America is a land of inventiveness, especially when it comes to sports. We will tape anything that remotely resembles an athletic event, slap it on ESPN and make John Anderson pretend to care. And if we can cram a pair of tits with a microphone somewhere in there where she won’t do too much damage, and a white dude to play the guy who gets hurt the least, our new sports look downright inclusive. This week is no exception. The first one is my favorite. I was going to save it for a grand finale tomorrow, but I feel like if I don’t share it now, I’ll pee my pants. Accidentally, this time. Call up Joe Rogan, he may not be out of a job for long. Cleaning up my bodily fluids, not hosting another dubiously sports show.

Poking Volatile Midgets With a Stick (PVM) - Poor Webster, or whatever tiny black character that appeared on television before I was born, and therefore doesn’t matter. Gary Coleman, fun sized bag of conniption, made an appearance on scandal teat The Insider to set the record straight on whether or not he beats up his regular sized wife. The video is here. He sat at the big kid’s table with purported attorney Lisa Bloom, the hot idiot anchor, and (for some reason) the black chick from Reno 911 like an adorable chunk of chocolate with Frank Oz’s fist up his ass, and when asked the big question, he said, “I don’t have a volatile relationship with anybody… There is no abuse that happens in my house.” Fair enough, but then the women, who probably get caned if they let a scandal die on the air even if they are on the rag, orally gang fucked him. They accused him of waffling, demanded to know whether or not he beats his wife, and only one answer was going to satisfy their dripping, rancid gossip-lust.

So he flipped the hell out on them. Told them to go fuck themselves, get drowned, get tossed (where he comes from that’s flat out brazen), that their knees are super ugly, I don’t know, I couldn’t hear because the shrill chick to his left was going to squeal in his tiny little ear until he just fessed up. Now, this is a dangerous sport. Picture it: you’re a chick who has nothing going for her if anything terrible and/or hilarious happens to your face or body. Now picture getting all up in the grill of a guy whose dial has been stuck on “mutant beehive” for twenty-odd years, poking him with a “do you beat chicks” stick, repeatedly, until eventually resorting to beating him with it. That is fucking entertainment. You are goddamned lucky he just stormed out on you, especially after calling, “Oh, Gary, come back…” like he shouldn’t have walked out, at which point I would have knifed you in the cooch. If we make this a national sport, not everyone will be so lucky, and I will set the popcorn button on my microwave to “shitload.”

The best part was the color commentary afterward (conveniently built in, sorry John Madden), in which they brought on a psychiatrist to assure them that they need not worry, there is still a scandal in here somewhere, and the ladies would not have to spend the night turning tricks to make up for losing a continuing story about a decades old has-been. The diminutive ball of chagrin put them through “an outburst” that was “uncomfortable” and he needs some serious help, was the conclusion. That’s like not getting stung when you play soccer with a beehive, so you blare Bon Jovi at it from afar to see what will happen. If this were sweeps week, Coleman would find out where each of them lived and the potential for some graphic cooch stabbin’ would be realized. For not losing his shit physically, and therefore not fulfilling his end of the entertainment bargain, I award the chocolate leprechaun no points, and the win goes to the ladies, who tried their damndest.

Coming tomorrow, more incredible sports Americans invented just this week, and one we might think about importing from Africa: Blind Man’s Syndication, Boehner Scolding, Gay Porn Spectating. I can’t fucking wait! Damn, I did it again. Maybe that seriously unfunny ventriloquist on Comedy Central is available.

(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.”