Shiny New Spanking Babies

A couple of my bestest people are having one of them babies.



LET'S ALL DANCE IN A GOOFY HAPPY SOMEBODY IS HAVING A BABY HAPPY DANCE!!!

A Brief Musical Interlude

Let's all catch our breath from the holiday madness. Sit back and enjoy a bit of Magic saved by the utubes.



And somebody click an ad at the bottom. I want to see if the Machine will send me a check for $.06 for an adsense clicky-thru. I'll split it with you.

A Merry Christmas, A Happy Kwanzaa, A Joyful Hanukkah, A Festive Solstice and whateverelse you may celebrate for a more decent and hope-filled New Year.

Congratulations

Update 12/23: Fine ideas as stupid crazy overwrought government Medicinal ideas go: single payer, the public option and the age 55 Medicare buy-in were sold up the creek for a bottle of rotgut and two ladyish cousins of questionable moral character in order to pass a watered-down drink of a Bill that a freshman sorority-pledge would turn down. Wussies. America's wussies, THE U.S. Senate.

Nice work, kids. You've won the Healthcare debate. Land of the Free, Home of the Asshat Douchebag Nutbag Fruitcake couldn't pass the GED Retard. With any luck, the Polar icecaps will melt rapidly drowning us all. I'm embarrassed to call myself an American. I read an excellent book a while back, Thomas Franks' What's The Matter With Kansas. There is no debating those who've made the leap to believing and voting against their own interests. But this shouldn't matter, right?

What in the bloody fuck happened? Did I just imagine, "Yes, We Can."? ha, ha! Irrepublicans have locked arms in solidarity. So what. The Democrats technically control all three branches of our government. All right, let's go, Batman! This a complete fallacy that hood-winked many like myself into believing that society-shifting legislation could have actually been enacted. Former Vice President Al Gore should kick himself in the ass every single morning, every single day, from now until the end of his climately-shortened life for bringing Joe Lieberman into the public domain. Not sexy enough for you? What is the nature of debauchery on the video of Senator Harry Reid? WAIT. WHAT? Joe Lieberman has a USB 2G flashdrive with Harry doing all manner of unspeakable acts. There is no other possible explanation for the Senate Majority Leader's cowtowing to Mr. Independent Big Brain Knows Best Lieberman.

And you thought an election was a pivotal moment. Hell, a rotting bag of elephant excrement could have beat George W. Bush's legacy in the last election. This, this healthcare issue, is the true test of American ideals.

The Idiots are winning.

Note to Idiots: That crunching sound is William F. Buckley gnawing on your skulls while you are still alive. The spinning around like you are swatting bees is not going to help. Buckley is gnawing on your skull.

Breaking News...

Please visit one of the most fascinating blogs on the web. Published by one of the most fascinating people of 2010.



http://pilarmonkeybeans-drinks-a-beer.blogspot.com/

It'll change your life. Seriously.

Raising A Stink

A dash of last minute gifting shopping advice: DO NOT PURCHASE CELEBRITY FRAGRANCE FOR A MAN. Ladies, girlfriends, moms, aunties and SO's, men DO NOT want to smell like a celebrity. Return it, pour it down the drain, drink it, give it to a renegade homeless dude who'll drink it, use it as an accelerator to burn down your failed business venture. Just don't give a Man-celebrity fragrance to a man. We don't want to smell like Usher. We don't want to smell like Antonio Banderas. Or Nick Lashey. We definitely don't want to smell like Tim McGraw. Who the Hell wants to smell like Tim McGraw? Can you imagine the conversation in the pub, "Dude, what's that stink?". "Oh, that's Tim McGraw. I wanted to smell like Tim McGraw." There is only one person who should know what Tim McGraw smells like, that'd be Faith Hill. And I'm sure she'd have something to say about her man's odor. And then there is the Puff Daddy. Do you want your man to smell like a mediocre rapper with illegitimate children? "Oh, honey. You smell like a gangsta who audited Marketing 101 at Community College, that's hot." Yes, I want to go to club stinking like one of those Jersey Shore douchebags. What did P. Sean Diddy do that qualifies him to tell me how I should waft over a crowd? Yet here he is on Home Shopping Network pretending to describe his stench with some bizarre concept that is completely unrelated to what he stinks of.



If you want to reek of Celine Dion or Jean Nate, fine. Should we make you smell like a dusty, old Liz Taylor? I didn't think so.

Just don't foist this nonsense on us. Old Spice, Brut, Hi Karate, soap, that we can handle. Please, please don't splash us with someone's expanded marketing plan.

The Moon Really Is A Sharp Cheese

His is a sad life. So much potential. Star of the junior varsity Golf Club he was. Then he turned to hard liquor, OTB and women of questionable character, in eighth grade no less. Watching the syphilis eat away at his gargantuan frame was a sight to behold. It took years just to slim him down to human proportions. It was the open, oozing wounds that scared the children the most. He loved that job as crossing guard, unfortunately even the little children (trained early on about acceptance of the mutated) could no longer gaze upon him without spontaneous regurgitation. The last I heard he had a gig up in the Adirondacks doing the East Coast version of Sasquatch for a Summer carny sideshow in Lake George. He's most likely run through his cash, rumor had it his hideousness made bank from the suburban wannabe NYers dragging their spawn 'up into the country, "the air is good for ya". I don't believe the whole stalking Rachael Ray incident. He was simply rifling through her trash, spelunking for a hit of EVOO I imagine. I've had unintelligible messages on my phone now and again leading me to believe he's still alive and has access to the demon Bourbon and North Country livestock that farmers won't miss. Quite a character, that guy.



This is fiction.

We're Coming Clean

What the Bloody Hell were we thinking. We became distracted for a while. Sade, our utmost apologies. Please hold it against us. Please. Our uber-celebrity crush is, and always will be, Sade. The One And Only, Sade. All we've got, even Stanley Kowolsky's extra toes because he is madly in love with you too, is yours. You don't need anything from me and Chocolate Thunder, but we'll do our best to get you anything you need.



We'll step back a bit. Now you tell us, tasteless America, who? Who? Voices attached to utter class are missing from what passes for music today. Show us this brilliance? We didn't think so. We're permanently devastated. Sade.

The Mighty Have Fallen

Now THAT, that is a great band name. If no one has called MHF, it's mine. ALL MINE. Here's the Rub. (Again, great band name. I call it.) There is absolutely nothing wrong with eating by oneself. That's why I'm dedicating this recipe to Tiger Woods. Because Tiger, ol' buddy ol' pal, you are going to be eating dinner by yourself for the unforeseen future. And I've made this concoction twice under extreme grippingthewheel test conditions. It's good.

Tiger: I've got bushels of lawyers and hanger-on-er douchebags spewing platitudes and hair jelly suggestions at me. Why should I listen to your horseshit?

Grip: I'm thinking of our people. Smart. Handsome. Deep Thinkers. Guys like us and chicks dig us. Exactly, we're 21st Century Icons. And you're right, being cool about that lends legitimacy.

The Gritty and the Nitty:

A.) You want to win your Swedish wife back from the other side of your five and a half acre mansion? Cook her something from scratch that doesn't involve dill and some type of whitefish.

2.)You're hungry for something tasty and filling and you cannot say, "Honey, I'm going to the Clubhouse for something to eat...munch...snack on..."

C.)Her Scandinavian lawyers take you to the fucking cleaners, and you still want to eat well on the cheap.

IV.) You want to impress the future Mrs. Woods II how well-rounded you are as a human being by cooking for her. You've obviously changed...

5.) Chicken? Pasta? Sounds good.

And again I've made this twice, I'm here for you, brother. It's good.

Strozzapreti Pollo Eccellente

Hmm...let's see. In my small roaster/everything pan: free-range, au naturale chicken thighs slow-roasted with s&p, thyme, smoky, spicy Spanish paprika and whole garlic cloves at 325-350ish for two hours. More or less. Tick. Tick. Tick. (Drink wine during ticking phase.) Boil pasta water. Add strozzapreti pasta. While pasta is a-cookin'... Remove nicely crusty poultry and pull off the bone. To the crusty, crunchy chicken pot, (Turn up the heat) add purple onion, roasted red peppers, roasted cherry tomatoes, artichoke hearts and pickled garlic cloves. Splash, splash red wine. Basil, oregano, pulled chicken. And yes, those are two unique garlic flavors. Add a ladle of pasta water. Into the pot add the 3/4 cooked pasta. Stir for 3 minutes. Plate with parmigiana and parsley. It's kind of an art thing with the timing of it all...

Tiger. Tiger, gifted golficly, you're a billionaire. You know that. I saw the interview with Charlie Rose a while back. You appeared cool. Why, for the sake of mankind, are you chasing a she-pack of skanky-hags? You are a billionaire? You are ruining the dream of the mythological 1,000,000,000 to 1 opportunity. Please. Get your shit together, man. Then again, I won't dismiss you from the fold. We all peak. It's recognizing the era and eventually becoming comfortable with our brushes with greatness that separate us from the mundane and blissfully ignorant strata.

Serve with crusty bread. Table wine will do. Rustic Impressive is the theme.

My First Big Girl Book...

If you've ever wondered who in the Bloody Hell could back the Queen Quitter, former Governor of Alaska and failed Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin, here is her brain trust. I imagine for most of the crowd it's a book burning at Borders, not a book signing, that is their collective experience. Fillin' up on Glenn Beck-isms, Michael Savage's screechings, the War On Christmas, and Rush's thrilling platitudes, this gang was ready to answer the complicated querys posed by a random demon of the MSM. As for the fictional scribblings, Millions of minions are disappointed upon discovery that the Royalty of the Retarded's masterpiece contains no pop-ups and very few Coloring the Christian Conservative Critter pullouts.

Household Hint: Keep an airsick bag handy, it will make clean-up around the computer go lickety-split.

And I fully expect William F. Buckley to rise from the grave to rain Hellfire and Righteousness if Palin/Bachmann 2012 gains the Republican nomination in the next Presidential election cycle. Minnesota Congresswoman Michele Bachmann is a perfect stone-crazy match for Palin's savvy intellect. Irregardless, the potential Ultimate Political Comedy might force my hand into joining the steering committee of the Blithering Birther Barbie Twins. Allah be praised. Yes, I know irregardless is not a real word. It is, however, appropriate when the Replicants are running wild and unchecked after failing their Voight-Kampff tests.

My Favorite Ex-Brother-In-Law

I would just like to thank and publicly acknowledge my Favorite Ex-Brother-In-Law for being an all-around good egg. He's not only a stellar musician, he's also an example of what family is all about. Upon his return from an adventure in Southeast Asia, I was gifted a red t-shirt with a giant commie yellow star made by actual little Vietnamese children and a Laotian Beerlao hoodie sweatshirt from actual Laos. Definitely not your typical touristy swag. I must now hunt down a delicious, crisp and refreshing Beerlao! Also, an Asian extra-large is snug on me. Go figure.