(”See, you stupid Canadians are going about it all wrong. Yeti hands are this size.)

This affects nobody important, so let’s point and laugh like we’re at a Republicans Just Diagnosed With Parkinson’s Parade, no? A conservative group from a Canadian University (AKA arts & crafts for Canucks) has scheduled the GOP’s court jester, Ann Coulter (AKA liberal penis Rubix Cube) to do some barking from a podium on campus. Presumably this is University of Ottowa’s annual “opposite day,” put in place in 1965, offering alternatives to reality to make sure kids are given checks and balances to actual learning. Despite this, the Academic Vice President sent over an email to Coulter, you know, to make sure she’s had all her shots and that her particular brand of comedy isn’t contagious. Just in case she says something crazy. Here’s an excerpt:

“Our domestic laws, both provincial and federal, delineate freedom of expression (or “free speech”) in a manner that is somewhat different than the approach taken in the United States. I therefore encourage you to educate yourself, if need be, as to what is acceptable in Canada and to do so before your planned visit here… Promoting hatred against any identifiable group would not only be considered inappropriate, but could in fact lead to criminal charges.” (Huffington Post)

Might as well give a homeless guy with a 20 year-old case of PTSD a gallon of water and a gram of coke and dare him not to piss on cop cars. In fact, we’ve got a cell all warmed up for you, Skeletor with Tits. It doesn’t have the stone slab you’re used to, but the toilet seat will be up, just how you like it. Every time the Belligerent Blond Banshee opens her mouth it’s a hate crime of some kind, the difference is we here in America find her antics cheeky and harmless because she shot herself in the foot two days after 9/11. If she wants to keep running the marathon, that’s gravel in her wound, not ours.

“I was hoping for a fruit basket upon my arrival in Canada, not a threat to criminally prosecute me,” Coulter said… She questioned whether every speaker booked at the university receives a similar warning, or just the conservative ones. (National Post)

Nope, just the ones who are famous for saying that Canadians “are lucky we allow them to exist on the same continent.” Hilariously true, but you’re not supposed to say it. Canadians are a pretty identifiable group in Canada. You can’t throw a fucking rock without hitting a baker’s dozen or so, and that’s why I vacation there once a year. Word of warning, though: Being a McCarthy sympathizer (yeah, I read that book), I would be damned sure on the meaning of “fruit basket,” because you don’t want a gaudy wicker monstrosity from Crate & Barrel filled with gay cancer chocolate truffles and Yankee Candles. “Thought that’s what you’d want, Martian overlord,” probably wouldn’t cut it in that situation.

University of Ottawa students started a “Ban Coulter from Campus” Facebook group and forbade signs advertising the talk from being posted in a main campus building.

Arrest those bastards! The socially and politically deranged are an identifiable group. At least they are down here. So much for your campus tradition of “restraint, respect, and consideration.” Canada’s stupid because Ann Coulter is basically a walking minstrel show. Some people find them unpalatable, but those are the people who haven’t learned the difference between “laughing with” and “laughing at.” Put down the finger paints and the self-righteousness and join the frat party downstairs. You might learn something. No uggos and no randos, though. We have enough Alabamans.

BBC Breakfast is like Good Morning America, but with considerably more blimeys, doolallies, and singing chimney sweeps. They also have some strict wardrobe guidelines for their anchors, like nice haircuts and a different outfit every day of the month. Problem is, they won’t fork up the Lizzies (or whatever limey rappers call money) to make it happen. Luckily, host Sian Williams has a solution:

BBC Breakfast host Sian Williams has claimed she would be happy to present her TV show naked – but her bosses would not let her.

If you’re not part of the solution, you’re gay. From everything I’ve read, she wasn’t speaking figuratively or in hyperbole to make her point; she’ll do the morning news nekkid as an alternative to having her wardrobe paid for. In other words, BBC: pony up the pink and whites or she’ll strip naked. Normally that’s a proposal you would make at the world’s worst titty bar, or the fat chick in college that needs attention, but look at her:

That bitch has aged better than pickled Benjamin Button. BBC made the good move of not taking the money… but also turned down the televised titties. Unsurprisingly the news comes at the same time of the rap community’s largest collective facepalm since the release of “Party All The Time.” A request has been sent over the Atlantic for the network’s collective man cards, from the CEO down to the coffee page.

Sian’s offer was made in front of a tax tribunal, which in real (American) English means she sued the BBC for a few grand extra a month, except there was probably a lot of yelling and a break for tea. The tribunal ruled against her, so she sportingly offered her Plan DD. The tribunal responded:

“The tribunal does not accept as realistic [BOLLOCKS] that she could perform her duties without wearing any clothes at all if she were not required by her employer to do so…”

Putting the ball squarely in the BBC’s pitch, gently suggesting the network should indeed require her to broadcast naked. The British legal system may be touched in the powdered wig, but they can spot a win-win-win solution when they see one. Instead the BBC was like, “Screw ratings right in the arse. More ‘Keeping Up Appearances’ is what’s jolly well needed.” To be fair, the slippery slope from naked newscasters in the UK to “Stodgy Pale Male Asses Whipped By Overbearing Nannies” is one paved with KY and hundreds of years of sexual shame and repression. Not to mention, the precedent has already been set by America’s Beret. Canada’s been called a lot of things, but “global trendsetter” is not one of them, unless you count “global trendsetter in calling boring things bacon.”

Still, it would be kind of great. The cougar/MILF thing is by now so well entrenched in the anus of the Western consciousness we can taste the Progestin and glad rags (gross), so you’ve got a solid viewer base. Young people would be more informed about the world around them; note: make sure to put the important stuff in the second half of the broadcast to give them time to get rid of that morning wood. My contribution to the program would be the nip-ticker. Placed at the bottom of the screen, viewers would be informed of the exact percentage of Sian’s arousal at each news story by how hard her nipples get.

Sian just can't be satisfied by a mere former Prime Minister. That's totally it.

It’s February, and you know what that means: Greasy fried chicken Black History Valentine’s Day Bangin’! What? Didn’t you hear? Fried chicken and collard greens aren’t racist anymore, which is good because some assholes in white robes have been throwing buckets of Colonel at my house ever since I brought that black chick home, and it has been attracting coyotes, who have in turn been absconding with the neighbors’ cats.

Most black people were under the assumption that attributing a love of fried chicken to African Americans indicated a racist mindset. They were dead wrong, as it turns out. Over at NBC, the cafeteria is celebrating Black History Month by offering “fried chicken, collard greens, and jalapeno cornbread for lunch… every Thursday.” Questlove, whose band The Roots has been reduced to Eubanksing for Jimmy Fallon and would not, apparently, rather be homeless, got his panties in a bunch over it and NBC’s management shit kittens before taking the menu down. Some upper management dude Twatted: “The sign in the NBCU cafeteria has been removed. We apologize for anyone who was offended by it.” Anyone apparently meaning the completely irreplaceable band leader for a totally irreplaceable ultra-late talk show host. Anyone remember when being someone’s boss was fun?

However, in a twist you just can’t make up, the woman who actually chose and cooked the selection appeared in a video completely flabbergasted by the hullabaloo – - and she’s black! Awesome. Chef Leslie Calhoun says, “February is black history month, so we always been tryin’ to get somethin’ goin’ on,” and she been axin’ and axin’ and axin’ about it and finally dis year they let her pick a special menu in honor of you-peoples’ holiday… s. And she is surprised and disappointed “that someone would take offense of it.” Suck it, Questlove. Black people like their fried chicken, and they don’t have to hide it any more. An admitted black woman put fried chicken on the menu to celebrate Black History Month, and you pretended you weren’t excited. I must say the article didn’t mention if the drummer complained before or after he had three helpings. Still, it makes sense. You don’t hear the Irish bitching that every meal on St. Patrick’s Day includes mostly potatoes, even though culturally our very genetics are tired of them after not being able to eat anything else for a long time. We’re still working on watermelon, weed, and purple drink, Leslie, but maybe next year.

Speaking of shit black people love, February 14th is a very special day… for White Castle. Seems you can make a reservation at any of their multitudinous locations on cell-phone buying day to “indulge in a romantic candlelight dinner,” and never get laid again. Unless you move out of the state and change your name, maybe grow some facial hair. When you show up for this date, bring flowers and Sôcôla’s Beer and Bacon Chocolate Truffles, because if she agreed to any part of this, she’ll probably die over this if she isn’t disappointed she didn’t get to kill the pig herself. I don’t know what your girlfriend will find more romantic: getting their Valentine’s meal in individual boxes, or alternating with you all night on the can with stock-piled military grade Febreeze. The marketing department, in it’s defense, has probably never actually eaten at a White Castle (When asked, one said, “gross, dude”), so is probably not aware that a visit to the restaurant is an exercise in intestinal masochism. “We’ll even upload a photo of your romantic rendezvous to our website,” which, after V-day, will serve as The National Sex Offenders Registry website for undatable men*. After the ludicrous suggestion that you bring a Valentine’s date to White Castle, the website has the balls to suggest: “Get your sweetie some Craver Gear. And maybe they’ll slip into something a little more comfortable.” Like their car, to get the tits out of Dodge, and go to a place that recognizes the term “insult to rectal injury.”

For some reason, dropping Cosby’s kids off at the pool isn’t everyone’s idea of the spirit of the holiday, so how bout fuckin’ there? Mildred’s Temple Kitchen in Canada is a restaurant opening it’s stalls from the 12th-15th for “sexual escapades.” They’ll have a French maid cleaning up, and Karma Sutras in each stall for encouragement, so that will be fun, especially for the guy next door who just wants to take a dump and has to listen to you grunt your way to an awkwardly positioned climax into your unimpressed girlfriend. They won’t provide condoms, but they do offer to sell you a $55 “naughty love hamper” that includes fuzzy handcuffs, which definitely doesn’t have kidnapping disaster written all over it. Screw the hamper (how can a hamper be naughty?),  how much for the maid?

If you’ve already got your dinner plans for the Big Ripoff, it’s time to start thinking about dessert, nudge nudge. I meant bangin’. My plan is to get at least one of my girlfriends something sexy from ‘Ohh! La, La! Couture,’ the lingerie line with punctuation tourettes launched and modeled by BFFs… Noah Cyrus and Emily Grace. For those of you keeping score at home (I’m lookin’ at you NH RSA 632-A:3, III), these savvy entrepreneurs are 9. Not “so hot she’s almost a 10.” So excited she’s almost ten years old. Seems Billy Ray is betting that all the genetic talent went to his first daughter (and then some, sir) and gearing his younger daughter up for a socialite career, with a rich and otherwise useless best friend (she’s 9, what’s your excuse Richie?), a sticky-with-filth reputation, and entitlement issues that would make Tila Tequila piss herself. But the problem isn’t that she’s too young to be promoting, designing, and modeling lingerie, dressing up as a dominatrix for halloween, or have more hooker boots than Ninth and Benton. It’s that she’s ugly as sin. And don’t even try to tell me that’s unfair. If you or your legal guardian are going to put you out there as a sex object, I am going to judge you as such. And my judgment isn’t even a three. Chick’s got baby fat instead of tits, limp hair, I’m pretty sure her makeup artist is a coroner, and her face looks like someone lit it on fire and put it out with a rake. It’s like God had a bad day before making her and wouldn’t put down the potato masher, and sent the stork to Corky and Swamp Thing’s love nest. Seriously, she is so fugly she could make a theater full of black people scream until they puked fried chicken and purple drink.*

(Jesus diaper-shitting Christ, put it away! Sumbitch, now I’m going to have nightmares.)

*Parents, don’t go there. I just found 7 registered sex offenders in my neighborhood, one up the block named Dennis Hittler, which isn’t ominous at all. Don’t worry, Mom. All the offenders in your town live near Grandma.
** Just taking it for a spin, now that it’s all good.

(Pictured: Renegade Priest Karl Clemens’s secret army of “slaughter sisters” whom he communicates with through secret code and walkie talkies to further his “homosexualist” agenda.)

I’m not in the mood to get into the politics of the Catholic Church, especially since “who gives a shit?” is a much easier response on a day in which I’ve only had like 3 cups of coffee. But I did want to comment on somebody who gets into it everyday, and with the candor and sense of wonder of a five year old comic book enthusiast with strong opinions.

Life Site News reports about a Catholic priest in canada who is about to marry a gay lover, and blah blah blah, everybody’s angry with him. Who cares? Silly little private clubs can have their own rules, and we should all leave them to it, “it” being a slow decline into obscurity for the organization’s inability to keep up with the times. No, I only read this news site because the language they use is hysterical.

Check out the headline: ”Renegade Priest to Enter Same-Sex “Marriage” on Saturday.” Good, compelling stuff, although reading an entire article in which ”marriage” and “nuptials” are put in quotation marks every instance gets old really fast. But still, the rhetoric is great. Renegade like Rambo? Is the priest out in the redwoods of Canada, doing non-priestly stuff and killing anyone that gets in his way with a Bowie knife? The article also calls him a “rogue.” Free tip, Catholics: don’t sensationalize your enemy to the point where we would all like to watch a summer blockbuster starring Matt Damon about him. All I can think of when you use those words is how many people he’s killed in fun and creative ways, how many throwing crosses and other priest gadgets he has in his utility stole, and if the military can turn this guy and set him loose on Iran. I am now rooting for this guy in a situation I previously had no feelings either way on, and its all your fault. 

But my favorite phrase Life Site News and similar sites use regularly is “homosexualist,” which is not a word, and is in fact recognized by Urban Dictionary as “popularised by Matt Lucas’s character Daffyd Thomas,” the chubby antagonist in Crod Mandoon of all things. The best part is that any entity can be labelled as such, like in this article that references the “homosexualist news source Xtra.” I’ve known for years that the best way to demonize something is to add the suffix “-ist” and pretend its been a word all along, as evidenced by the totally-words “sexandthecityist,” “PaulDunhamist,” and “creationist.” See? I manipulated you into thinking those were real actual words all along, and you had no idea.