(He’s upset because of his inclusion in an unsavory joke in paragraph 4 or 5.)

I try to be mature, man, I do. I want to be a respectable adult about things. I got me a real adult style job, a wife, I haven’t been homeless for more than, say, a week cumulative since I got out of the most irresponsible daycare in the world, Hofstra. Whenever possible I vote and campaign for equal rights for all people, and point out the hypocrisy and ignorance in most forms of prejudice from whatever pulpit is provided me. And then this shit happens, not once, but twice in a week, and i have the urge to buy a box of Mott’s apple juice so I can blow the whole thing out my nose in a Chuck E Cheese ball pit. Sometimes my life feels like a Frosted Mini-Wheats commercial from the ’80s, except the transformation from adult to child is involuntary, painful, and not a little shameful. Does that turn you on, baby? What will it take to make you love me?

To the author of 'My Life... With a Smile.': I stole a picture of your kid for this. That's what you get for having a blog about your 7 kids and the vag cancer they gave you.

Anyway, I want everyone to know I am not the villain here. It’s not my fault that these headlines all found me in the course of a week, but I feel like I’d be depriving you if I didn’t share. From the prim, proper, full windsor BBC:

Family of Faggot Fans Fly the Flag

Nice alliteration! I have been operating under the assumption that English people couldn’t speak English anymore. I am going to be so disappointed if said flag isn’t doily. This kind of takes the wind out of the hysterical sails, but a case can be made that this is Britain, and they have different definitions for all kinds of things, like “food” and “sports.” You may think that, in Britain, a ‘faggot’ refers only to a bundle of sticks, but it turns out it can really refer to almost anything. A red pencil is also a faggot, as is a domed building, an unplugged coffee maker, and a tin awning, but only the top part. But the definition in question, the thing that brings this family together in perhaps the lamest form of activism man has conceived since “lactivism” (that’s a real thing, FSM preserve us), reports that a faggot is “pork liver served with mushy peas,” which frankly sounds grosser than lactivism and what our definitions do in the bedroom.*

Listen, just because your word means something different from ours, there is no way you are unaware how the less desirables in American society use it. I know that’s what the word means and all, and you’re not going to start changing the way you use your own language, even if we go out of our way to set a better example for you. But you could have avoided making the headline so funny. Now I feel like a fifth grader. Was that your plan? Are you amused by this?

Her husband Fred added: “It’s unfair because faggots were a British delicacy long before any of the others. The great British faggot is full of flavour and a great belly warmer at this time of year.”

Now I know you’re doing it on purpose! Covering up your motivations by peppering the article with cute little bits of information isn’t fooling anyone, either. “Faggots were called Savory Ducks in the middle ages.” And then was changed in the 1980s to make future twenty-something bloggers look like insensitive, sophomoric pricks. You think I don’t know you neglected to print the snickers Freddy-boy threw in after every other word in that quote? We took the ‘u’ out of ‘flavor’ like a century and a half ago, too. Now all I can imagine is some mutton-chopped pantywaist with a monocle named Balthazar Wraithwright Swineroarer III, poetically discussing his personalized method for ’savouring’ his poolboy’s used thongs when he ruffles through the hamper. “Holding the bright green garment no less than fourty centimeters from my nose, inhaling the summer odours of  exhibitionism and a solid day’s work, and the rolling slowly across my olfactory gland tannins of the glass of sherry I ‘mistakenly’ spilt on him…” Shame on you, Britain. I can push from my head the image of Zombie Gary Coleman raping the corpse of Phil Hartman with the business end of a Bowie knife, but I can’t unimagine that. We should have let the Germans raze London to the ground. Hell, if we’d known you were going to grow up to be such creeps, we would have helped.

The DOODY FAMILY? Really? Am I being punked by Monty Python?

And they have sashes? The Doody Family has Sashes with the colors of Nathan’s Hot Dogs, that say Faggot Family? What’s the score here? Did you guys at the BBC get ahold of, like, an American Slang Book and a bajillion ounces of weed? Are you all having a bloody good laugh at our expense? Are the Scottish in on it? I wouldn’t be surprised.

Dude, fuck this shit. From now on I’m reading American papers, ones not written by prepubescent gingers looking forward to their first boners. Let’s see if reliable old Reuters US has anything close to the efficient journalistic integrity we’ve come to expect sine Walter Cronkite invented news.

Tired Gay Succumbs to Dix in 200 Meters

Oh, just come right the hell on! Is there an editors’ strike I’m not aware of? I’ll not have the noble and ancient sport of tack’n'field besmirched with the dick jokes of a failed high school jock turned sports writer (exception: any testicle injury involving a hurdle; you’re just asking for an orange peeling, jumping with spread legs over heavy barriers). There is no good goddamned way the author of this article didn’t know what was going on here. I’m sure the story was relevant relevant enough to keep it from the cutting room floor entirely, but English is the most complex modern language. You could vary up the wording a bit. “Walter Dix Wins 200 Meter,” would work, at least for a headline. The relative subtlety of “Saw That Coming” would at least allow you to relegate the childishness to the body of the text. Either way, it’s going to be a long time until you reach the BBC’s level of mastery: “Dix’ Delight in Demolishing Drowsy Doughnut Damager.” My resume is in the mail, you pompous limey quims.

Next in the 'Pictures as Metaphors' lecture: "RUN!"

“It wasn’t bad, but I was a little fatigued toward the end,” Gay said. “I tried to stay relaxed and bring it home, but it wasn’t enough.”

Bad form, dude. Going to Prison 101: relax. You want to explain to the doctor how you got pink-socked because you couldn’t help clamping down like a rookie? Someone hasn’t been doing their stretches.

Let’s get our shit together, media. I don’t read the news so I can think about pink socks. I really don’t do anything with that expressed purpose. It would be cool if, say, a Hostess Snack Cake reminded me of a visual representation of an unfortunate side effect of buggery, or an unfortunately shaped kite, but two of the most trusted news providers in the world? That’s just ghey.

* Oh, don’t get all pissy, I’m allowed to find gay sex a little icky. Some of you find vagina gross, so I think we can let this slide. Also, aren’t you having fun seeing how many times I can use the F-word in an article without once using it personally in reference to fudge packers?

PS: On a serious note, after the jump you’ll find links to charities promoting civil rights, education and open discussion, etc. Because, to paraphrase Matt & Trey, everything is fodder for comedy or nothing is, even my bogus brand of low-brow. Exposing the inherent insanity of the bigoted and ignorant at the expense of the writer’s self-respect is totally worth the cover charge. At the same time, awareness, empathy, and progress are what makes comedy possible, so give them a click if you feel as dirty after reading SBS as we do after writing it.

Continue Reading…

(Why risk your child’s innocence on the dubious information in the world’s most popular reference volume when the only reference book he needs is already sitting on the shelf next to the wedding photo?)

The minutia and special interests involved in the sex-ed in public schools debate are myriad and complicated, especially because some people’s heads have been so crushed by their own colons they can’t see past their own polyps. But you’d think this Foucalt’s Pendulum of a debate would have found a position somewhere closer to middle ground than the evidence over the last couple of days seems to want to indicate. We seem stagnated at the opposite ends of  “don’t tell the nine-year-old he grew out of his mom’s carrot patch” and “don’t fuck the nine year old to show him what anal sex is like.” A couple of U.S. towns aren’t even ready to decide if condoms should be referred to as “contraceptives” or “receptacles for angels’ tears,” as evidenced by the following stories.

First we go to Texas (Jesus Taintlicking Christ, Texas of all places), where a woman named Shirley Price, who overcame physical disabilities now sits on the Hitchcock school board with a doctorate, was asked to give a motivational speech at a school about over coming odds or some ghey shit like that. Instead, she asked the principal to leave the room, and the kids got treated to this:

What was supposed to be a motivation speech to a collection of sixth- through eighth-grade girls at Crosby Middle School instead turned into an explicit sex talk, including descriptions on how to perform oral and anal sex, [and several curse words] Hitchcock school officials said.

First of all, what do you mean by curse words? I understand the… Galveston County Daily News is a publication of some merit, and wouldn’t want to taint its pages with naughty words, but you live in a state in which “intercourse” is a curse word, so I’m going to need a little clarification. Also, I think if you really thought about it, Ms. Price’s speech came from a very honest and helpful place. If college taught me anything, it’s that crippled chicks totally do anal, at first because they can’t get away, but eventually they begin to love human connection that isn’t from a 90 year old doctor’s rubber glove and they get attached to it. Especially when they realize that certain concessions are the only thing between anyone seeing the point in touching them and the oblivion of numb loneliness, a factor which becomes more important depending on how annoying being home schooled and taking your mom to “living room prom” has made her personality. So the service Shirley Price was providing to the children was letting them know that overcoming adversity and becoming a functioning member of society against all odds can often be expedited with a little Anal-Eaze. And there is definitely a sliding scale in these situations; the worse off they are the farther they’ll go. When I was in high school, Terry Schiavo came to do a motivational speech. She didn’t say much, but you could tell she wanted to teach us about donkey punching.

Students apparently were told to keep the contents of the speech secret, [Hitchcock Superintendent Mike] Bergman said.

Are you sure we’re not confusing the Price case with the People vs. Clown-Priest Handing Out Candy and Cigarettes From The Back of a Panel Van With Big Bird Painted On the Side? Nobody with half a brain thinks that abstinence-only sex-ed is the perfect way to go, but Price’s approach was certainly extreme, especially considering it wasn’t even supposed to be sex-ed. Probably, she is of the mind-set (the same I employ in my own life) that every day of her life is sex-ed day, and whoever wants to gather ’round the mound is welcome to benefit from her vast knowledge of things like how to properly perform a Jelly Donut. But Price’s real mistake here was not realizing that if you tell a room-full of kids not to tell their parents about something, at least one of them is going to be smart enough to do exactly that. It was a hard lesson, but I learned it early. Hey, bubba.

“There was no motivational speech at all,” Bergman said.

Says you. I can think of a few things I’m motivated to do right now. But the extreme nature of that case can only be matched by the sphincter stretching dick-lickery coming out of Southern California, who banned The Merriam-Webster Dictionary in its public schools for including the definition of “oral sex.”

Merriam Webster’s 10th edition, which has been used for the past few years in fourth and fifth grade classrooms (for children aged nine to 10) in Menifee Union school district, has been pulled from shelves over fears that the “sexually graphic” entry is “just not age appropriate”, according to the area’s local paper.

Damn! What was the definition of oral sex, “Noun: Kissing and licking a cock, cunt, or ass-hole for the purposes of giving pleasure, with the hope of receiving monetary compensation and a face full of white leak”? Or was it the example sentence, “Susie gave a different boy oral sex on the school bus every day, because collecting colored bracelets is so rad, and the best way to be popular”?

The dictionary’s online definition of the term is “oral stimulation of the genitals”.

Burn it! I can’t tell what is more offensive and less age appropriate, “genitals” or “stimulation.” Come spelling bee time, the class clown is going home with the gold star for that 4-syllable gem. Clearly the parents of these kids don’t remember what it was like to have the classmate in the school yard talking about the shit he found under his older brother’s bed, and not even having a rudimentary understanding of what was being said. It doesn’t make for a good time, I’ll tell you what. Apparently, “age appropriate” to them means when he’s fumbling around under his prom date’s dress to find the bra strap and ends up kneeing her in the face in an incredibly embarrassing and totally avoidable tugging accident.

“It’s hard to sit and read the dictionary, but we’ll be looking to find other things of a graphic nature,” district spokeswoman Betti Cadmus told the paper.

Good. While your wrinkly, bespectacled ass is pouring over a book that’s almost harder to get through than A Tale of Two Cities looking for dirty words like “penis”, the rest of us will be having oral sex. Isn’t there some Bingo you could be losing right now? Do your grand-kids have enough home-made cookies? Whatever, it will keep your swirling vagina sand out of other people’s eyes for a few days so I say go for it. The thing is already banned, what more damage can you do? Just do me a favor and try to keep something in mind as you turn each delicate page of that reference book: when you were a kid, what motivated you to really learn how you use the dictionary? My guess is “dick.”

(Listen to the Klingon dressed as a Merry Man. There is no way you are as miserable as he is.)

This country needs an enema from a jack hammer. The big story circulating seems to be that Cameron’s alien world in Avatar is so beautiful, so real, that people are getting serious cases of depression because they will never be able to experience it. The fan sites and discussion forums online have been experiencing space issues because people want to talk about their feelings, like this dude known only as Mike:

“Ever since I went to see ‘Avatar’ I have been depressed. Watching the wonderful world of Pandora and all the Na’vi made me want to be one of them. I can’t stop thinking about all the things that happened in the film and all of the tears and shivers I got from it,” Mike posted. “I even contemplate suicide thinking that if I do it I will be rebirthed in a world similar to Pandora and the everything is the same as in ‘Avatar.’ “

Go for it, Mike. If we have the choice between watching you prance around next Halloween in nothing but blue makeup as a Na’vi, or finding your bloated, lonely corpse in your mother’s bathtub tomorrow, I think the world will choose the latter, with enthusiasm.

You think we all haven’t felt that way about popular culture phenomina? That it would be pretty bitchin’ if furry, cat eating, poorly veiled cunnilingus euphemisms fell from the sky to be your trouble-making best friend? Or that we weren’t stoicly aware of the fact that the finely-tuned socialist utopia portrayed in Star Trek is an impossibility considering the childishness and avarice our race constantly portrays? We didn’t whip out the razor blades, and those fantasies were based in compelling story and philosophical concepts. Or at least light-hearted comedy. Avatar, for all its success, is nothing but a retelling of the same old garbage indigenous

would never happen, right? Because the kid is smarter than you. Oh, and he has a friend.

peoples story, albeit with some pretty fantastic visuals. And for all the beauty of the noble Indians Na’vi, they still needed a white guy to come in and clean everything up for them. If you can’t get emotional over something with substance rather than the creator of Titanic’s pretty green and blue acid-trip, then yeah, invest in a set of really expensive ritual Sepukku knives, and rid us of your blubbering, obtuse, emo face. Survival of the fittest says you were either going to drag us all down into fat loserdom with you, or one of us was going to kill you.

And because we’re not allowed to say those things, the only thing to be done was to acknowledge the phenominon as a real actual disease, and not some “voluntary” lone-wolf’s excuse to not have to deal with real life. They set up online support groups of people who can empathize, but for some reason weren’t paralyzed by depression because they had to go to work and couldn’t play Little Mermaid all day:

Within the fan community, suggestions for battling feelings of depression after seeing the movie include things like playing “Avatar” video games or downloading the movie soundtrack…

Yes, you should definitely immerse yourself deeper into your fantasy. You should definitely not get a girlfriend or anything. I thought the internet was supposed to be a place where I could escape people telling me their uncomfortable, icky feelings. Hug it out with your mom or some Hagen Daz, then watch a friggin comedy until you’re off your period. The world, even the internet one, has better things to do than coddle your defective ass.