It’s Friday, thank god.

As anyone who has ever worked a phone job can attest to, that amazing invention with the buttons and the dial tone attracts some total nutjobs that grace one’s daily life on this end of the telephone cord with some truly awesome glimpses at humanity at its finest.

For example, the woman who was going to sail on her cruise come hell or highwater (from the…river…maybe?) to the Caribbean from Tennessee.

Well I was browsing the internet to try to decompress from the madness these people cause me in their leisure time, and realized what these amazingly competent people do outside of the hours they are on the phone pestering me for cruises that don’t exist:

They are city workers:

They run errands:

and they are responsible pet owners:

Thank god it’s the weekend.

A recent Tyra Banks Show/CNN poll revealed that teens are having sex. Lots of sex. Girls are losing their virginity by age 15 and are even doing it at school. And Tyra, the silly goose, is shocked. The nitwit who wore a fat suit to try to understand what obese people go through, now realizes that teens are banging.

I could think of a lot of other things Tyra should be a bit more shocked at, like that her stupid show is still on the air or that by now most men would rather fuck Ernie Banks than Tyra Banks.

Hasn’t she ever watched Dateline NBC?

While fending off the teachers, neighbors and online predators who want to foul them, these girls also have to decide whether to give it up to the boys their own age, or else be called a prude. Or worse - not called at all. It’s hard being a teenage girl. Other news stories have shown us that teen boys can get sex either from their female teachers or their high school football team. It’s competitive out there.

And, Tyra, every news station in the country has done this story. Go into hiding with Kim Alexis and Cheryl Tiegs. Please.

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Let’s stop treating these teens like children. In Arizona there’s a 12-year-old who shot and killed one of his parents. He could be tried as an adult. In Tucson, one of the news stations refers to high school football as “bone crunching action.”

Bone crunching! These are kids! Get a pro sports team, you blood-thirsty desert hayseeds!

If kids can have adults watch them crunch each others bones, they can certainly jump said bones in the bathroom during lunch period.

Here’s one that really gets me - That abysmal show Dancing with the Stars has a segment on which little kids - a boy and a girl - dance together. After all the talk about how sexy the adults are dancing, and how hot it was, whose frigging idea was it to have children performing those same dances? Who’s the pederast at ABC who thought - Yeah, I’d like to see a couple of eight-year-olds sweating like those two are. That’d be sexy! Get me the third grade equivalent of Julianne Huff immediately!

Try watching it. It’s JonBenet creepy.

Hey Mom, guess what I got you for Christmas this year?  I know its a little bulky, but one day you’ll be glad you have it.

Oh yes, folks.  Everything you want, need, can think of plus the exact opposite of all of those things is now available at Costco.

From presents for your grandparents for the holidays to things to put them in when they croak, the gift giving possibilities are endless.

But wait, there’s more…

Should you need your casket right away (and who doesn’t Shirley, am I right?) we can provide expedited shipping if you order before 2:00PM EST and it’s included in the price. How great is that?

Just look at these prices!!!  The “In God’s Care” Casket is only $1,299.99 with expedited shipping included, people!!!  This casket is 18 gauge steel, Neapolitan blue with an adjustable in-coffin bed and mattress, because who wants to be uncomfortable for the rest of eternity, am I right?

And it only weighs two hundred and twenty pounds.  Multiply that by two and I’m moved in already!!! *wink*

So come on down folks, hurry up, act now, buy fast, don’t delay, and bring the kiddies why don’t ya.

Thanks to Robert Heron for sending this in. Sometimes your pets just want to help you clean around the house… and sometimes they are super precious… and sometimes they do both at the same time:

It was 30 years ago today. Reverend Jim Jones taught the band to play. All 900 plus of them. And play they did.

November 18, 1978 was the day of the Jonestown Massacre in beautiful, sunny Guyana in South America. Jim Jones and his Peoples Temple took a little field trip - no permission slips needed - from California all the way down to Guyana to celebrate life, liberty, and the recent Yankees World Series victory (Especially Bucky Dent’s home run in that playoff game. I’ve always blamed Dent for Jonestown, that son of a bitch.).

These 900 people followed the man with the suspiciously plain name to the point of everyone’s favorite pastime - mass suicide. It was the greatest single, non-natural disaster related loss of American civilian life up until September 11, 2001. Unless you’re Al-Qaeda, you don’t mess around with Jim!

Jones - who, and very few people say this, was truly a go-getter - passed around li’l cups of what everyone assumes was Kool-Aid. Uh-uh. You hear people like Bill O’Reilly use the phrase “Kool-Aid drinkers” to describe those who blindly follow someone or something. But, no, it was a company called Flavor-Aid. Do you really think Kool-Aid would have survived that bad publicity? He comes crashing through a wall and there lies 900 bodies?

Flavor-Aid was the incredibly unlucky company whose product was combined with cyanide and enjoyed by Jim Jones’ followers. No, Flavor-Aid wouldn’t last very long after this day. Kind of like Ayds, the dietary candy that enjoyed moderate success until a certain highly-deadly disease was invented.

A total team player, Jones himself also died that day, but his legacy lived on, particularly in his 1990 co-founding of the neo-psychedelic band The Brian Jonestown Massacre, along with original Rolling Stones guitarist Brian Jones. This was, of course, after Jim left the band Jesus Jones when he a Jesus had a falling out.

So take a moment today to reflect on the story of Jim Jones - reverend, cult leader, man who had a town named after him. I mean, could you get 900 people to poison themselves to death? I don’t think so.

It started out innocently enough.  I was listening to Christmas music, allowing myself a modicum of giddiness that Christmas is on its way.  It just isn’t Christmas in my world if I can’t hear Elton inviting us to “step into Christmas” or Bono reminding us “tonight, thank God it’s them instead of you!”

I madeth a joyful noise.

Then my mind went to a dark place.  My heart sank into my stomach, and the joy which burst forth like a geyser from my soul dried up and was now baren, and my chest cavity was an enormous dry socket.  I bolted upright, struggling to catch my breath as memories of Christmases past rushed to fill my mind with horrible, horrible dread… I can barely strike the keys to name the source of my agony without seizing in terror…

Dear Mister Jesus!!!!

The lyrics rattled around in my head like a freight train on ice, reopening long healed synaptic wounds.  In case you don’t recall, Dear Mister Jesus is, for lack of a more succinct description, musical emesis.  Sung by some horrid little girl-child, the lyrics are a prayer to “mister Jesus” regarding another little girl that was severely beaten.

“Please don’t let them hurt your children, we need love and shelter from the storm, please don’t let them hurt your children, won’t you keep us safe and warm?”

Ugh.  Get me a bucket.  This fucking song has nothing to do with Christmas.  NOTHING.  It’s a musical bedpan filled with exploitative diarrhea.  I realize children take beatings and it’s not fair.  Hell, some children NEED to take beatings.  Most kids aren’t beaten ENOUGH, I say.  I think this song makes people WANT to hit children.  I’m even wondering if it didn’t make Jesus want to ball up his fists.  That’s probably why they blessedly stopped playing it (and those atheists say there is no GOD…PEH!).

{smartads}

One of the last lines of the song reveal of the girl-child, “please don’t tell my daddy, but my mommy hits me, too.”  Well, what did you do to piss her off?  I’m guessing you started singing this bullshit…

As if this song isn’t bad enough, there is a newer wad of pablum circulating the radio waves and tickling our gag-reflexes in much the same was as “Dear Little Girl, Won’t You Please Shut the Fuck Up” does.  This one is called “The Christmas Shoes.”

This nightmare tells the story of somebody, standing in the checkout line, who hears the little raggedy boy in line ahead of him trying to buy some shoes for his mom:

“Sir, I wanna buy these shoes for my momma, please.  It’s Christmas Eve and these shoes are just her size.  Could you hurry, sir, Daddy says there’s not much time.  You see, she’s been sick for quite a while, and I know these shoes will make her smile, and I want her to look beautiful if Momma meets Jesus tonight.”

So, blah, blah, blah, the point of the song is that he can’t afford the shoes, because he only has a few pennies in his pocket, so the asshole hearing all of this lays the money on the counter and the little boy gets the shoes for his mother.

Where the hell do I even start with this one?  Why the hell does a bedridden and terminal invalid want a pair of shoes?  Why not get her a fucking bicycle that she can’t ride, or maybe some flying lessons?  Seriously.  I’m guessing the shoes looked something like this:

I’m also guessing that “momma” was next door getting her fucking nails done with her welfare money.  That would be the only rational explanation as to how this little bastard got to the mall to get the shoes to begin with… if everyone is supposedly sitting shiva over this woman who is ringing the bell at death’s door, then who gave him the fucking bus fare?

Is it just me, or is this song just filled with rage-inducing logic deficits?

Fuckin’ A, I need to go jingle something.  HO HO HO.

Ok, not really.

But I found this video and HAD to make up a reason to share it.

And in the spirit of it being (kind of) Ninja Day… here’s more Ninja cowbell for you.

Ninjas. One of God’s greatest creations.

There’s one watching you right now.

Well… atleast he wasn’t misleading?

I had planned on writing something silly today. Maybe something about the Swedish bestiality ring that they just busted. Perhaps something cute about the former American Idol contestant who killed herself in front of Paula Abdul’s house. Or how the “secret” in Victoria’s Secret is apparently formaldehyde.

But  I decided it was high time this soldier wrote about a little something called bias.

Subcategory: media bias.

Sub-Subcategory: liberal media bias.

I’m looking at you, Katie Couric.

I was once one of the folks who thought the idea of “liberal media bias” was a bunch of hooey, as much a figment of these silly goose conservatives’ imagination as unicorns and Santa Claus. And the LMB words thrown around a little too freely. It was their “Whatchu talkin’ ’bout, Willis?”

Shut up! Stop whining!

In fact, in 2006 I even wrote something for a Web site attacking sexy, bearded Christian L Brent Bozell and his conservative media watchdog organization the Media Research Center. Boy, did I give ole vag beard the business! This article appeared on a site, of course, staffed by liberals, one of whom stopped being my online friend after our heated debates about Don Imus.

I was later delighted when a reader commented on my review of a Bernard Goldberg book on a different Web site, calling me a “nasty stuck up lib.”

“God bless you, sir, madam, or he/she,” I exclaimed.

The nasty part was certainly true, particularly in another book review I wrote of Laura Ingraham’s Power to the People last December. This is where my story truly begins. The editor of the site I was writing this for loved it. No changes needed. Just a paragraph describing who the hell Ingraham is.

But this was far from a serious review. I literally skimmed the book for about an hour at a Barnes & Noble one day, writing down the issues on which I wanted to attack Ingraham. I basically just attacked her for being a conservative. Even made a couple of cancer jokes!

A liberal friend of mine also loved it and thought it was quite funny. Nonsense attacking conservatives, I learned, was humorous. And I was becoming really good at it.

The next thing I wrote for this site was an attack on something completely different: atheism. I was going after the rise of atheism, authors Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens, all those tools. I used the same silly, sometimes vicious, but nonsensical, style with which I wrote the Ingraham piece.

{smartads}

This was a completely different experience. I had to do two rewrites, fact check, make citations. Everything I didn’t have to do for the liberal-friendly Laura Ingraham attack. All of the sudden it was “Let’s be serious. You can’t write that.” I sent it to my liberal friend and he even told me, “It doesn’t work.”

Finally, my editor threw his hands up. He couldn’t use it. Wouldn’t publish it.

I said fuck it and started shopping the piece elsewhere while beginning work on another piece about how the film The Neverending Story was made by and for pedophiles. Also nonsensical, by the way, but they published it.

Within a week my atheism story was accepted by a whole nother *Web site. No, “Oh, maybe you should explain this.” It was taken as it was.

Interesting, I thought, how my two similarly written pieces received such different reactions from my liberal buds.

Fast forward about a year, and now I get this comment about a small thing I wrote here about Bill Maher’s movie. Not my best work, admittedly. But tell me there isn’t a little liberal anti-Christian bias in this person’s hatred for my piece. I just wrote a three-part thing on celebs I had crushed on (1, 2, 3), for Pete’s sake!

My libby friend said something to me about how the conservative point of view always seems serious. Ergo, it can’t be funny.

What horseshit, I said. Atheists can make fun of believers all they want, but “Whoever” forbid the believers have a go at the atheists. No humor can be drawn from a belief in a higher power. He’s telling me I’m not funny enough, perhaps no one’s funny enough, to attack the precious, highly-intellectual atheists. Well, fuck them. Oh, I hope there’s a hell. Please let there be a hell.

So I’ve learned from being in the writing community that there is indeed a bias. Attack the church, like I have, on their beliefs about homosexuality and you are spot on and hilarious. But take the point of view of that same church against non-believers and you suck.

Hence I was a victim of liberal media bias. A victim of the modern age, poor, poor girl! And I was called a “devout Xtian!” Like a superhero! I don’t know if the ‘X’ is supposed to be the Cross (in which case, I’d be an ‘Xian’) or if he or she is X-ing him or herself like Manson.

*Fuck! My atheism story is very important to this and the stupid Web site that published it apparently did some house cleaning. Fuckers! If this MySpace blog link doesn’t work I’ll have to kill myself.

It’s Friday, you’re tired, and this is the cuttest thing I’ve ever seen… so have a great weekend:

Thanks to Allison Roberts for sending this one in… very nice taste.

Really?

I mean, match.com or www.meetyourfreakloveronline.com or whatever is one thing. And I know that people can get frustrated with the bar scene. But who REALLY looks to people in the prison system for love!??

I was searching around for something on the internet yesterday, probably something like fluffy bunnies and pretty puppies, the way some of my internet searches have been yielding results (I heard “Barack Obama” was being returned as a typo up until just recently - “Did you mean…”), when I came across this bizarre site: Women Behind Bars.

Women Behind Bars (WBB) is a professional service which provides personal pages, pictures and profiles for women who are incarcerated in prisons all over America. The ladies featured on this site are looking for relationships.

Ok, so I can understand THEIR end of it. They screwed up big time with their life (some of them were sentenced to Life terms… their release date is included as a top piece of info on their bio - you know, instead of their astrological sign), their friends and family disassociated from them, and now they are looking for love.

But who responds to them for that?? I mean OK, a person feels sorry for them (??) or wants to help in the rehabilitative process…mmm…oKAAAAY….I guess I can see that.

I’ve got that half inclination, at least for about five seconds until I consider that these people are CONVICTED of crimes serious enough to send them to JAIL for YEARS, and serious enough that even their most loved ones won’t have anything to do with them…but ok fine. Even if we give them that…

Really? Is there no better DATING site that a person can find than THIS?

I’ve looked at something like this before and noticed the same eerie thing on that one as I did this one. These people are in jail, right? They’ve done a crime, right? Maybe killed someone? Who knows? And yet… in their little bios, they don’t mention a THING about it. It’s like a real dating site!!! “I like knitting, sitting by the fire, drinking wine over a nice dinner with good conversation. Looking for a lifelong relationship with a good man…”

WHAT??

I don’t know, it just seems like there would be SOME mention of “yes, I did this and I am sorry and I’ve learned my lesson and I am looking forward to moving on and being an upstanding citizen forever more, as I knit and sit by the fire, and drink wine…” Almost none of them have this though. It’s like they’re speaking as though they are free to just go out that Saturday if you want, so just ping me and let’s go have a good time!

AGH!!

The election is past us now (thank GOD will you MORONpeople stop calling my CELLPHONE now and wasting my MINUTES!?), and I’ve been in a reflective mood since that fateful night.

Like, why the hell did boyfriend and I just spend $14 on two shots of tequila and two chasers at the election night party, only to sit down and then two minutes later have the screen yawn, “Obama elected president”. WHAT!? $14!!!! Last election it took more like 6 shots, a stumble to downtown, several hours and then leaving before the votes were even finished to have a verdict! (Then another 6 shots when the verdict was delivered…)

Now THAT was a worthwhile election night party!

FIVE DAMN MINUTES!!? For $14 bucks!? I could have called a porn line fed Sally Struthers 14 Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers in that amount of time for that much!!

Well whatever. I got a free chicken sandwich from Chik-fil-a for voting. That was inspirational, even if the CNN broadcast of OH MY HOLY HELL WE HAVE A BLACK PRESIDENT LESS THAN 40 YEARS AFTER THEY HAD TO DRINK FROM A DIFFERENT WATER FOUNTAIN left something to be desired.

Speaking of motivational…I’ve got some touching posters for you, suitable for printing and framing for the office.

Honestly, I blame the McCaugheys.  You remember… Kenny and Bobbi McCaughey and their septuplets.  Fucking SEPTUPLETS.

The drill is always the same.  “We couldn’t have babies, so we prayed about it and God blessed us with all these wonderful babies and promised to take care of all of us!!!”

My question is this:  Why weren’t you listening when God was telling you not to have any kids?

Anyway, the McCaugheys had their babies and everything was perfect for them.  Yes, Bobbi acted like the beleaguered mother who was ever-so-blessed to have more mouths to feed than tits to go around.  Of course, the McCaugheys have wanted their privacy, as well, and refused to exploit their children like the Dione quintuplets - a point she made abundantly clear after they graciously accepted the free nanny services, the free diapers and formula, the free 9-passenger van, the scholarships for all of their children, and the free 5500+ square foot house.  Seriously. Oh, and the free orthodontic work for Bobbi… I mean, what kind of a mother has crooked teeth, for crissakes? I am so glad that God took care of them so well.  I can sleep at night knowing that their boil-in-bag babies are well-tended and that they don’t have to make so much as one house payment.  Praise Jesus, eh?

Flash forward to the Duggars.  The Duggars freak me out.

Now, in their defense, they haven’t used any manner of fertility drugs AND they pay their own way in the world… albeit at least partially through exploiting their family through television specials, and now a television show - 17 Kids and Counting.  Interestingly, they don’t watch TV because it is not pleasing to God, but they will merrily whore themselves on television to turn a buck.  I guess Jinger (what a fucking AWFUL name, I never even read that as GINGER, I read it as though it rhymes with RINGER… ugh), Jebediah, Josiah, Jamiroquai, and John Jacob Jinglehimer all need braces.  On a recent episode, they hosted the Bates family, a carbon copy family with 16 kids who all dress in prairie dresses or polo shirts.  The Duggars just need to know when to say “when.”

I guess they are just creepy because they do nothing but fuck and make babies and pray.  Not so much because they have nine babies at a time.  Do you suppose they pray WHILE they are fucking?  They are still creepy, and Michelle Duggar’s uterus is probably roughly the size and consistency of an old pillowcase.  I’ll pray for them.

That brings us to who I believe is the most unlikeable family on television.  The Gosselins.  I have nothing but contempt for people who buy their babies in bulk and claim that God led them in that direction.  God is God, he doesn’t need to lead you anywhere to knock you up; please refer to the Bible for further details on that.  Why doesn’t anyone ever say, “In spite of years of trying, God blessed us by not encumbering us with offspring?”

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Anyway, according to her little bio on her precious little website, Kate says that after she had her spin-cycle twins, she wanted to have more babies.  They were even going to adopt a baby in a situation that, by her own admission, was going to be a very easy adoption (something that other infertile couples pray every day for), but she prayed about it and God told her not to take the baby.  So they REFUSED a little baby in favor of going through fertility treatments to have a litter of their own.  Now they have a show so that they can exploit God’s little miracles for money.  They are ALSO getting a big, fancy wedding ceremony out of the deal; I thought they were already married?

Isn’t that a fine kettle of fish?

Let’s set the record straight:  God didn’t make Kate Gosselin and Bobbi McCaughey pregnant - fertility doctors did.  Nobody thinks either of them are heroes for carrying a gross of babies to (almost) term.  God wanted to give Kate Gosselin a perfectly good baby created by other people, but she didn’t want that one.  As far as God taking care of you and your family, are you referring to the church of Lifetime Television, Dateline NBC, and Good Housekeeping?

Now, I do not wish any ill will on any of these people, I am just callin’ it as I see it.

Be sure and tune in to my upcoming show on Lifetime called, “Regular Mom with Normal Sized Family and Part-time Job Who Complains a Lot”

Or is it Pwnd?

Is it just me or is this the ONLY guy in the world who doesn’t see anything coming?

WHEN GEESE ATTACK!!

I can’t decide whose face makes me laugh more.

After much deliberation, the Country Music Association has decided that the show must go on. Despite the tragedy of Barack Obama’s victory in last week’s presidential election, the CMA Awards will go on as planned on November 12.

American Idol minx Carrie Underwood, and a piece of paisley fabric apparently, will host the awards that will take place probably in Nashville or some similar place.

The show will be highlighted by numerous moments of silence and an appearance from Lord and Lady Antebellum of Jesusland.

Meanwhile, after threatening to move to Canada, of all places, during the Bush administration, Democrats are now planning to rename America “Utopia” after the Great Barack Obama’s presidential miracle.

“Do you believe?” fans ask each other rhetorically while high-fiving and organizing communities.

Experts say that during the Obama administration food will taste better, air will be sweeter, and unicorns and mermaids will dance in the streets. Already on the president’s agenda: world peace, curing cancer, and helping the Cubs win the World Series next year.

There is utter joy in Obamanation. Some might call it gittiness. Bliss. Euphoria. Gaiety. Glee. Jollity. Jubilation. I love online thesauruses!

The following are actual statuses posted by some of my writer friends on Facebook. The names have been changed to protect the usually intelligent, but occasionally daffy:

*Sillygoose McGetoutoftown is giving Zeek (the 9-year-old) Wednesday’s front page to hang in his room.

*Tedium Sleeperhold is looking forward to our president-elect’s press conference today like he looks forward to Christmas and glazed donuts.

*Tickle Me Mussolini gets all warm and tingly when she hears the words “President Obama.”

*Waa-Waa O’Crybaby cried at Obama’s words. Thank God for Obama.

*Bob Smith is WOOOOHOOOO WOOOOHOOOO WOOOHOOO.

*George “the Animal” Steele One of the best moments of my life was telling my son this morning about the newly elected president.

In the words of some of the characters on that stupid Grey’s Anatomy show, “Seriously?”

“Seriously!?!”

Then you even have all the cute ones who put Hussein in between their name, even though it’s completely against Facebook policy. I guess all of our middle names are Hussein now. That’s what the ‘H’ in Jesus H. Christ stands for.

I’d like to believe that Barack Obama walks on water, but I can’t help but think that these delirious little children are going to be disappointed when they find out the man is merely a politician. Just a dude who successfully used the Senate as a springboard to becoming Commander in Chief. No different than any other.

{smartads}

Is the taste left in the mouths of the “Bush is Hitler” types from that administration so bad that many of us are clinging to the Barack as savior dream? I never liked or voted for Bush, and I don’t want to understate the importance of the first half-Kenyan president. I mean, we’ve still only had one of those nasty Catholics in the White House. This is like when a non-Kenyan wins the Boston Marathon. But, jeezy creezy, let’s keep our perspective here. Christmas? The tinglies? Tears and donuts? “One of the best moments of my life?”

Let’s gain our composure. We are not Dorothy going from the tornado to Munchkinland. We are not living in a magical fantasy world. This man is a president. Like Carter, Garfield and Zachary Taylor. All the ones we make fun of now. Sure, he beat a war hero and an Alaskan hayseed, and now we have the “End of an Error,” and all that other horseshit, but let’s snap out of it.

I don’t care much for these highs and lows, good guys and bad guys, in American politics.

It’s like the Honky Tonk Man had the belt for eight years and now the Ultimate Warrior beat him for it and everyone’s throwing chairs into the ring in mad, mob-like celebration.

Might as well have Kool and the Gang follow Obama around and play that stupid song. We need 90s motivational speaker extraordinaire Susan Powter now more than ever to demand that we “Stop the insanity!”

Or not. What do I care? Now that I’ve finished with four wonderful 80s and 90s references, celebrate in smug happiness and joy all you want.

This is not an article about Cameron Diaz.  I just couldn’t really post any of the images that Google was suggesting for the word “chode.”  I decided that since I think Cameron Diaz is the nastiest, skankiest, infection-filled twat in current pop culture, I would use HER image as the tie-in photo, but I digress.

Let’s play musical chodes!

Okay, here’s the object of the game:  to think of as many song titles that have the word “heart” in them as you can, and replace that word with “chode.”  (The word “clunge” is also a permissible substitution)

Here are some examples:

1.  My Chode Will Go On

2.  I’ve Got a Hole In My Chode That Goes All the Way to China

3.  Young Chodes, Run Free

4.  Tearin’ Up My Chode

5.  Harden My Chode

You get the idea.  This game was born of an overnight shift at AOL, back in the DAY.  It may not sound like much, but as of this post, you will not be able to get it out of your head, and you will refer to it EVERY TIME you hear a song title or lyric that has the word “heart.”

It is both a blessing and a curse.  Enjoy!

… be sure to read Part 1 and Part 2.

Like Casey Kasem and every stupid magazine and Internet site on the planet, we’ve been doing a little countdown here. A Top 15, because I shant be contained by the number 10, and 20 is just too crazy. I mean, who am I? Dr. Demento?

But now we’ve reached the Top 5. The ladies I forgot all about once I met my wife. The ones who marked my insanity from the ages of 12 all the way up to 27. The greats, the beauties, the Top 5 birds on my own ridiculous all-time list. And they are…

5. Melissa Reeves

Thanks to my mom, I was raised on the soap opera Days of Our Lives. Summers were always about The Price is Right, the noon news and lunch, followed by a young Tom Bergeron and his local program People Are Talking, then Days, or DOOL, as uber fans call it. I was probably but a wee lad of 11 when I began seriously getting into the show, and that was precisely the year that Melissa Brennan, later Melissa Reeves, debuted on the show at age 18.

There were other dolls on this famous serial: Mary Beth Evans as Kayla Brady; Tracy Middendorf, and then Christie Clark as Carrie Brady; heartthrob quarterback Tom Brady. And Stefano DiMera? A sexier villain there never was!

But who cared about these seemingly countless other characters when there was young (or to me old, but not like some of the others on this list) Jennifer Horton. I remember being in college and scheduling my classes around DOOL, like so many other schoolgirls did.

Then, in 1995, tragedy struck when Melissa abruptly left the show and was replaced by some woman named Stephanie Cameron. “Whore!” I screamed. Who the hell was SHE to play the part of Jennifer Horton Devereuax? I toiled for five years watching this pretender play the part only my Missy could play. Joy and bliss ruled once again in 2000 when Melissa returned. By the time she left the show again in 2006, I had long since stopped watching this horse shit.

4. Devon/Devin

While Tiffany Mynx was my first love in the world of the pornographic features, Devon was the ultimate starlet. Who cares if a gal has had her tits and most of her face done? Hot is hot, and Devon, the former Vivid girl (you might call her a “porn star”), is hot.

Born Kristie Maria Lisa in Allentown, PA (made famous by Billy Joel with that wonderful tune, appropriately titled “Allentown”) on March 28, 1977, this former Penthouse pet got her start in the world of pornography in 1998. When I saw her on the ole Howard Stern Show, back when I listened to and watched that crap, I fell in love. So, of course, I had to have all her films, this fine young actress. That’s right. I purchased pornography once upon a time. Film with titles such as Where the Boys Aren’t 13, Asstroids, and Pussy Grinders.

Devon, now 31, left Vivid apparently in 2006 and now works for Shane’s World. Good girl. Keep it up!

3. Jennifer Love Hewitt

I have a very good friend who places this gal somewhere between Janet Reno and Lassie in the looks department. He enjoys e-mailing me photos of Ms. Hewitt with penises cleverly Photoshopped on her, along with other nasty items. The bastard.

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Wikipedia refers to Love as “an American actress and singer-songwriter.” Yeah, she’s Joni Frigging Mitchell. This young Waco, TX gal got her start on the ingenious television program Kids Incorporated. “K! I! D! S!”

After a few unsuccessful television programs and an adorable little film called Little Miss Millions, she hit it big by landing the role of Sarah Reeves on the tragicomedy Party of Five. She also starred in the abysmal POF spin-off Time of Your Life. This was a horrendous show, but it featured both Hewitt and Jennifer Garner as roommates, so you bet I was watching every damn episode. Problem was, it was basically about nothing, which is fine for comedies like Seinfeld, but the definition of drama is that something has to happen!

Love’s film career went from I Know What You Did Last Summer to a bunch of movies no one has ever heard of, but lucky for her this Ghost Whisperer show is something of a hit. And just look at that Maxim photo, eh?

2. Juliana Hatfield

There were many 90s alternative rock goddesses in my life: from Veruca Salt’s Nina Gordon and Louise Post to Letters to Cleo’s Kay Hanley to Garbage’s Shirley Manson. But none of them could compare to the incomparable singer-songwriter Juliana Hatfield.

From beautiful Duxbury, Mass, the lovely Miss Hatfield got her start with the indie rock band Blake Babies. They produced some fantastic albums such as “Earwig” and “Sunburn,” but soon Juliana went solo, like George Michael and Squeaky Fromme. In 1992 she released “Hey Babe,” then followed it up with “Become What You Are” which produced the hit singles, “My Sister” and “Spin the Bottle.” And Jules was a star! Like Madonna or Lizzie Borden!

I first saw Hatfield on Conan O’Brien, swooned like a little girl, and told my girlfriend I was leaving her, to which she replied she was not my girlfriend, but my History professor and my paper on the American Revolution was long overdue.

Anyway, after these two still-awesome solo albums, Juliana steadily started to fall downhill musically, in my opinion. Nonetheless, in 2000, on her tour of every Newbury Comics store in New England, I met this lovely gal - twice in one day, like a stalker, and managed to spit out the words, “Hi,” and “Thanks.” What wit! What charm!

Over time I’ve collected about 30 CDs, a half dozen bootleg videos, several posters, T-shirts, and live concert memories of Juliana. But, due to the terms of the restraining order, I was forced to move from Massachusetts to Arizona, which makes little sense to me, as she does most of her work these days in Los Angeles.

1. Calista Flockhart

Here she is, ladies and gentlemen! You might know her as the anorexic stick figure married to old man Han Solo and currently playing Laura Ingraham on some show with Sally Field. But when this boy saw the movie The Birdcage, amid all the laughing I was doing, I again fell completely in love. For the part of Barbara Keeley was being played by the most beautiful woman I had seen up to that time. “And what a lovely name!” I said when I watched the credits. And then, the following September, Ally McBeal premiered. Holy shit! I skipped WRESTLING on Monday nights to watch that beautiful program. Not since the days of Kate & Allie did I do that!

To give you an idea of how crazy in love I was, I wrote a wonderful short story, titled, “Calista Flockhart and the MySpace Hoax.” The part about Calista in the story - that was me. I was that insane. I once bought a T-shirt on eBay with Flockhart’s picture on it. I should have been put in a straight jacket.

Eventually Ms. Flockhart got thinner and thinner, and Ally started sucking, and now I couldn’t give a shit about her and don’t watch that awful siblings show she’s in. But back then, my God was I smitten!

So there you have it. Point at me and laugh.

This past Thursday Scarlett Johansson attended…

… attended a Michael J. MAMMARY GLANDS Fox foundation benefit for AIDS, ugly children, turkey sandwiches, gardening convention, Parkinson’s disease.

Scarlett “Big Red” Giant CHEST PLAYGROUND wore a dress to the event, although for the first half of the night no one noticed. It wasn’t until 11:30 that anyone noticed she had even arrived, finally looking up long enough to her face to identify her.

When reporters asked Fox what he thought about Johansson attending his event in support of finding a disease for Parkinson’s, Fox had this to say:

moooooooooooooooooooooooooo *heavy panting*

and then promptly got up and did the old-town soft-shoe for everyone, proving once again that with the proper motivation, your mind can cure anything.

When word got out of the breakthrough Fox had at his own benefit due to MOON CANNONS Johansson’s motivating presence, invitations were shot out to the Hollywood starlet to everything from “Save the Whales” to “Save my Pants… with Your Hands!”. Albeit that the last invitation was from me, but I’m trying to save stuff just as important as Fox.

Let’s face it, when you have these:

people are going to want to ask you to save stuff… save lots of stuff… save stuff that might not even need saving, maybe just… “mild attention”… save stuff that you tucked away for safe keeping even… stuff that was tucked away in your pockets maybe…

<Does anyone see where I’m going with this?>

… save important stuff that some folks might have forgotten about…

<HINT: I’m alluding to my pants and all that they contain.>

… save something that maybe isn’t appropriate to leave out while shopping or helping out at a soup kitchen, but non-the-less still needs attention from time to time…

<HINT: My penis… I’m talking about my penis.>

… save som… oh, looks like I gave it away already. Ahh well, then you get the idea.

Thanks The Superficial!

In a move that I can only assume was done to try and compete with me on a direct level of awesome, UK teenager George Garratt has legally changed his name to:

Captain Fantastic Faster Than Superman Spiderman Batman Wolverine The Hulk And The Flash Combined.

Yep… that whole thing is his name, people just call him “Captain” now apparently… which is more awesome than my name. Even if I changed my name legally to “Captain” my family and friends would probably just end up calling me “duck-shit” or “hymen-face”.

Apparently it seems like “Captain” here has a bit of a crazy streak, so this was no surprise to his parents:

I decided on a superheroes theme and whenever my friends offered up suggestions to me, I added them

…

My family have begun to expect these sorts of things from me, and although my friends thought it was ridiculous most people do call me Captain and it’s been a great conversation starter.

I may not have been surprised by it if my kid did this, but I’d still make him clean out the lawnmower while it was running *humph*

Thanks BBC!

… be sure to read Part 1.

As I pushed our belo