Thursday, January 1, 2015

For the man who has everything...except relief...UPDATED BECAUSE I AM REMARDED.


But we all know that, don't we, kittens? Leonard has pointed out my inexcusable eff up in the comments below and...well...of course he's right and of course I screwed up this entire post because I was too lazy to check my email for the proper link to the joke before throwing this together. See what happens when I don't write anything for so long that I feel guilty as hell and then hurry to produce something without really attending to details...or even paying attention? It all goes to shit.

If it interests you, this is how I typically tell jokes, too. Jump in...wander around forgetting the story line AND the punch line...until everyone is laughing AT me and not WITH me.

So BEHOLD! Here is the REAL instrument of torture immeasurable relief...

It's a good deal more tidy and looks much safer for rummaging around in tight quarters.

If I had taken the time to get it right, I would also have been able to cut and paste the product description, which is divine.

  • 8" long silver-plated ball-scratcher
  • Reaches deep into your trousers for itch 'n' scratch relief!
  • In a stylish presentation box.
  • Gentleman's Ball Scratcher for the busy male executive
  • Handheld chrome-effect ball scratcher presented in a deluxe metal case
  • Ideal for those hard-to-reach places
  • In the shape of a delicate female hand
  • 9-inch handle for extra reach
AAAAANDDDD I would have realized that, why yes, there are indeed a number of reviews, and they are worth reading. HAHAHAHAHAA!

What a remard!

Happy New Year. At least we can all quit worrying that I'm going to develop into anything serious, noteworthy or even remotely successful in 2015. I'm the same remard as I've always been. Reassuring...isn't it?



I can still use "Behold!" because it's only a week past Christmas. My blog. My rules.

I can't even bring myself to name this. You figure it out.

There are no reviews on this handy little gadget. Go figure. But after watching enough baseball games with Farm Boy to guarantee Alzheimer's before 60, I am shocked to realize that men need a specialized tool. I thought their hand was God's invention.

Oh well.

Missing Friends

I can't say good bye to 2014 without acknowledging that many blogs which I love...DEARLY read have gone silent. I understand how busy life is. I know that coming up with something every day or week that is more than just a "look-at-me!" post is a struggle, especially after a year or so of blogging, and I REALLY understand that as one's readership goes up, one's unaffected joie de vivre goes right out the window and you begin to question everything you write until you can't write a thing.

I get it.

But still, I miss:

Rachel Lucas


Sheri Gilmour

Parkway Rest Stop

The Doctor Is In

These were all blogs which, while sometimes political, were more often personal, funny, insightful, thought-provoking. The political blogs which I enjoy reading never seem to tire, bless their hearts. Of course, we can all concede that they have fresh meat every. fucking. day with Prince Peevish the Incompetent in office. But these AWOL blogs I've listed rummaged through the vast landscape of human folly with hilarious anecdotes or aha! insight and now they are all gone. Dead. MIA.


A New Year's Resolution That Isn't All About You.

This made me LOL for about five minutes. Okay...I am on my second Manhattan but stiiiiilllll...Why can't more people make New Year's Resolutions about something larger than their weight or getting a nicer car? What about changing the world?

I only wish to GOD that she was kidding.

I fear that she is not.

Okay...that makes it even funnier....!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!


Hope everyone's New Year's Eve was happy and SAFE. And that you aren't nursing a huge hangover.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

A Christmas Rose

This is why I love where I live.  We have had weeks of rain and storms, but then we always have a lovely respite and the sun comes out and the world is scented and clean and sparkling.  Although it is still hard for me to pace myself for Christmas because it never seems right for it to be so mild and for everything to be green and lush for the holidays. So every year I am frantically playing catch up when I suddenly realize that, yes, Christmas is in TWO days! Oh well...we all know I am remarded.

May everyone have a blessing-filled and sacred Christmas with laughter and love. 

Merry Christmas, kittens!

Thursday, December 18, 2014

The UVA Rape Story. Where I Will Finally Agree That There Is Such A Thing As "Rape" Rape...And This Wasn't It.

I have been struggling to avoid this University of Virginia rape story, along with Lena's lovely tail tale...but the apparent CAMPUS RAPE EPIDEMIC penetrating deep into the hallowed halls of higher education across our nation now seems to be fully accredited or something, almost like it's part of the curriculum. I mean, it's everywhere. And everybody's doing it. And Jackie got an A+.

Oh good Lord.

When I first head (Okay...I wrote head there instead of heard. HAHAHAHAHA! LOL!! If there is a time and place for a typo, that's it!) of the story, my immediate reaction was, "The poor girl. Probably stupid, but still, no one deserves to be gang raped. No. One. Ever."

For the record, gang rape is "rape" rape, Whoopi.

But then, the details began to get complicated, confusing, conflicting, or flat out impossible to believe or prove. my spidey sense went off. Rape is a serious charge that always brings with it a sense of immediate moral outrage from the rest of us. No matter WHAT the woman was doing, rape is always wrong. We can all agree on that. Unless, of course, she was doing it with a famous Hollywood producer and there were drugs and Vaseline involved.

But once a woman screams "RAPE!", even decades later, she becomes the unquestioned victim, her own moral or sexual behavior is OFF LIMITS and what might have been a humiliating episode brought on by poor choices and unrealistic expectations is suddenly transformed into a ticket to fame and admiration and a Medal of Honor.

So when the whole bloody, battered part of the story fell apart, I started paying attention. How do you survive a gang rape without being bloody and battered? Well, kittens, certainly the repeated sexual acts had to have been significantly less harrowing than first related. But still, seven guys in one night, one right after another, puts even Sandra Fluke to shame.

Then -- and pardon me for calling bullshit at this point -- I learned that our lovely heroine had not in fact been physically "raped" but had instead been "forced" to perform oral sex on these young men.

And that she didn't want to report it. Could provide no details. Frankly made shit up.
Here's what happened, IMHO. I readily admit that my assessment will sound calloused and unkind to many, but if there is one time when we must all look our culture right in the face and ask it to wipe its chin, this is it.

Our children have grown up in a society where easy, cheap, recreational sex, especially oral sex, is just part of the fun. However, the ugly truth is that -- no matter how much these kids are brainwashed that sex is nothing but a party game -- sex will always be a deeply intimate experience. So when it is debased to the point of stark vulgarity, all the misguided expectations that a stupid and confused young girl brought to a party years ago can be devastating.

No one really wants to admit this, and probably few will want to agree with me, but I am convinced that Jackie was a young girl who went to a frat house and got involved in "doing" a bunch of guys, thinking she was going to be the darling of the night and everyone's new favorite date. It was all fun and games until she realized...apparently before she got to #7 patiently waiting his turn, that her rendition of Monica Lewinsky was earning her about as much respect from the frat boys as it had earned the real Monica from our charming president, Slick Willie.

And Jackie was humiliated. And angry. And frantic to change the story to hide her complicity. And so a seriously stupid episode turns into a rape charge against a group of young men, who, while obviously demeaning assholes much like our former president, did not believe that what they were doing was "rape" rape.

And they were right. It wasn't. It was the reasonable result of decades of culturally acceptable sexual behaviors that our children are acting out and being destroyed by. While I seriously doubt that what Jackie suffered was rape in any real sense of the word, it was certainly soul-destroying and I do feel for the poor girl.

That's just my gut-level read on this whole thing. I have no evidence. I am only going on my instincts. I have seen/known plenty of women who think sex is the way to a man's heart. It isn't. It is always a painful lesson to learn. Jackie learned it the hard way.

And now, I suspect, she's going to learn that lying isn't much fun either.

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

The Difference Between Men and Women

Over at Ace of Spades Headquarters, Ace has posted about a study done on ideal body types, as they appeal to actual men and women...or to the men and women asked in the study, at least. What makes the findings interesting is that they asked both men and women to give their ideal types for each gender, so we get to wrassle around with what men think is attractive in other men and what women think is attractive in other women, as well as the obvious question of what men find attractive in women and women, men.

Here's the chart, for your edification.

For my money both the men and women got it right on the guy. If I'm choosing between Jackman or Gosling, the answer is, "Yes."

Even Ace understands that a hard body is attractive to women, if that's all we're judging. Pretty straightforward. Jackman might be a little beefier, but it's a tight race, so to speak. So yeah. Fit and muscled is a turn on. You can pick around the edges about body hair, color of eyes, smile, yadayadayada...but fit is going to win every time. Remember we are talking superficial, don't know a thing about them, just eye candy judging here. But my answer for either man is definitely a, "Yes, please."

The other half of the study is where things get interesting. Here they asked men and women what the ideal body type was for women, and there was a decided gap between what each gender appreciated in women. Much is being made of this difference over in the comments at AoSHQ.

Here is my insightful analysis. And you can take this to the bank.

Women look at Kate Upton and see a very young thing with what I call "significant fat potential". Okay, because she has a crazy amount of money, she might be able to win the battle against her own genes, but it will be a battle. For her entire life. There is no amount of money in the world that will change her tendency to develop the chubs. So any woman looking at that can see she's sexy as hell right now, but when we think of perfect body types, we want a body that looks like maintaining it -- in other words keeping the weight off -- is relatively easy due to genes, metabolism, etc.  She's a doll now, all soft, curvy, bouncy excess....but in a few years, especially with a pregnancy or two, she'll be a size 16 with no waist and sagging tits. Mark my words. 

THAT is not perfection for women.

Kate Upton is going to look like Rosemary Clooney by the time she's 50. That is the end game, fellas.

But I don't imagine this study asked men what would be their ideal FOREVER...even if it did, men have a charming way of thinking a sweet young thing will never change.

HAHAHAHAHA! Yeah...okay...

Women, on the other hand, look at body types and yearn for one that allows them to eat whatever they want, wear whatever they want, and look fabulous as they age...NO SAGGING. This is the dream.

So Cameron Diaz, even though I think she is an idiot twit with hair that has more life than her brain, would definitely be my pick over Kate Upton. Not even a close decision.

That's going to hold up, guys. Nicely.

To prove my point, here is Cameron at 42.

THAT is why women think of someone like Cameron, naturally slim and athletic, as the ideal body type.

We aren't jealous of big tits, as many suggested over as AoSHQ. We just know what it takes to stay in some kind of decent shape as the years tug and pull...and it ain't pretty, easy, or fun.

The. End.

You're going to get awfully tired of me before Christmas is over.

Make it so.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

Saturday, December 6, 2014

More internet silliness...and more wine. LOTS more wine.

I love the blog, 27b/6, and have probably read every single essay by David Thorne, but still visit periodically to refresh the funny. My favorite of all time is:


I even love that the url for the blog post reads... HALOGEN! HAHAHAHA! Okay...I've had a few sips of wine and I'm starting to find lots of things funny.

Our story opens with David admitting that he basically never gets along with his neighbors...not in Australia and not in the United States. This is not an immediate indictment. I've only gotten along with one couple in my entire life, and they moved. Such is my luck. Currently we have neighbors bordering us on three sides and each one has an idiot dog (or dogs) that attack the fences, bark incessantly, and make me dream of baking cyanide bones. I love animals, but I can't stand animals who are allowed to be constant annoyances to everyone within a three mile distance. And since I can't even IMAGINE poisoning the stupid neighbors, who are the real culprits, I fantasize about offing the YAP! YAP! YAP! SNARL! GROWL! BARK! BARK! BARK! GRRRR! with a little treat.

Okay...not seriously. And not often. Certainly not more than once a day.

So anyhow, David admits neighbor-relations have been troublesome for him. From there it gets hilarious.

Really hilarious. I would laugh even WITHOUT the wine.

Not if he does it every fucking time.

Bored and filled with ennui...I attempt to understand the meaning of life but fall pitifully short.

Every so often, from a combination of boredom, fatigue over the relentless disappointments in the world of politics filled with potentates (Obama), pussies (Boehner) and poseurs (Rand), and (more frankly) as an envious descent into territory of actually HUMOROUS writing, I pop over to Timothy McSweeney's Internet Dependency and get lost poking around. This article caught my attention because, as you have probably deduced after these few years, I have little to no regard for modern philosophy, feeling it is seldom nothing more than the confusing ramblings of an overly bright, overly educated, overly needy, overly melancholy, overly insulated, overly narcissistic boor.

So when I came across this essay:

Why You Should Not Have Broken Up With Me, According to Various Critical Theories.



...I could not have been more delighted. Author Tommy Wallach covers a wide swath of philosophical territory, but the best was his assessment of the merits of Marxism and how it showed conclusively that his girlfriend, an Occupy activist, should not have dumped him. She obviously wasn't living up to her values. And leftists call conservatives hypocrites.


Marx believed that the arc of history bends inevitably towards a more equitable distribution of the means of production, but that the battle for socialism would be a long one. I’m confident he would agree that my current financial straits are an inevitable result of the current socioeconomic moment, rather than “a permanent shitstorm born out of sheer laziness,” as you described it in your letter. In spite of your attending that Occupy rally last year, which I missed because I was hung over from drinking too much at your work party (you’re welcome for supporting you, BTW), you seem to have forgotten the socialist credo: “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.” If you were ever incapable of making rent on your own, I certainly would have been willing to get a job in order to help out. But you always insisted on focusing on the negative; you had no trouble criticizing me when I couldn’t pay for dinner, but you never thanked me for going to the trouble of ordering it in the first place.

This poor soul is exactly right. He was only living up to the high ideals of communism, and he needed her to do the same.

Selfish little 1%er.

It's Saturday night and I'm feeling like trouble...

Friday, December 5, 2014

Christmas Season is Here Again...and so is Santa and His Jolly Boots

Let others sing The Carol of the Bells or Silent Night or even Away in the Manger. For me, Christmas season starts with a viewing of Bill Murray's SCROOGED and continues for weeks with me belting out at the top of my lungs my favorite Christmas tune, Invader Zim's Santa's Jolly Boots...or whatever you call it.


Merry Christmas! Bow down! Don't make me kill you.