling across her boobs.

Cpl. Michael Tscherkassow, an Edmonton soldier who bragged on Facebook that he had “Superman-punched” a gay man on the dance floor of a nightclub, was sentenced to 12 months in jail after being convicted of aggravated assault.

And today all the other prisoners agreed that dude has an ass of steel.



Once again I'm in awe of Christians for finding yet another instance of insidious subliminal marketing in a Disney advertisement. It's absolutely despicable the way they shove their hidden agenda down our throats. This ad looks totally harmless, but there's a secret message. Your brain, without any conscious effort, will notice it -- "SEX," in big, curvy letters -- and it'll make a little mental note that says, "Wow, I really want to see that film!" And then that night, as the lights come back up in the theater, you'll finally return to sanity. "Why the fuck did I see that?" you'll think to yourself.

So, thanks, Christians. You're amazingly perceptive. Sure, you missed how the dude's eyes are all but screaming, "Girlfriend, let me go! I've got a boyfriend and two teacup poodles that miss me!", and how he's just a blonde wig and a tiara away from singing "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend," but I'm guessing scanning ads with a magnifying glass probably fried your tiny brains.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

If Clarence Thomas were an athlete, he'd be a boxer. He'd sign up to fight some up-and-comer on an undercard in Atlantic City, and then he'd show up flabby and forty pounds overweight. He'd shake hands, then punch his opponent in the groin. One roundhouse to his glass jaw, though, and he'd be out like a light.

"One day!" he'd mutter to himself as they hauled him away on a stretcher. "I'll be on top one day!"

His wife would be caught smuggling steroids in from Canada. He'd have a tattoo of the cartoon character Calvin taking a wizz across his forehead.

Unfortunately, Thomas is just an accomplished idiot who came in handy when George W. Bush needed one. And he's currently making a name for himself as a liar who writes American laws.

Three years ago, Thomas went to a political retreat for wealthy conservatives sponsored by Charles and David Koch, brothers who spend millions financing conservative causes. It was a “brief drop-by," a court spokesperson said, and Thomas gave a short talk.

Later, though, it was revealed that (1) Thomas was there for four days, and (2) all his expenses were paid.

It shouldn't come as a surprise, then, that last year Justice Thomas helped pass a Supreme Court decision that allowed corporations to donate to political causes with very little public disclosure, directly aiding the "brief drop-by"'s hosts.

If a film were made about Thomas the boxer, he'd be played by Gary Busey. He'd blather ridiculous excuses knowing nobody'd dare touch him while -- just in case -- Justice Scalia stood nearby holding a folding chair.

I hate to pass along bad news, but, well, that's life. You know Serene Branson, that CBS reporter at the Grammys who started talking complete gibberish? Really, just babbling nonsense that pointed ineluctably to serious mental collapse, and paramedics were called?

Sadly, her family confirmed today that she's been hired by The View.

Charlie Sheen has told the producers of "Two and a Half Men" that filming can resume any time because he's "peeing clean."

"That's absolutely true," say eight gum-cracking hookers. "We barely need to shower any more."

A team has been suspended from England's all-Jewish football league after they were caught fielding a roster of fake Jews.

A player supposedly named "Simon Laub" was actually Colombian banker Javier Guevara, and "Danny Potter" turned out to be Polish personal trainer Mariusz Mielniczuk.


Refs got wise when "Simon" didn't answer to his name, couldn't remember his birthday, and then tried to rent an apartment from himself.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Kansas GOP Rep. Connie O'Brien says she can tell who's an illegal because of their "olive complexion."

Hey, I'll contribute to the buffet. I can tell who's crackers.

President Obama recently told us that the best way to jump-start the economy is to invent new industries, so naturally I'm doing my part. I came up with two great ideas that could help make America competitive again.

Whenever Raoul sleeps over, I know it's going to be bad. Not the sleeping part, of course, but the part where we wake up. "I have to get up at nine," he insists. "I have a very full day planned." I set the alarm for nine, and it wakes me up at nine. Nothing short of a jackhammer, though, could wake up Raoul, so naturally the job goes to me.

"Raoul, it's nine o'clock. Time to get up."

One eye opens. It scowls at me. "Why won't you let me sleep?" he accuses. "Bastard. Now I'll never get to finish that incredible dream."

Got that? Yes, it's entirely my fault, though I personally don't need to get up until two minutes before RuPaul's Drag Race starts. In fact, it's only slightly better than when I don't wake him up, because at least he doesn't blame an entire day on me.

The smart person can learn something from this story, aside from "Most dudes are assholes." ALARM CLOCKS ARE FUCKED UP. Ostensibly they wake up whoever wants to be woken up, but in reality they rouse the dude who didn't finish off the Cointreau.

Which is why I came up with this: an alarm clock with a tiny spit-cup on top. Whoever wants to get up spits into the cup. The clock analyzes the DNA and, at the set time, rousts anybody matching that DNA.

Sure, I realize it's a little technical, but it doesn't really have to be that precise. I don't care if it wakes up his parents, or any possible offspring. But it definitely shouldn't bother anybody who's got his DNA on them, or -- knowing my part-time boyfriend -- New York would actually be the city that never sleeps.

My other invention is a space-age slicer/dicer. Basically it's a box lined with mirrors and a laser stuck in one end. You put a loaf of bread in the box, hit the SLICE button, and with a quick zap your bread is sliced. Put in an onion, hit the CHOP button, and your onion is chopped.

Really, I don't know why nobody's made these already. Weren't lasers supposed to revolutionize the world? At the very least they were supposed to zap all our eyes out. Can't their awesome power be harnessed to facilitate guacamole? Instead, I find myself cursing the scientific establishment as my dull Henckel squashes all the juice out of a tomato. I find myself agreeing with the other, more sensible scientist who was surely hanging around when the laser was invented.

INVENTOR: I've done it! I've created a device that emits electromagnetic radiation through optical amplification of the stimulated emission of photons. Do you realize what this means?

SENSIBLE SCIENTIST: Ohmigod! No more boring Pink Floyd shows at the planetarium!


Monday, February 14, 2011

The Black King's Speech

I'm mystified by all the acclaim for The King's Speech. I watched the BAFTA awards last night -- Britain's equivalent of the Academy Awards -- and it was a clean sweep. Everybody loves the movie. It's wholesome, it's smart, it's great!

Of course, I haven't actually seen the movie, but I won't let that stop me. I mean, when I heard it was about a white person helping another white person, I thought, what? Did all those fabulous white folks already fix all the blacks?

I know Michelle Pfeiffer was keeping the black teens in high school, Hillary Swank was getting them into college, and Sandra Bullock was helping the oversized ones play pro football. But did that fix them all? Is the genre finished? Are we going to start seeing whites help other white people now?

Theoretically I'm all for that, just as equal opportunity, but in reality it means another black man is out of a job. Given the choice, I'd rather have The King's Speech follow the usual formula. I've rather see a white dude help a black dude. I'd rather see a black king.

See, when movies are historically accurate, they portray a time when minorities were second-class citizens. To do this, though, they have to treat minorities as second-class citizens again. "We're portraying a terrible time in history here," the casting agent says. "So white people only, please!"

I'm picturing the casting call: how do you dodge the words "MINORITIES NEED NOT APPLY"? It's like those Civil War reenactments. The folks running it could be pillars of tolerance, but if you're Chinese and you want to take part, better bring fake pigtails and a bottle of Tide.

Really, I don't see anything wrong with watching history reenacted with different faces. It's all about pretending, isn't it? I don't think anybody's going to storm out screaming because women never served in the real cavalry, and General Ulysses S. Grant didn't have an Afro. And frankly, I think The King's Speech would have been better with a black king, because at least there would have somebody to root for.

As it is, I'm just not getting the empathy. I'm not understanding the conflict. We're supposed to root for the rich white guy to win? People in the audience are sitting with their fingers crossed thinking, "PLEASE prove that nepotism works!"? Really? That's the cliffhanger? If the king can stop stuttering, it'll show there's nothing wrong with a system of Caucasian control passed down as birthright. If he fails, the angry demons of democracy may rear their ugly heads, and power may shift to the ill-mannered, or beige.

Yes, I realize with a black king the movie would have been totally exploitative, because that's the way Hollywood works. The two main characters would have been slightly rewritten.

BLACK KING
I think I nailed it. Dawg, that speech went aiight.

GEOFFREY RUSH
If you'll pardon my saying, sire, you may have alienated some of the crowd by describing everything as "mothafuckin'."

BLACK KING
Do you think so? I was surprised that so few people put their hands in the air.

GEOFFREY RUSH
Also, my liege, I believe your subjects might be more receptive to your message if you didn't automatically end every line with, "Know what I'm sayin'?"

BLACK KING
Servant, you have crossed the line of insubordinance here. Are you daring to disrespect me? I'm your mothafuckin' KING, know what I'm -- (SIGHS.) Merciful heavens, will our ceaseless toil never end?


If the film has to be all white, there's a simple fix there too. Show that, in the end, the system is fucked. Let the king disappear in a yellow spiral as he announces, "Th-Th-Th-Th-Th-... That's all, folks!"

Friday, February 11, 2011

Repeat Friday: Stripping Grammar Naked

Once in a while, somebody will ask me where I learned to write. Sometimes I tell them about the year I spent under John Rechy at Princeton. Sometimes I tell them about the short-story classes I took with Edmund White, or the sabbatical at that writer's colony off the woodsy coast of Nantucket.

And sometimes I tell them the truth: that I learned everything I know from sitting naked in front of my computer and reading lots and lots of godawful porn.

Experts know the best way to learn what's good is to study what's bad. For instance, I learned how not to cook Mexican food from Taco Bell, what not to wear from Wal-Mart, and how not to have sex with ex-husbands 1, 2 and 4. Desperate to find the very worst in writing, I cruised the sleaziest internet porn sites, searched Google for every four-letter word, and scrutinized every fan-fiction site where Spock and Sulu ever touched.

To save you time, though, and from discovering your belongings heaped on the doorstep by an intolerant boyfriend who knows about Internet Explorer's "History" file, I've compiled the most miserable writing I've found in many hard years of study. If we take a moment to examine these examples and see what mistakes were made, we can use that knowledge to write up some rules that we can use to improve our own work.

(1) He had nice thick chest hair that covered his entire body.

The first thing we learn is, never eat breakfast while surfing porn sites. Because while chest hair can be reasonably fetching on, say, a chest, when it creeps over to the forehead or the elbows it can make Jim Belushi spew up his Sugar Pops. It doesn't take an expert to realize chest hair is best confined to the upper torso, in much the same manner that toenails should remain in the vicinity of the feet.

(2) Jim grabbed his ass through his tight shorts and said, "I want you bad."

From this awkward construction we learn that if there are two or more males in your story, avoid using the word "his." Your dramatic scene will turn farcical if the reader thinks your hero is grabbing his own body parts and expressing his feelings of desire. Similar examples include the following:

-- The stranger wrapped his hungry mouth around his mushroom head.
-- Standing at the side of the bed, Gustavo grabbed his ankles and lifted them high into the air.
-- Slowly Maury worked his lips down to his stomach.

(3) All night long Carl slept, sprawled naked across the bed, and Max approached with anticipation.

What we learn here is, modifiers in the first half of your sentence also apply to the second. We’ve got a scene that’s probably eight hours long, which means Max moves about as slowly as gay rights.

(4) Brad's endowment was throbbing so hard Joshua thought it'd explode.

The problem here is painfully obvious: Don't frighten your reader with images from Japanese horror movies. You've spent hours conjuring up the perfect picture, then you go and spoil the mood:

-- Chuck's erection grew so hard it could have knocked over Hitler.
-- I'd never seen an ass pounded so relentlessly, and I watch Bill O'Reilly.
-- His equipment, trapped in those thin white shorts, looked like my grandma in her bra.

(5) Max took out Walter's penis and played with it.

Watch out for the words “took out.” While you may assume it’s equivalent to “bared" or "uncovered,” the reader may opt for another meaning, like “to remove from a box.”

(6) I really wanted to have sex with him. After I finished my french toast, I slid over next to him and brought it up.

Here we've got a confusing pronoun -- in this case, the word "it." The writer is hoping he can refer all the way back to his previous sentence, but instead the reader stops at the closest noun, which just happens to be "french toast."

Other regrettable examples are:

-- My wife and I made love on the deck of our pristine white yacht, then I tied her to the pier and went home.

-- Cooper and I took the dog for a walk. I couldn't resist the way his ass swayed back and forth, so I dragged him behind a bush and took him from behind.

(7) He grabbed hold of his meat and pulled out a condom.

This sentence shows that sometimes there's a weird synergy between different parts of your sentence. Either half of this line is fine by itself, but put the two together and it sounds like a magic trick.

Similar missteps include:

-- I squeezed the bartender's nipple and he refilled my empty glass.
-- Wayne rubbed Raoul's butt until Barbara Eden appeared.

(8) On my knees, Stephen grabbed my head and guided it toward his groin.

This is what's called a "dangling modifier," because the writer has misplaced a clause. Rather than being turned on, the reader pictures a Cirque du Soleil-style attraction. Re-read your articles searching for sentences like:

-- Covered with mayonnaise, Roger took a bite of his sandwich.
-- Engrossed in the newspaper, his penis lay there quietly.
-- Nearly at orgasm, Puddles the dog trotted in.

Well, we've just barely scratched the surface, but today's lesson has to come to an end. Remember, there are serious side effects to reading too much porn. You start to feel inadequate by constantly comparing yourself to these perfect, unreal images, and your self esteem can suffer as a result.

Honestly, though, I swear to you: usually I can go on for hours.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Okay, so I finally got that new Confession app for the iPhone. I really am startled by how good it is. It almost makes damnation fun.

See, my memory has never been that great. I walk into the confessional, and all of a sudden my mind goes blank. What did I do again? Why am I here? Suddenly I start judging myself on a curve. How bad could I have been, comparatively speaking? I mean, this is New York.

I wrack my brain while the priest sighs and checks his Tag Heuer. The folks in line outside tap their feet. Finally I just say, "Oh, I read my ex's email, and told my neighbor to go fuck himself." Like Trix is part of a balanced breakfast, these are a big part of my average week.

Without fail, though, the second I step outside it all comes rushing back. I can't believe I forgot about blowing that jogger! And didn't I shoot a dog?

With this app, though, you can type in the sins as you commit them and not have to rely on your memory. Steal somebody's Fiero? Install a hidden camera above the toilet in your Texaco? Just a couple quick taps and you're cool. Plus, you're safe: your sins are stored in a password-controlled database.

When you finally decide to go to "Confession," the app shows its real skill. You type in basic information about yourself, and it customizes a list of questions just to make sure you didn't miss anything. "Have you had dirty thoughts?" it asks. "Have you touched yourself?" Wow, I think: those are sins? It's really going to crucify me if it asks whether I looked at a dog's balls and then started fantasizing about Ed Asner.

Still, it's not entirely perfect. Its mind seems to wander. "Do you like pizza?" it asks. "What are you wearing?" And then, "Are you parents home?" But in the end I think it's the best --

Whoops. I gotta go. There's somebody at the door.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

A major porn studio is recreating Charlie Sheen's recent 36-hour sex and drug bender for release as an X-rated film. Kacey Jordan, one of the girls Sheen paid to party, is set to star.

The weekend began with five call girls and a "briefcase full of cocaine," and ended with Sheen being rushed to the hospital and the paid "guests" hitting just about every news program to cash in on their payday.

The binge has been the nadir of a spiral of self-destruction that prompted Sheen's friends and family to discuss involuntary commitment and may cost CBS $250 million in licensing fees.


Hearing about the upcoming film, Sheen reportedly said, "Wow -- can I play me?"

A 35-year-old central California man was killed at a cockfight after being stabbed in the leg by a bird that had a knife attached to its limb.

Police say the man, previously convicted of animal fighting, was part of an organization that specially bred birds, then put them into a ring and encouraged them to fight until one was incapacitated or killed.


Ironically, this afternoon they're serving chicken clubs in hell.

Last Friday a mother in Queens bought her kids a Nickelodeon DVD at the local Toys "R" Us. The DVD wasn't exactly what she expected, though: in fact, it was hardcore porn. "I saw a Caucasian lady and man and they were naked," said the woman's 11-year-old son. "I was surprised. I was very disgusted."

The kid realized something was wrong when somebody started exploring Dora for a change.

America's Poet Emeritus Maya Angelou has just come out with her very first cookbook. I'm not much of a cook, but I have to say I'm really, really enjoying it. Here's one of what must be a hundred simple, evocative recipes suffused with her own particular brand of poetry.


Nachos

My grandfather used to sit on the porch
while my grandmother toiled over the stove.
Wise and strong, she spread
salty Doritos in a pan,
topped them with biting orange cheese
piquant jalapeƱos
and briny olives
and broiled them underneath the fire
of her desire.

The cheese is my burden.
I am those chips.

Makes a great halftime snack.


Tuesday, February 8, 2011


He's thinking: Wow, that is one special woman!

She's thinking: God, I love my life!

We're thinking: Weren't the Mayans supposed to warn us about this shit?
2001. American forces have Osama bin Laden cornered in the mountains of Tora Bora.

It isn't exactly a fair match. Hidden in a network of caves, bin Laden has an army of nearly two thousand. A mile below, mixed in with a ragtag group of local armies, are approximately three dozen U.S. Special Forces troops. They're the only ground forces that President Bush has sent.

Brig. Gen. James N. Mattis, commanding 4,000 marines nearby, asks the Bush administration if his men can help. CIA Director George Tenet and Gen. Tommy Franks ask Bush to send additional troops. All these requests are turned down, and bin Laden gets away.

2004. Defending the decision not to send additional forces, the Bush administration insists that nobody really knows if bin Laden was there or not.

2005. The Pentagon admits he was there.

2011. In his new book Known and Unknown, Bush's Defense secretary Donald Rumsfeld convincingly frees the Bush administration from any blame. See, he says he sent a memo to CIA Director Tenet that apparently went a little something like this:


Dear George,

I was just thinking about Tora Bora. There sure aren't many Americans there! We might be missing a great opportunity. Do you think we should send more troops? Some people might claim later that they asked for more troops and we turned them down, but nobody's asked me for anything. I'm really surprised they haven't, in fact, considering we all think bin Laden is there. Because really, there's no way we'd turn you down if you did.

My best to the wife and kids,
Don


Monday, February 7, 2011

A water ride just completed at a British amusement park may be haunted by ghosts.

The ride -- Storm Surge at Britain's Thorpe Park -- was apparently built on top of a medieval cemetery, and its builders complained about sensing a supernatural presence and feeling cold spots.


Cold spots. Yeah. Cold spots on a water ride are scary. Call me crazy, but it's the warm spots that freak me out.

The Catholic Church has okayed a new Confession app for the iPhone.

The app, retailing for $1.99, prompts users through a "personalized examination of conscience." The Church hopes the app will encourage lapsed followers back to the flock.


Actually, it kind of scared me off. I typed in all my sins and it gave me fifteen Our Fathers and eight OMFGs.

A Lithuanian company plans to construct a luxury resort in the Maldives staffed entirely by blondes. "Staff who are not blonde will wear a blonde wig to make everyone look similar," said a spokesperson.

Coincidentally, there won't be a single room where the carpet matches the drapes.

A former best friend of TV shrink Dr. Phil McGraw is suing the TV host, claiming she was attacked by his dog. In her lawsuit, Janet Harris says McGraw must have known the pet was dangerous, because it previously attacked at least three other people and may have killed the family cat, a pet rabbit and various skunks in the neighborhood.

Police say the TV personality could be charged with five counts of Falling Out of the Dumb Tree.

Second Best TV Dialog of the Week: Glee

WHITE STUDENT #1: Gosh, the football team really aggravates me. They don't think it's cool to sing multipart harmonies, or to dance in intricately-choreographed movement.

WHITE STUDENT #2: Well, we'll teach them! Let's put on a show and not do any of that stuff.

WHITE STUDENT #1: Oh. Okay!

Best TV Dialog of the Week: Glee

WHITE STUDENT #1: And for the halftime celebration, let's pay homage to Michael Jackson's 1983 zombie classic, Thriller!

WHITE STUDENT #2: Tie-urd. Girlfriend, everybody and his mother has been there and bought the t-shirt. (PAUSE) I've got it! Let's do a mash-up! That's a trend that didn't get boring until 1996.

WHITE STUDENT #1: Yeah! That sounds super cool.

Friday, February 4, 2011


I see their point. I mean, either way you're going to light up a fag.

Brenda's Boyfriend Likes To Go To Sleep After Sex. Brenda Likes To Doodle.

The red swimsuit that Farrah Fawcett wore for her infamous 1976 pinup poster has been donated to the Smithsonian in Washington DC.

This iconic swimsuit helped make the “Charlie’s Angels” actress a 1970s icon. In a special ceremony on Tuesday, Fawcett’s longtime companion Ryan O’Neal and her nephew Greg Walls also donated scripts from Charlie's Angels and a 1977 Farrah Fawcett doll.


The article doesn't say which branch of the Smithsonian will get this treasure, but I'm guessing it'll be the National Airbags and Space Museum.

A museum spokesperson said they're thrilled about the donations. "This'll be the biggest celebration of boobs and beaver since Sarah Palin's Alaska, she said.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

For the second time in two months, notorious cult leader Charles Manson has been caught with a cell phone in his prison cell.

In December, Manson was caught with an LG flip phone under his mattress. The latest discovery was in a highly secure area on Jan. 6, prison officials said.


What tipped them off? All the little piggies in Farmville are dead.

An Italian art researcher said yesterday that the model Leonardo da Vinci used for his Mona Lisa wasn't in fact female, but in actuality was his male apprentice and lover Gian Giacomo Caprotti.

So what prompted the smile? As any dude who's ever worn a dress knows, it's that indescribable combination of balls and cement.

Jennifer Aniston has taken her first bold step into the world of perfumery. Jennifer Aniston the fragrance -- combining top notes of citrus with blooming jasmine and undertones of musk and sandalwood -- makes its debut at Sephora stores today.

And tomorrow, Angelina Jolie is stealing it.

Police in Osage Beach, Missouri, say a pair of thieves have devised a new way to rip off the local Wal-Mart. The man throws himself to the ground and fakes a seizure while his partner in crime takes advantage of the distraction and pushes a cart loaded with merchandise out the front door. The man then gets up and walks out.

Police are worried the stunt might prompt copycat crimes by other Wal-Mart customers who don't bounce.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Science News For The Squeamish

Specially-Trained Dogs Have Learned How to Sniff Out "Timmy" in Your "Well"

Everyone knows dogs have extremely sensitive noses. In a recent study, though, researchers have found that some dogs have such highly-refined olfactory skills that they can actually detect instances of "Timmy" in someone's "well" with a success rate as high as 95%.

Scientists are hopeful that this will prove a breakthrough in early "Timmy" detection, because many people are reluctant to let a trained professional poke around for signs of "Timmy" anywhere on their "property."


Yves Saint Laurent's latest collection of menswear for Fall/Winter 2011 was strong and eminently wearable. Veering away from its reputation as an edgy bad boy of fashion, YSL stuck to a more classic and conservative collection that easily charmed the crowd.

"I really, really loved it," said Georg von Trapp.

The pro-Mubarak forces sent in to quell the uprisings in Egypt are posing a serious danger to U. S. journalists. "America's sweetheart" barely escaped after being surrounded by an angry mob.

Katie Couric didn't do so well either.

Controversial comedian Sacha Baron Cohen has struck a deal with British graffiti artist Banksy to swap one of Borat's old moustaches for a painting of Thomas the Tank Engine valued at $160,000.

Sure, that seems like a lot of money for a mustache, but it doesn't come close to the record price John Travolta paid for a beard.

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Marco was handsome and hunky, which would have been enough to get me out of the party and into the back seat of his car. But then when he told me he was a researcher at NYU working on the genetics of single-cell yeast, the whole room went dark as love finally found me. I told him I nearly had a bachelor's degree from a major university. Unfortunately, it didn't impress him: it just made him assume I was smart.

He talked about his work for probably half an hour, thinking I knew something. Eventually he noticed the blank stare. "You do know that genes mean DNA means protein fabrication, right?" he asked.

I nodded. I'm not particularly stupid. I just didn't realize there'd be a quiz.

My first contribution to the conversation was telling him about a scientific study I'd recently read about. These scientists were testing how children mimic their parents by having kids watch two scenes starring their Mom. In the first, Mom walks into a dark room holding a bunch of packages. She goes over to the light switch and, because her hands are full, she flips it on with her nose.

All the kids think to themselves, "Well, that's how you turn on a light when your hands are full."

In the second scene, the mother isn't carrying anything, yet she walks over to the light switch and still flips it on with her nose.

And the kids all look at each other and go, "WTF is wrong with her?"

Now, this study is supposedly quite the milestone in behavioral psychology. By running this test on various age groups, scientists learned exactly when children develop the notion of WTF is wrong with her? See, if a three-year-old watches this, he'll go, "Oh. Hey. There's Mommy! Hi Mommy!" But if a three-and-a-half-year-old sees it, he'll be all, "WTF is wrong with her?"

Marco countered with his own favorite study. It seems some psychologists put on a puppet show for six-month-olds. In the show, a round-headed puppet tries to walk up a hill, but it can't. A triangle-headed puppet comes along and pushes the round-headed puppet, and together they make it up the hill. At the top, though, a square-headed puppet comes along and shoves them both back down.

Afterward, Marco said, the psychologist lets the baby pick out a puppet to play with. And what puppet do you think the babies always pick?

"The triangle-headed puppet," he said.

"That's amazing," I said. "That's incredible," I said.

And then some chick sidled up next to Marco and said, "Hey, honey."

I wanted to push her into the bean dip, but I'm no baby. "WTF is wrong with her?" I said.

Monday, January 31, 2011

"Camille [Grammer] said that filming the [Real Housewives of Beverly Hills] reunion show was the longest eight hours of her life. Camille thought the filming was never going to end, eight hours seems a little long. It was extremely draining for her, emotionally." -- her pal Allison DuBois

Dear Camille,

Sorry, girlfriend, but you just can't keep playing "And I can top that!" until the end of time. It didn't work for Mel Gibson's girlfriend, and it isn't working for you. Because really, after you sat through fourteen years of Kelsey Grammer apparently turning up at your bedside every night naked except for a lace bustier and asking you "Who's a pretty girl?", we're not gonna have a lot of sympathy for the hell that is being paid to be on TV.

Hope this helps,
RomanHans

There appeared to be more protesters in Liberation Square in Cairo on Monday than on previous days, above.


I'm going to divert from my usual pointless drivel today to discuss something slightly more important: the crisis threatening Egypt. As a semi-respected political pundit, I think we can all learn a very important lesson from the precarious situation there:

If you're a ruthless dictator and you've got a big public plaza in the middle of your capital city, don't call it fuckin' LIBERATION SQUARE.

Honestly, you'd think any self-respecting despot would know this. See, after you deny civil rights to an entire country, somebody's eventually going to get mad. They'll picture their little hovel next to your castle. They'll compare your diet of champagne and caviar to their day-long search for old bread. They'll wonder if you really dumped the voting machines into the bay to make an artificial reef for fish.

After your army kills all your enemies and you bankrupt the treasury for mink coats and gold-plated toilet seats, people are going to be pissed. "Let's have a demonstration!" some dude with ratty hair will suggest.

"But where?" a chick with a Che button will ask.

They'll think for a minute, and then a lightbulb will go off over some Ayn Rand fan's head. "I've got it!" they'll shout. "Liberation Square!"

And next thing you know, there's half a million people throwing root vegetables at a giant portrait of you wearing a scowl and lots of khaki.

Really, I can't believe I have to school so-called third-world dictators here. Isn't this obvious? It should be the first thing you do after you stab your rivals with poisoned umbrellas and marry all the sexy widows. Rename anything called "Revolution Square," or "Upheaval Place," or even "Cul du Sac of Irked Citizens." For the new name, pick something that's going to discourage people from gathering there.

Bedbug Court would work. Plague of Psoriasis Circle would do it. I can't picture a lot of folks hanging around Unattractive Transvestites Park, no matter how many fountains it's got.

And the next time insurrectionists make plans for a public protest, they'll be screwed. "I know!" some random vegetarian will announce. "Let's all meet at the Plaza of the Wee-Dicked Sissy Men!" and all of a sudden everybody else will remember they've already made other plans.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

A new sex tape featuring Kendra Wilkinson with a female partner will be hitting the market very soon.

"Kendra has sex in the video with Taryn Ryan," a source told RadarOnline.com. "And there is nothing left to the imagination."


Well, unless you've been wondering what it looks like when non-whores have sex.

Friday, January 28, 2011

The Chinese government apparently tried to convince its citizens of their defense superiority by showing clips from Top Gun on television and claiming it was an air force training exercise.


The movie footage, shown during the state-run network news, was said to show one of their fighter planes shooting down an enemy aircraft during a practice exercise.


Later they claimed they've made even greater advances in automotive technology, and illustrated that by twenty minutes of Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.

Family Research Council head Tony Perkins is calling on Hawaiians to rise up against the proposed Civil Unions Bill.

"If you live in the islands, it's time to start making waves on marriage!" he said.


Of course, he may have gone a little too far when he added that if gays don't lei down, his group will hang ten.

In 2009, Evangelical Pastor Don Schmierer went to Uganda to teach them how to detonate "a nuclear bomb against the gay agenda." A few months later, the government responded with an Anti-Homosexuality Bill that proposed murder as the solution. Pictures of gay activists appeared on a magazine cover with the strict instructions to "hang them," and this week one of those gay activists, David Kato, was beaten to death.

Mr. Schmierer is being blamed, in part, for this horrendous act, and naturally he's furious.

“I don’t feel I had anything to do with that,” he claimed, adding that he'd received threats and more than 600 hate mails. “I spoke to help people, and I’m getting bludgeoned. . . .”


The good news is, it's just by harsh glares and sharp words rather than a hammer.

John Travolta May Take To The Mattresses, Offer His Slick Head To The Mob


Really? So who's there now?

Thursday, January 27, 2011


A grand piano has mysteriously appeared on a sandbar in the middle of Miami's Biscayne Bay. It's been there for a week and no prankster or PR wonk has yet to claim credit. The Coast Guard says they have no plan to remove it and that with the next big storm, the piano will likely join hundreds of boats as just another sunken habitat for bay creatures.

I've suspected this for some time, and I'm glad to have the Coast Guard confirm it. Trash is good for fish. Where we see rusty old refuse, they see luxury condos.

Being altruistic, we Americans have been providing fish with housing for quite some time. That's how the Navy gets rid of old boats, including the USS Arthur W. Radford and the USNS General Hoyt S. Vandenberg, both of which are bigger than football fields.

Here in New York, we dump our old subway cars into the ocean. They turn into artificial reefs, the city is spared a lot of work, and dozens of homeless fish get housed. (I'm not real clear on exactly why fishes need housing, since they don't seem to own a lot of stuff.)

You might feel guilty ditching your old crap in that clear lake, but it's like a Christmas for crustaceans when they see human detritus hurtling toward them. See, life underwater is the opposite of life on land. Here, if you abandoned your car, the police would drag it off. It'd be dangerous. It'd be an eyesore! When you dump it into the ocean, though, it magically transforms into a fabulous home for fish. Within days that rusty old wreck has turned into some bream's bachelor pad.

Working on this theory, I've been tossing all my old trash into the sea. Empty soda cans will make great new shells for hermit crabs, I think. I toss in all my old clothes, because there's gotta be fish that build nests. I fling in old newspapers and magazines, because if dolphins are all that smart, they'll probably want to read. I know whenever I fling a car battery in the water, some sardine will get a charge out of it.

Still, I wish I could offer something like this piano. I know the fish are going to love it. I mean, you might imagine it'd turn into a dangerous mass of broken wood and rusty wire, but I'm picturing a barnacle-covered piano bar and a dozen gay crustaceans singing, "Under the Sea."

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