These last couple of weeks I learned that one cannot live exclusively on the internet, that one must interact with human beings, maintain something resembling employment, and take legally mandatory vacations in Nicaragua. I shit you not. But it turns out that doesn’t really matter, because while I was gone, none of you motherfuckers did anything of any importance anyway. GOP Primaries, CISPA, John Edwards, Lindsay Lohan playing Liz Taylor (just because they both had addiction problems doesn’t mean a non-actress can play a great one) – - it’s all just one big holding pattern because for the last two weeks the world has been utterly uninteresting.

How do I know? Because instead of going out and tossing the pigskin around, you were all bitching about things nobody would ever care about otherwise:

No Tards On Facebook Didn’t think mental retardation was genetic? Check out this poor kid’s mom. Brought to my attention by my buddy Cait, there’s an actually retarded petition going around, which has already gotten more than its requisite signatures, demanding Facebook not censor pictures of children with disabilities. Seems some woman posted pictures of her 7 year old son, who has Down Syndrome and is participating in his first Special Olympics, and the pics got flagged and removed. Because ignorance of how the world works never seems to stop people from throwing drooling mongo-fits. This woman must envision some poor bastard sitting behind a FB super-computer, individually investigating each of the millions of flags received every week, and making moral judgment calls on behalf of the entire corporation. And not, you know, an algorithm built into the servers that, so as to not have yeasty twats all over Facebook, just aces most of the items flagged as offensive to be on the safe side. I’m sorry, young Cole, you may be able to long jump with the best of the Gumps, but you’ll probably drown in the tub before you leave your mom’s care.

Mitt Romney’s Idiot Wife I’ve only half been paying attention, so you must have heard that Democratic strategist Hilary Rosen said that single mother and professional millionaire Ann Romney has never worked a day in her life, implying that perhaps a woman with more money than a Jewish movie producer with a Bilderberg weekend pass that has never held a job in the public sphere may not be the ideal spokesperson for women in the workplace in these harsh economic times. A poor choice of words, perhaps, but one that can be easily deciphered by anyone with half a brain and a Dan Brown book. But since the average woman that votes Republican in the US doesn’t have half a brain, conservative media was able to convince stay-at-home moms that Rosen meant that raising kids isn’t hard, and they’ve birthing kittens all over my news feed ever since. They still won’t drop it, weeks later, clinging to it like Chris Christie to the last package of Double-Stuff Oreos in Road Warrior times. Because having a full time nanny and maid staff, not to mention money to hire the most responsible 15-year-old babysitter in Ripley’s, is exactly like what single mothers working two jobs go through. Ann Romney recently said, “I love the fact that there are also women out there that don’t have a choice and they must go to work and they still have to raise the kids.” Rosen was absolutely right, and if you don’t stfu about what Fox News wants you to get upset about, you might miss what they’re sneaking past you while you shit yourself over nothing. This is nothing but manufactured controversy, because the Republicans have nothing real to bitch about, as Obama is doing his fucking job for once.

Spiritual Affiliation and Porn We all know that fundamentalists hate on porn to such a frightening degree they are often able to do something about it. Now a couple of idiots over at American Humanist are insisting that secular humanists ought to hate on porn too, because it objectifies women, depicts them as things to use for gratification, blah blah blah bullshit spouted by people who don’t know what they are talking about. Now, this kind of argument has been debunked so many times I’m out of fingers and toes and penises to count them on. But I want to take issue with the idea that the viewer of porn, whilst focusing on the sexual act, is not taking the woman’s personality into account. On the contrary, I personally find pornography boring if the woman does not express any emotion or self in the scene. How does she feel about being double penetrated while hanging upside down with a piss funnel in her mouth, I’d like to know. If she doesn’t react, how can I tell if she is enjoying it or not, and adjust my self-ministrations accordingly? If anything, it is more often the man (in traditional porn) that is used as the anonymous stand-in, good only for his cock and grunts. And even if it were true that porn removes the woman’s self from the equation, must all art include every aspect of the subject? Wouldn’t that severely muddy the result and make it, in effect, not art? Would it make you happy if she wrote an treatise about her experience afterward (because they do that sometimes, in adorably terrible grammar)? Go read Jenna Jameson’s book about being rich, and ask her if she feels exploited.

Tim Tebow’s Penis Inexplicably demonized infidelity dating service Ashley Madison (Huffpost of all outlets calls it an “incredibly sleazy dating service… sinking to new lows) is offering a million clams to any woman that can factually disprove Tebow’s claim that he is a virgin, ignoring the real mystery of why anyone claiming to be a man would ever advertise the fact. Frankly, my boy R-Gronks has the right idea by offering to claim it for him. The only way to prove a dude is a mary is for a chick to give him a shot. When he has no idea what he’s doing and blows in her hand, we have a loser! Anyway, if Tebow’s myriad chokes on the field aren’t enough evidence he isn’t pumping his anxiety into a supermodel or pop star like a respectable NFL quarterback, you don’t know the definition of empirical. Easily solved, stfu about it.

Hey, for all we know, the lack of real news featuring real people I could have mocked is due to the fact that good things were happening. Alaska Airlines stopped serving bible passages with in-flight meals, and Kansas’ personhood bill failed because women live there. We’re not all pessimism and dick jokes here. Well done, you guys.

Doing the Lord´s work

Zombie Jesus has claimed another soul, and never is it so hard as when that soul belongs to a young, blond, white woman from America. Kylie Bisutti (pictured, duh) was doing some wonderful missionary work for Victoria’s Secret in malls and catalogues around the world when the worst happened. She found religion.

She had always had religion, but it had apparently been lost in the couch cushions for some time. It was like when a cheerleader loses her car keys. She’ll spend a month looking for them, but don’t be fooled by the act: most of the time she can’t remember what it was she was looking for. It was only more than eight years into being super hot for money that Kylie noticed some of her work didn’t square with what the curmudgeonly old impotents that run her specific brand of Christianity told her Jesus wants.  So she had to make a choice between religion and happiness. As is so often the case, the tragic choice was made.

Bisutti, who began her modeling career at age 14, said she isn’t giving up modeling. She said she is just being more careful about what kinds of jobs she takes. (ABC)

Careful? That’s the terminology we’re going with? So, up until this point you’ve just been stumbling into jobs and out of clothes like a drunken, be-helmeted retard? “Oops, I wandered onto the catwalk of a multi-million dollar international fashion show in my underwear and high heels again.” She just has to be less clumsy, is all. Her life since she was 14 has been one long dream-I-just-had, only she was paid rather handsomely. Show a little more vigilance, and you can entirely avoid falling into corsets, getting your makeup done, and posing for photo shoots.

Kylie Bisutti got her shot in 2009 when she beat out 10,000 women and won the Victoria’s Secret model search to become the newest Angel.

If I was making up a religion, and I was at the morality part, I would throw in a bit about dashing the hopes of ten thousand young women and then not having the grace and gratitude to not get fucking naked for the country. That’s just me. Because it isn’t like the runner up is getting a call tomorrow. Everybody knows she’s been cankles deep in Nestle Dibs since that fateful day in 2009. There’s just this ugly little redaction in the Victoria’s Secret slut roster until someone else wins the big contest; even then, we’ll always be one behind. We’ll never catch up, and there will always be a glaring, distracting deficiency in the experience that may even hinder preteens from reaching completion. God, when will the religious nuts learn to consider who they are hurting?!

Pictured: A lovely young lady wearing more than anyone wears at your average beach. Whore.

So she decided to hang up her wings. She said her body is for her husband alone, and that she doesn’t want to teach young girls that it’s OK to show so much skin in public.

Instead, she taught them that, like smoking, it will probably be alright up until a certain age, and you can usually get off pretty clean in the end. This horse is well out of the stable, honey. We have this internet thing, and you’ve appeared in catalogues and shows… oh, just all manner of nakey-bations. We will never not be able to see the very worst of it, and neither will your impressionable girls. Damage done. You’ve personally created hundreds of future unscrupulous monsters with an insatiable urge to give up the goods. You should never have played god.

By the way, what happened in America that every bink with a contract thinks she’s immediately a role model to 11 year old girls? Can someone show me the temporal ground zero of when the entire country thought Christina Aguilera had any responsibility other than to make mediocre music and smell funky? Or that Katy Perry had some kind of duty to lie to your kid that girls kissing girls only happens in songs, and in real life it makes angels cry? Yeah, from their heavenly dongs. Where is the inception, here? They’re your fucking kids! Take them to age appropriate shit like the zoo, and use the internet blocker, or beat them. Whatever. We don’t care, because we made the conscious decision to not litter the Earth with impossibly fragile genetic replicas. All you’re doing is robbing us of our allotted lifetime’s worth of happiness, and I doubt Jesus would have dug that. Especially since, anyway, you’re just wrong! My mother tried for years to keep me from listening to Marilyn Manson. It didn’t work, but all I got out of the experience was that I have a healthy respect for the man’s act, and I never once wanted to fit myself with fake tits. Your parental paranoia has the potential to seriously fuck up your kids, and more importantly, it is harshing my mellow.

SOOO anyway, Kylie, you’re out of the 13 yr old masturbatory fodder

She´s wearing boy´s underwear! Cute? Yes, but revealing?

game. I guess this means you’ll be giving back all the money VS paid you over the course of your short career, it being dirty, tainted, immoral money. No? How’s your Christian morality squaring that one? Is it doing that thing where it is conveniently ambiguous about some things like the acquisition of wealth, and unreasonably specific about other things? Things like what you can do in front of a camera, technology that wouldn’t be invented for 1,900 years after the dogma was set down?

Let me ask you something, you know, before you totally drop something you’ve been working for since you were 14, something you’ve been winning contests at, at what is frankly the apex of your career: Is your husband having any trouble spending the dough you’ve brought home thus far? That convertible you bought him for Christmas still gleaming in the driveway? Here’s one: Can you make me a quick equation showing what your husband does for work, how much he brings down, versus how many Xbox games he owns? Haha,just kidding. We here at Scumbag Style have some empathy. We would never ask you to have tits like that and a brain. That kind of stuff only happens in movies like Legally Blonde, and in real life makes men unhappy.

We will be using the medium of babies to express how we feel about this scenario.

the superlative increase be “going to towns”? These are articles about some of those people who merely went to town in their ridiculousness, but did not fully commit by going to towns.)

“For the first time in years I felt sexually alive.”

The headline reads: Indiana Grandmother  Is Having A New Baby. With Her Grandson. It´s from yet another retarded “mom blog.” She is 72, he is 26. They didn´t know each other for most of his life (there was some kind of adoption scenario, who cares?), but when they met, it wasn´t even a matter of time before they were slapping pink wrinkly against gray wrinkly in the game of horizontal shuffleboard.

“I called Phil into my bedroom, sat him on the bed, and then I leant over and kissed him.”

They are in love, they make fulfilling, passionate, incredibly careful whoop, and they are going to be parents.

“I never in a million years thought at 72 I’d be ‘pregnant’ and in love with my grandson.”

The entire scenario is so deliciously groady, so horrifically and philosophically rank  that it rolls around the mouth like well aged santorum (c´mon, catch up).  In case we weren´t clear, Scumbag Style completely endorses this – - wait what?

The pair paid $54,000 (£35,000) to find a surrogate mother and buy a donor egg to inseminate with Phil’s sperm.

Let us get this straight, Phil. You went far enough to engage in a multi-generational incestuous…. nyehhh carnal relationship with your grandmother. You decided, against the very dictates of nature, to make a frigging baby with this woman who may not live to see the birth, let alone Junior Prom. You are able to describe, in graphic, hilariously nauseating detail, your first kiss and subsequent sex life with what amounts to a living sex doll made of rheumatism, arthritis, and extra skin who is also related to you. You did all of this and you didn´t have the decency to grant us the opportunity for a couple of retard jokes?

This one isn´t even cute.

That was pretty inconsiderate, Phil. You choose now to do the responsible thing? Your entire adult life has been the setup to a monumental knock knock joke of proportions H.P. Lovecraft couldn´t have imagined, and you chuck the punch line at the last minute? You bastard! We mean, shit, the author of this SBS post is a whole year older than you, and he isn´t entirely sure he is old enough to make the kind of sexual decisions you are making for yourself, and you go ahead and get all conscientious on us?

Listen, bro. Nobody is judging your relationship. We bet you are madly in lust, absolutely in love, and up until now, we wished you the best. We just also thought it was super icky, like Garbage Pail Kids. Exactly like Garbage Pail Kids. Because remember when you collected all the cards, and these kids were just plain hilariously gross? And then they made the movie and you saw your trashed out, scummy assed friends once destined for toothless, methy gutter laughs suddenly singing songs about friendship and working together and good civic duty and shit? That´s what you´re doing to our fun, and we don´t appreciate it. If you´re going to be a scumbag, embrace it! You don´t half-ass the scumbaggery.

She´s not even going to technically be the mother now, you realize. You bought eggs and rented a womb. This is your baby! She friggin´ tricked you! She´s just going to be the great grandmother, and you´re just producing your own competition. When she´s 96, she´s going to trade up to the newer model of you. I… gar! You had potential, Phil. And you blew it.

This baby feels better now that he has ralphed. You make babies ralph. High five.

 *As an aside: Mothers, I understand you want pictures of your ugly-assed spawn all over the internets, taking up space that could be used for valuable info. Shit, I want it too, obviously, I need these things. But for fuck´s sake, they don´t need to all be 2000×2000 pixels. It only makes it harder on the people who want to exploit them for a cheap laugh.

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.