No Porn???

Posted on December 22, 2011 by

 A Classic, updated…

If going a whole month without running around town, talking shit about yur husband, let him go. At least HE won´t be a miserable twat for the rest of his life.

Nothing is better than a wife that hasn’t grown so crusty, jaded, and complacent in her marriage that she can’t take a few minutes out of her busy schege to do something for her husband. A surprise dinner, a homemade card, a drink and slipper greeting, an asshole bleaching; dudes dig that shit, and it’s nice to remind him he hasn’t bought permanently into the life of ball mangling, future sapping, constant drunkitude Leah Ramini makes marriage out to be. Unfortunately (for the women at least), the more uncreative amongst the fairer sex are often left with constant sore-jaw for lack of any better ideas as to how to show their appreciation. If only there was a way to do that without actually doing anything.

Enter Facebook, with a Group that firmly yanks our sacks out of the matrimonial Icy Hot with 31 ideas that allow a wife to indulge her narcissism and natural predilection toward condescension while pretending to do something sweet for her husband. Ladies, they’re all awesome, and they beat the bag out of giving that semi-annual “Relations With the Lights On” coupon he might actually grow the gumption to redeem one of these days.

It’s called “31 Days of Prayer for Your Husband,” and it is even more preachy and self-serving (in a good way) than the title suggests. Contained in this set of solipsistic psalms is all the problem externalization and imagined solution outsourcing any pious Christian wife could possibly ask to put off the inevitable messy divorce for one whole month. Here’s one of my favorites:

Day 1 – Lord, I pray that my husband will grow spiritually and consider his accountability before You. I pray that he will guard his heart by developing spiritual disciplines – Bible reading and study, prayer, meditation, scripture memorization, etc. (2 Peter 3:18; Prov. 4:23)

Fun! Nothing says matrimonial bliss like scripture memorization. Ooo! Maybe on a hard, splintery, wooden chair! But that’s not all! For the same price you get this popular classic.

Day 27 – I pray that my husband will understand the importance of taking care of his body – the temple of the Holy Spirit – for the glory of God. I pray that he will practice self-control by making wise food choices and get sufficient exercise to stay healthy. (Rom. 12:1-2; 1 Cor. 6:19-20, 9:27)

Gotta stay sexy for that hot hot fundie sex, and if Jesus has to be your personal trainer, so be it. Any potential flaw you could possibly imagine, any condescending rule of order you can winch onto your already strangled, sexually repressed relationship, “31 Days of Prayer for Your Husband” has an a la carte menu of haiku sized petitions to the almighty hypnotizer to suit all of your needs. Remember, you knew when you got into this marriage this guy couldn’t be trusted to bathe himself regularly. A time comes when you have to call in a third party to see to the big stuff. This one takes that lesson all the way home to mom:

Day 8 – Lord, I pray that my husband will work hard to provide for our family, to the best of his ability. I pray that the character qualities necessary for a successful career and ministry will be a growing part of his character – persistence, decisiveness, strength, an analytical mind, organizational skills, positive relationships with people, determination, etc. (Rom. 12:11; 1 Cor. 15:58)

Did you see that? “Etc.”! It´s like a letter to Santa! I´d really like a trike, a nina turtles dream house, a little brother, and you know, whatever else you can think of. Asking for things is tiring. Like thinking. Surprise me.

Day 7 – I pray that my husband will safeguard his heart against inappropriate relationships with the opposite sex. Lord, let his heart be pure and undivided in his commitment to me. (Prov. 6:23-24, 26; Rom 13:14)

This is getting a little insulting… Why exactly did you marry this dude if you thought there was the chance he was going to screw around. Where´s the trust, babe? You need to call in outside help to make sure I´m not boinking my secretary? Shit…

Day 10 – Lord, I pray my husband will cultivate strong integrity, and not compromise his convictions. I pray that his testimony will be genuine, that he will be honest in his business dealings, and will never do anything that he needs to hide from others. (Prov. 20:7; 1 Tim.1:5,3:7; Eph.6:10-12)

If you genuinely feel you can’t count on me to be a decent, upstanding man and a loving, caring husband, you better start praying I don’t throw you down the stairs. Or maybe you should have done your praying before you committed to marrying my sorry, deadbeat ass, and gotten yourself a good, happy Jesus slave. Better late than never though, right? Go for it. And while you have the J.C. on the horn, want to put in an order for a blond with nice tits and a generous policy concerning tush occupancy? You know, while we’re asking for improvements.

Day 20 – God, I pray that my husband will yield his mind and thoughts to the Lord. I pray that he will not entertain immoral or impure thoughts,and that he will resist the temptation to indulge in pornography.(Prov. 27:12; 2 Cor. 10:5

Are you noticing a trend here? Bonus, ladies. At the same time you are publicly – you created a fucking Facebook group about it, now – publicly taking credit for doing a good wifely deed, you are really praying for nobody but yourself. Might as well pray that a potpourri truck is snagged in your giant doily web out in the street, or whatever chicks wish for, because that shit is all you. This is as juvenile as those fourth grade girls that make those little notebook paper fortune tellers, and ask them if their future husband will be handsome, swarthy (pirate girl), or a doctor, or a Nick Carter. Not to mention exactly as reliable.

Kindly allow me to speak for my target male demographic for the moment. Ladies, if you feel the need to grant us this kind of favor, don’t bother. We deal with enough condescension and derision from the bulk of our daily lives, we don’t need it from you. We had every intention of keeping it in our pants and forking over the checks until we found out you didn’t think us capable. Now we want to screw around just to show you how useless your “prayers” for “us” are. So thanks, but we’d rather not be the victim of your spiritual masturbations. And if that doesn’t drive the point home, here’s my one day prayer for you:

“May my wife have the trust to know I´m not going to screw her sister, the decency not to talk shit about me to her imaginary friends, and the willingness to provide regular beejes because she appreciates me for who I am, not for who her sky wizard can make me. (Book of Eatmebitch 20:21)”

There you have it. There are far more productive things you can do on your knees. Oh, and while we’re on the subject of bitches cutting the shit, stop calling us “hubbies.” Squirmsville.

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… If You Want It

Posted on December 21, 2011 by

I got distracted by googling pics of babies dressed as Hitler, so none of these pics will have anything to do with the article.

War is over, bitches! Happy Xmas! Seriously, World War II ended not 48 hours ago, and it all happened in my humble adoptive country, three blocks from where I live, in Costa Rica. Very exciting times down here, filled with diplomats, and The story seems to be that, during WWII, just like the rest of the allies, Costa Rica was all, ¨Yeah! Fuck those guys,¨and Hitler was like, ¨Blow those bitches up,¨like he did from time to time. And history might have been less kind to the tiny state had Hitler been able to actually find Costa Rica on a map before his notoriously short attention span made him say ¨screw it¨and the tiny Central American country was spared. Good thing too. I don´t know how much history you read, but the disposition of almost all of the other countries south of Mexico at the time was decidedly rape-and-pillage-y.  And so, CR was able to live up to May 2011, happy in its relative obscurity and apparent invisibility powers until they elected a woman president and she ruined everything with her bleeding everywhere and her two hour hair and makeup routines.

Costa Rica greeted Christian Wulff, the president of Germany, to a display of the best of San José’s cultural offerings Tuesday night. After a brief meeting between Wulff and Costa Rica President Laura Chinchilla in the early evening, the Cultural Ministry lit up the downtown National Theater with an impressive light and firework show, which was set to the backdrop of music provided by the National Symphony and several dance and song performances. (Tico Times)

No! Chinchilla! Bad looks, babe. Seriously, the only thing that got CR through its shit talking in the 1940s, without being shoved wholecloth into a Vermont sized oven was the fact that Germans

Seriously, who are these parents? They are awesome!

have no idea where CR is. And you just invited them in? Big risk. For all we know they were just biding their time until we elected a hapless peacetime president to let her guard down. And Costa Rican song and dance? Are you trying to poke the Nazi Dragon you´ve been at war with for seventy-odd years (by now you´ll realize I am unimpressed by the song and dance offerings of this country)? Why don´t you go back to the San Diego zoo with the rest of your kind, huh?

OK, that is just adorable. Ladies, if you insist on spawning all the time, at least have the decency to entertain the rest of us.

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Hate Never Felt So Good

Posted on December 20, 2011 by

(Keep in mind, I abegan writing this article before the outrageously amazing game on Sunday in which the Patriots schooled Tim Tebow and Christ Hisself. The shitty part is, Tebow actually showed up to play this week, like he hasn´t since I´ve been paying attention. The article still holds true, but feel free to add a heavy undertone of smug, poor-winnerishness to the voice you have in your head while reading this. Or get Chris Daughtry to read it aloud to you in bed. He must be out of work by now.)

Uh, no, Tim. I´m over here. I kicked that field goal. Tim!

When Peyton Manning died, or was raped insensate by mutant squirrels, or whatever happened to him so that he couldn´t play anymore, I admit I felt a little lost. I wasn´t sure my NFL experience would be as full, as magical, as fulfilling as it was when I had a clearly defined antagonist. Someone to hate passionately, almost for no good reason except that it was fun to watch him fail. And he usually delivered. Manning was as key to my enjoyment of football as the Patriots ever were. Careful what you wish for, as your mom said before she bit my dick. Peyton is gone, and the void he left nigh unfillable – -

What´s that? The NFL has a special gift just for me? On Tim Tebow, Peyton Manning´s douche-pants actually look a little tight. Tim Tebow who plays like shit for three and half quarters, then happily divvies up the credit for a squeak-by win between himself and his fucking god. I mean, this guy is a real piece of canine fecal matter.

While he´s luxuriating on his knees on the side-lines, his team is busy cleaning up his mess and pulling out another against-the-odds win. He´d contribute more in that position as a team fluffer, letting his teammates write John 316 on his face in spunk. And when they lose, despite all the praying, what is the goddamned logic? If being right with god is supposed to work, why did New Orleans win that Super Bowl? (Don´t answer that, conspiracy nuts)

The game last Sunday against the Bears was won in overtime with

"Thank you God, for helping the Broncos beat the Bears!"

two field goals, and when the ball sailed over the goal post to win the game, what did Tebow do? Run over and hug the kicker? NO! He fucking pointed up to his sky buddy in appreciation. GOD HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT; ASSHOLE! MATT PRATER FRIGGING WON THAT GAME FOR YOU! In fact, Prater has won at least four of your games for you already this season. If God doesn´t give enough of a shit to do anything about genocide in Africa, or hurricane victims all over the goddamned world, he does not give two shits about whether the Broncos win. Still, infuriatingly, they keep doing just that.

And how does the media react? The Washington Post: Tim Tebow guides Broncos to 13-10 OT win over Bears, keeps Denver in playoff hunt.

Associated Press: Irresistible force Tebow pushes NFL around

LA Times: Tim Tebow pulls off his weekly miracle

It´s infuriating! It´s infuriating because it is incredible arrogance passed off as an extreme form of humilty. It´s infuriating because, during the games, they keep doing QB comparisons with genuinely legendary players as if he belongs in that caste. It´s infuriating because Tim Tebow genuinely sucks in a professional capacity. It´s infuriating because, against all laws of nature, he has a decent record. Which means he has a great team under his command, or there´s something to this cult nonsense afterall.

"Thank you God, for helping the Broncos beat the Bears!"

Tebow is famous for winning a Heisman and then interrupting our Superbowl  to remind us that, unfortunately, his mother failed to act on her instincts in time, and Tim was not aborted. Now we are forced to watch, week after week, hoping Tim Tebow gets his head knocked off his shoulders by an errant tackle. Or even better, a career ending knee shattering, so he can watch while someone with more talent and self-respect leads his team to the great season he can´t give them. “Where´s your god now, bitch?” I will happily exclaim.

This week was, for this fan, the perfect week in the NFL. God helps those who help themselves, and Brady, Welker, Gronkowski and the gang helped themselves to large piece of Tebow´s ass. Wins for

"Thank you God, for helping the Broncos beat the Bears!"

New England, Arizona, Detroit, Cincinatti, Miami (my mother-in-law is a fan, so a win for them is a win for me), and New Orleans. Losses for Baltimore (good for NE), Green Bay (!), both NY teams, and Pittsburgh. Amazing. But don´t think I won´t be vigilant for the rest of the season, sitting in my little gringo bar on Sundays, hoping beyond hope Tebow gets his ass seriously hurt. But deep down, I will be hoping he doesn´t, because after the initial gloating celebration, without the perfect antagonist, you might as well be watching football to masturbate at Tom Brady, and there´s nothing cool about that.

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Illuminti Freshness, Santic Bitches

Posted on December 16, 2011 by

So many awesome tributes today.

The last thing Scumbag Style wants to do is get all serious and misty-eyed, so we´ll keep this brief.

Christopher Hitchens – author, philosopher, great thinker, one of the most important primates to walk this Earth in the past century – has finally succumbed to esophageal cancer. He´s an inspiration to many of the writers here, his thoughts crudely replayed across our pages for the sake of intelligent dick jokes. The world will miss his influence, his humor, his articles and books, and his “Hitchslaps” greatly… if not now, then very soon, as he predicted.

Also, proving Hitchens entirely correct, the ugliness of your average Christian (that´s right, I said it) reared its celebratory head the moment Vanity Fair broke the news. Seriously, go check out hashtag #godisnotgreat on Twitter right now. I will wait (here´s a few for you impatients):

via @jes3ica

What a tribute! Scrumptious irony packaged in a flaky crust of pure, violent ignorance. Whilst threatening horrific violence to all who retweeted #GodIsNotGreat, Christians across the globe had no clue that God Is Not Great is the title of Hitchens´ famous book linking religion with violence and ignorance (ignorance like not knowing one of the most important books of your lifetime). Its all over Facebook and junk, too, and these are just some of the funniest, not the really creatively violent ones. Believing in God may also include the awesomeness of Hell Sandwiches and slug guns, but it definitely does not include grammar lessons in the basic package. And my goodness do the Godly like their elipses (that´s the “dot dot dot” for you religious minded).

Say, you know how atheists are always sending death threats to Christians for expressing their views? Exactly, and that´s what Hitchens was getting at. There are good men and there are dickheads, but it takes religion to make a good man be a dick on the internet.

Word

This has since been disproved, however it does reveal something startling. The way Twitter trending works, the phrase or hashtag has to evolve due to user content. It uses an algorithm that determines this, to make sure trends are kept fresh and exciting. So, while a flesh-and-blood person did not sensor #godisnotgreat (Gizmodo), the body of Twitter users actually did, by coming up with more fresh new reasons to beat your girlfriend than things to say about a venerated author and orator. Smell that? That´s the low tide of your faith in humanity, and it smells like win for one deceased hero.

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Feminism Devolved

Posted on December 16, 2011 by

Remember girls, the only way to show self-respect is to reject hygeine and well-balanced diet, and force men to see the shrew on the inside.

Huffington Post’s Comedy Page editor Carol Hartsell did the predictable thing and managed to turn a page normally devoted to funny things into a sopping vagina fest from the 1980s. Seriously, listen to this backwards, old school feminist crap:

We have to admit, as fans of comedy and women in comedy especially, my fellow editors and I die a little bit every time [a female comedian gets naked for a men´s magazine]. [Huffington Post]

Uh, while you’re thinking about that, who’s thinking about dinner? Aside from my stomach. And my whuppin’ arm.

Go ahead and read the pre-op-ed. Generously, Carol makes the sympathetic concession that sometimes women have no choice. Men are stupid, so to keep their attention, show your boobies while you tell your joke. Otherwise you may never have a career. Men will laugh at your joke if you get sexy for them, even if they don´t understand why, like a dog will salivate when you condition him to like peanut butter and nutsack.

You... really shouldn´t wear heels in bed. But I appreciate the effort.

Fans of Community have been thinking about this scenario for three seasons. The fact that Alison Brie amd Gillian Jacobs granted us our wish (with the help of GQ) does in no way diminish the fact that I think their jokes are moderately funny.

She continues by pretending there´s a normal way to think, which gives me so much faith in her hilarity:

Conventional wisdom says that funny women are intimidating, so why not take yourself down a peg — or article of clothing — or two to make yourself a little more approachable?

Well, I, for one, am insulted. “Lowering” themselves? I’d hate to think that every woman who took off her clothes for my entertainment was “lowering herself.” Are my sexual fantasies not a classy enough joint to strip down to your lacies in? Conventional wisdom says you just hurt my feelings.

At a time when so many men feel comfortable saying, “I don’t find women funny,” it doesn’t sit well with us to see many of those same men rewarded with getting to see actual funny women in the buff.

And here we have a woman, who is supposed to be in charge of being funny, not being funny. Who is doing less for comedy here, really? After reading this, I don´t want to generalize, but I am pretty comfortable in saying, “I don´t find female comedy editors at Huffington Post funny.” Not sure you´re part of the solution Toots. Sorry, Miz Toots.

Here’s the thing, Carol. We (men, down-ass women) have spent a lot of time convincing the female

Trust us, OK! is not a men´s mag, nor did any of us ask for this.

community at large that contributing in any way to our spank banks is somehow ‘empowering.’ We’re working very hard to bring modern entertainment back to the days when you had to be a triple threat, while expanding the definition of the specific talents that entails. We don’t want all that elbow grease and Jergens to go to waste, so you have two options. First, you can shut up right now and leave the industry stuff to people who understand it (I don’t know, what, Seth Rogan?). OR, we can bump our nakey propaganda up a notch, and make everyone believe that people like you are jealous of people who have two or more extra, naturally inherent talents that they don’t. In your case: being funny and making people want to see you naked.

We aren’t expecting to see Sarah Vowell in a Maxim photo shoot anytime soon, and we doubt that has hurt her career very much.

Exactly, you just proved yourself wrong. I have no idea who Sarah Vowell is. Remember a quote from someone I am sure is one of your heroes: “Feeling a little irritated in the airpot? Just show your cunt! everything changes…” or, something like that.

(This is what set Carol off by the way)

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Good Rockin´ Tonight

Posted on December 7, 2011 by

I also considered “Rocking With The M.D.M.A.,” but I wasn´t sure if a musical LL Cool J reference was a tad esoteric, now that he´s rockin that successful *snicker* television career *hic* on NCIS – - hahaha I´m sorry, I tried. The fact remains, I expected the kids to get an Elvis reference before a Cool J reference. Look back to when you were 12. Did you see that coming? (I am assuming you are the exact same age as me, deal)

Uh oh, uh oh. My knuckles feel like sunshine.

So I was reading this psychology journal, and – - what? I can´t read smart stuff? I got to get all my news from TMZ and Fox News? Eat a dick.

Anyway, I found this while reading whatever it is you think I read it in.

A number of people with high-functioning autism and Asperger’s Syndrome have reported improvements after taking MDMA outside of research contexts. MDMA shows promise for treating Autism Spectrum Disorders since the effects of MDMA that increase empathy and enhance communication are precisely the abilities that autism tends to degrade. MAPS is offering a grant of $10,000 for protocol development expenses for this pilot study. (MAPS)

That being said: People my own age are assholes, I should have won the Best New Artist Grammy in 1996, why the hell are you crying? You really shouldn´t be writing this article, Mark… I genuinely can´t stop myself. Rrrrrruffles have rrrrrrridges. No. No! We eat the spaghetti before the salad. Fuck, now I´m crying. In 1979, Red Sox first baseman Bob Watson was 33 yrs old, played 84 games, had 347 plate appearances, 312 at bats, 48 runs scored, 105 hits, 13 home runs, 53 RBIs… do I have to continue with this? Gimme free legal X.

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Check Out This Scumbag – December

Posted on December 6, 2011 by

This guy is awesome. Only watch this video long enough to get the idea, because the story degenerates into a story about a seriously fucked over by god sick little girl who got screwed over by a bullshit faith healer, still has a horrible disease, and yet somehow still believes in god and sings to Jesus. Pretty tragic stuff. But seriously, how great is this:

Let´s hear it for Dateline, breaking from the norm with an interesting story! I mean, it finishes as some circle jerk comfort story about how everybody´s faith is justified, and that poor little girl is having the living shit confused out of her as we speak, but CPS doesn´t respond to calls about spiritual child abuse. Believe me, I have tried several times. Once, I tried to have them round up kids at the creation museum in Kentucky – just some friendly advice to save them a huge hassle in the very near future – and let´s just say we haven´t invented a law about feeding impressionable children horse shit just yet.

Anyway, shit, was the first half of that video awesome. Like Van Morrison´s Moondance, and that movie Enough. That is some Jon Davis, haunted house zombie Jesus type shit, and I dig the cut of his jib. I wish I had thought of it! I mean, you can play on peoples´ fear of dying to make money, and have a blast with it? All of these evangelical preachers-for-profit are non-believers preying on the feeble of mind, spirit, and body for those super nice suits and nights of endless gay hookers and blow, we all know that. But I always imagined that was the payoff for spouting a bunch of bullshit you don´t believe to the same tune as everyone else, and having a seriously boring work life. Turns out you can have both!

For breaking the mold and being a scumbag his way, Benny Hinn wins the Scummy for December!

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Didn’t See It Reviews: “Ice Age: A Mammoth Christmas Special”

Posted on December 2, 2011 by

This little asshole can never hang onto his nuts. I am positive this is a metaphor for something.

This Thanksgiving was to see the airing of the newest installment of Pliocene-Quarternary glacial period family entertainment, this time a holiday extravaganza titled, “Ice Age: The Quest to Sell Toys Again This Year.” Because nothing warms the yuletide diapers of kids from one to ninety-two like natural global disaster and the constant sub-conscious threat of species-wide extinction that backdrops everything Ray Romano touches.

For all I know, that shit aired, but I don’t know, for two reasons. One: because I have recently relocated to a country in which literally all cartoons are translated into Spanish. Two: Because, fuck Ice Age, that’s por que.

The core of the first movie seemed to be the unlikely fellowship of Ice Age era creatures, sporting the voices of comedians of varying talent that are living in an era directly preceding the next Ice Age. And like the meeting of these comedians, the characters (a mammoth, a saber-toothed tiger, an ugly rat thing, and something else I think) come together for basically the same reason: nothing better to do until they die. Good message for kids, I’m down.

Then somewhere in this blandly amusing pile of family tripe, something went horribly wrong. Before we discuss this, yes, I am aware that it’s a fucking cartoon, and I need to not overthink it. I am also aware that the films make a feeble attempt to cover their asses on the issue. But I invite you to think of the kids when you realize that, no matter what contrived justification the writers of this franchise use, the second movie involved saving an Eskimo baby (or something), and then the third installment had something to do with dinosaurs. All the while, you must be this tall to ride the illumination train.

Ice Age, do us a favor and stop confusing kids, you bastards. Half of the

Creation museums are straight up child abuse, and CPS should be called on every parent in those places.

Oh, come on, bro. This kid already looks retarded and you took him to the creation museum?

juvenile population of the US gets that kind of noise from their militant, ignorant, abusive Christian parents and teachers, and almost a century of cartoons has shown us that kids listen even more intently to goofy animated rats. Kids aren´t stupid. The first thing we teach kids is how to count, and three is the first number they get to. If they see in Ice Age 3 prehistoric mammals characters interacting with dinosaurs, and if 3 is indeed greater than 2 like the nanny taught them, then you can’t put friggin’ humans in Ice Age 2! Yes, even if the dinosaur was frozen for years or something, again, because it’s a movie for kids. Basic algebra before abstract concepts like cryogenics, a subject which most grown-ass adults can’t wrap their heads around.

But wait, they don’t stop there! I probably could have finagled a way to watch “Ice Age: You’ll Buy the DVD If Your Kid Throws a Big Enough Fit in Best Buy,” if only because I am a sucker for Christmas specials. If you’re not, there’s something severely wrong with you. I refused to put in the effort to watch this one because, right there in the be-Spanglished preview, it shows the ugly little rat character being visited by Santa Claus.

"Where I´m from, you´re extinct."

God dammit! Haven’t you done enough damage, Ice Age? It’s like you gave a lethal dose of old-timey laudanum to a blind giraffe, and gave it until it died to put together your historical timeline. A couple thousand years before the birth of Christ, a distinctly Coca-Cola Macy’s Ex-Lax Christmas icon is distributing charity and good will and figgy pudding to talking animals? For no reason? Was Santa just the neighborhood eccentric, handing out candy and happy in his relative obscurity before Jesus called him up to the big leagues? What was his justification for breaking into homes and stealing baked goods before he found religion? Seriously, if Santa existed before Jesus, and performed basically the same function as he does now, then why is a third of the world so confused about who we ought to be worshipping here?

Look, nobody forced you to pick the Ice Age. You chose a global barren wasteland as a setting to entertain children in, that’s an admittedly lumpy-ass bed you now need to sleep in. Don’t crawl into the beds of our sons and daughters and harm them in ways they won’t realize until they’re 26. Just because you ran out of ideas for good stories involving lifeless, structureless frozen desert doesn’t mean you have to take it out on the kids. One of these days, a generation is going to have to emerge that instinctively understands why mammals, people, dinosaurs, and mythical religious elves can’t exist in the same place, and you’re just pushing that day further and further back. There will, however, never be a day in which talking animals are not a good idea. If you don’t dig on talking animals, you have no imagination.

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Happy Thanksgiving!

Posted on November 24, 2011 by

Alice’s Restaurant – Arlo Guthrie – Full song from Scott Wade on Vimeo.

Don’t get hung up on the bullshit, for one day. Make this holiday a positive one, and enjoy your loved ones, for fuck’s sake. Thank gawd for helping us kill some injuns, make a passive aggressive remark about Columbus while you’re at it, then get messy with your grandma! Happy holidays, scumbags!

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Here’s Your Award For Not Trying To Kill EVERYBody

Posted on November 24, 2011 by

”Heh Heh. Another one saved. They make better corpses when they’re grown.”

 

 

They just don’t show the best awards on TV. Remember that Bush guy, president for 8 years, started that whole Iraq war with the help of his cabinet, former governor of the state that proudly puts more prisoners to death than the rest of the civilized world combined? In October of this year, 2009, “The Humanity of the Unborn Child Pro-Life Award… was given to the former President ‘in recognition of [his] resolve and initiatives in the protection of human life,’” says LifeSiteNews.com, who thinks that is a reasonable thing to do.

The award means nothing, in the long run. For one, it was given in Canada, the land of funny names like Saskatoon and Saskatchewan, so it doesn’t even count. So there’s no real reason to get your panties in a bunch over the monstrous hypocracy inherent in this situation. And Bush really was solid for eight years of presidency on his stance to keep abortion illegal, so by definition he certainly does qualify for the award. The article even points out that “the pro-life group acknowledged that many are wary of or even scoff at the claim that President Bush was a ‘pro-life’ president, given his role in initiating the Iraq war,” before promptly claiming that civilian casualties of war, while a real bummer, are not nearly as bad as abortions.

It’s all very justifiable, when you contort it painfully the right way. And really, doesn’t the school bully deserve to get Student of the Month because he stauchly refused to beat the other kids up until they were actually enrolled in the school and had something to lose?

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