To Do List

Killer, getting #1 out of the way.

Things to do today, and the probability they will be accomplished:

1. Write a post for blog. 90% chance for success, but it will probably be pulled out of my ass.

2. Start long awaited exercise regiment. 0.5% chance for success. My only real hope of exercise is to have someone chase me down the street with a rusty knife, and even that isn't guaranteed to elicit running.

3. Go eat at Indian restaurant. 99% chance for success. I am highly motivated when it comes to eating, which is why I need #2. I would give this a 100%, but if I can't find one easily I might switch to Thai.

4. Find way to convince my old gym in Memphis to cancel my membership. 30% chance for success. I have never had trouble with this before, but these guys are membership nazis. Considering my gym manager was stalking me, you would think she knows I moved away.

5. Drink beer and watch NFL football. 100% chance for success. The only thing I am more motivated about than food is drinking beer, and the fact that I can eat as well makes this an unstoppable combination. I don't even care about Baltimore or Cincinnati, but football season is nearing an end, so I can not afford to be picky.

6. Discover solution for peace in the Middle East. 0.6% chance for success. I would like to point out the higher probability for this than exercise. There is a stipulation, if the solution for peace involves a lot of walking on my part, than it's probability should be reduced.

You're Thankful? Me Too!

Liz says:

I've been hearing a lot about being thankful for stuff. I guess because it's the holiday season and THANKSGIVING was this past weekend. I am thankful for things too. Those things include:

• Never having any sort of crotch issue- no yeast infections, rashes, or worse. Thank you.
• Only having two nipples that belong to me. I once knew a girl who everyone SAID had 3 titties. So does/did Marky Mark. Yet he managed to be a Calvin Klein underwear model. I'm still glad it was him with three nips instead of me.
• Not having the money to get that tattoo Jody and I went to get. Hell, I was only 20. It would have been some dumbass hippie-looking tattoo that I would now see as an ever-fading reminder of my ever-fading youth. I'm GLAD I thought $12 was all I would need. The blessing of stupidity.
• I have excellent teeth and I know how to use them. No braces, no cavities since 11, and little effort when flossing. I'm really lucky on this one.
• I am very thankful that I can drink until past sunrise and still not puke. I've only puked from drinking maybe 5 times in 20 years. I think that's a pretty lucky record. The last time I DID puke from drinking, however, was BAD. I think it took over 12 hours before I had totally purged. That was unlucky, but fortunate in that I did not cause my kidneys to shut down and my liver to go into toxic spasms. I also left the place I had been with $160 more than I walked in with. Lucky.
• I've never gotten a speeding ticket, yet I speed everytime I'm in the car. In related news, I've given a lot of blow-jobs on the side of the Interstate. Double thank you.
• I'm also thankful that I can make a blow-job joke and you're not quite sure if I'm kidding or simply exaggerating...or neither. ">:-[

Here's to you Mrs. Robinson

Killer blogs while wondering what could have been.

This is an open letter to the 85 year old woman who made several inappropriate comments to me last night.

Dear old lady,

I appreciate you still clinging to your sexuality. It is a noble effort that, after all else has failed you, your libido and perseverance have stayed intact. It is true that you don't have teeth, a uterus, or a full head of hair, but you seem to be trying to make up for it with a constant barrage of thinly veiled innuendo and a willingness to grab whatever is within your reach.

It is understandable that when you see me walk into your room you immediately get turned on, but you are old enough to be my Great Grandmother, and although I often joke it would be great to have a woman who can "take her teeth out and give me a gummer", but now that it has been offered, I am balking.

Frankly, I am having a hard time believing some of the things you propositioned me with are actually feasible given your frail frame and the fact you are attached to a face mask for oxygen. You can not stand up without getting short of breath, so your claim, "I used to be a gymnast, and that comes in handy in the bedroom," does not seem realistic.

It was quite comical how your gown kept "falling off" when I was in the room, but not the female nurses aid. That never seems to happen when I have a 19 year old hot, Swedish patient, it must be a fault in the "cheap hospital gowns" like you proclaimed on numerous occasions.

Finally I would like to commend you at your quick and stealthy hands. I had managed to dodge them all night, until early morning when you feigned sleep and reached through the bed rail to, "see what I was packing." I hope I did not disappoint. It was like someone grabbed my groin with a pair of dry twigs.

Congratulations on making a relatively boring night into an exciting adventure. My favorite line of the night, "You are a big man, I want to climb all over you and explore." After a brief glimpse through your medical history I see you have had both hips replaced. I can only imagine what you were trying to do when you broke them.

I am actually single right now, and my capacity for being so selective is waning. Let's just chalk this one into the "maybe" column. It would be an ideal relationship. If things did not work out, I could probably just wait a few years, months, or maybe days until you kicked the bucket. If only you had a younger sister. Although 85 is a bit elderly, a horny 75 year old is open season in my book.

Sincerely
Nurse Killer

God, I hope that's a mole.

Killer, following the trends

I read a few blogs by my peers and have noticed a startling trend today. It started when I read Othur-me's post at: Immunopressed, and continued when I read Mist1's guest post at: Sarcastic Fringehead. It only become more obvious when I checked out Margaret's brief post to:Praying for the depraved soul of me, Margaret. It seems there is something in the air today. Something turning all my fellow bloggers into sex crazed maniacs.

I don't begrudge them this new found sexual proclivity. I am just wondering what has brought it about. Do blogs have a sweeps week? Am I going to fall behind in the ratings because I was not smart enough to spice things up during the single most important time of the year?

Well, I am not one to miss out. I am stripping naked as I type in order to get in the mood to spew out some really provocative stuff. Oh yeah, I can feel the juices beginning to boil. This is liberating. I am going to say some things that I usually have to pay $2.95 for the first minute, and $.95 for each additional minute, to say. You had better stand back, this might get messy.

Oh Lord! I have a mirror right next to my desk, and man is that what I look like naked? This is quite disturbing. You should start counting your blessings that this is not a video blog. I can't think of any evolutionary purpose for me to have hair in some of those places. Maybe if I turn this way I can find a better angle... EWWWWW...That only made it worse.


So, I am definitely not in a sexual mood any longer. Sorry, I hope I didn't lead you on. Maybe we should just be friends, it's not you it's me. Don't quit reading just because I couldn't get you all turned on with my writing. I promise to try harder, and I also promise never to post any nude photos.

Sunday's Second Post: Movie Rant

Liz is not Happy:

Happy Feet. The number one movie for two weeks in a row? The movie Rotten Tomatoes gave high praise to? Uhhhhhh... Awful.

I took my BFF's daughter to see Happy Feet Friday. You would think by the title that Happy Feet was a light-hearted romp. You would be wrong.

The movie experience started off badly. In the advertisements before the previews (which is a whole other RANT) they showed these still photos of real estate agents, local boutiques, etc. but the background music was SCARY. Like that music when Darth Vader enters the room or the snake rattle you hear on Deal or No Deal when someone has selected the $750,000 case. A very poor choice for a movie geared toward little kids.

Then came the push for Pirates of the Caribbean DVD. They showed the ghost ship and the guy whose face looks like an octopus and it too was booming and loud and bone-chilling. DAMN! We're here to see HAPPY FEET, not SHIT YOUR PANTS.

Finally the movie. This movie was not joyful holiday fodder. This movie was not funny. This movie was not happy. This movie was an ethical lesson on how humans have destroyed the ecosystem and, through our carelessness, are killing cute furry wildlife.

OK. I agree, but I don't want to pay Warner Brothers $12 to teach me and my 6-year old Godchild that lesson. I was depressed when we left... which means I had to stop and get a 6-pack, which means there's one more six pack ring floating in a landfill to get wrapped around some bird's neck.

And I will officially claim that I now hate Robin Williams. He needs to stop trying to be a black voice-over actor, take some Ritilan, and retire with his millions. He quit being funny once he stopped being Mork and once I got older than 9. The best thing he ever did was a guest spot on Happy Days. For most us, that would be more than enough.

Sunday's First Post: My Kryptonite

Liz informs:

I put ice cream in my coffee this morning because I'm an adult and I can do whatever the hell I want to do.

My Kryptonite:

I have been thinking about what makes me weak. There is a long list. Cigarettes are number one on that list. I took my BFF's son to the park this week and when I pulled out a smoke he (being 3) stared at it and said, "Liz's candy". Yep. Just like a child molester could lure him into the car my offering him a Tootsie Pop, a stranger could lure me with a pack of Virginia Slim Super Slim Menthols (even though I recognize that the name brand sounds like something you find on the feminine products aisle, I do not smoke tampons).

You know some of my weaknesses: office supplies, quality lotion, and cold beer. But there are more.

1. The themes to Magnum PI and Sanford and Son
2. Carbohydrates
3. Neon
4. Soft sheets
5. Clean cut men with two-days of scruff
6. Moss hanging from Live Oak Trees
7. The smell of the forest
8. Harmony
9. Pyrotechnics
10. Waylon and Willie duets
11. Candles that smell up the room
12. Mirrored disco balls
13. $10,000 Pyramid reruns
14. Spa days
15. Shows of creativity
16. Danny's cole slaw with peanuts
17. Women with HUGE hair
18. A trip to big cities
19. Walls that aren't beige or white
20. A clean house
21. Men shaking hands
22. Jeans that fit just right
23. 2 for 1
24. Days off
25. Immaculent public restrooms
26. Ice cream in my coffee

My Cat is an Example of the Cosmic Order of the Universe

Meow.... purr.....hiss

So, I write this post that outlines my questioning about God and religion and other light fodder. That's a good thing. Thinking, good, right? And I'm still thinking about it... because there is nothing good on TV and it's too early to start cleaning the house.

I thought I'd take this opportunity to tell you how I met my cat, Leon, and how I think that he was destined to be my cat. At risk of sounding like a man "Pussy made me believe in God," I reveal for you the story of one cat and his journey to being my feline soul mate.

I had a roommate. He was a good roommate. He took out the trash, he mowed, he kept his part of the house relatively clean, he paid his bills, he did not fart in my presence. What more could a girl ask for? But he moved away. And when he moved there was an opportunity.

I grew up around pets and I love animals, but a dog is too much work for me. Sometimes I don't come home for over 24 hours and I do NOT like having my carpet shit on, so I knew I would need to get a cat. Plus, in all honesty, I like cats better. They don't have the heart of a dog but they also aren't needy with big breath and obnoxious odors. I am a cat person.

I had mentioned my "desire", my musing, my consideration to some co-workers. Mistake. If you say you are thinking about getting a cat people are on you like white on rice. "my mom's cat JUST had a litter of kittens...." "my neighbor's cat JUST had a litter of kittens...." "my brother sells Siamese kittens and his cat JUST had a litter...." "my cousin is moving and has a cat she has to give away..." Damn. Back off! Why don't people act this way when I say something like, "I'm thinking about buying a new dishwasher"?

I knew exactly what I wanted. I wanted a kitten, not a cat. Male, short-haired, long tailed, and gray. Pretty specific. Once I provided those specifications, there was no cat to be found. I told people that was ok, I was in no rush. I'd find him.

Fast forward two weeks.

I'm standing in front of the Clarion Hotel (don't ask why) and I hear this "meow"- prompted for no reason. I follow the sound to a 25-foot long PVC pipe laying against the building. I look in and see the silhouette of a tiny little fur ball. Obviously it is either a ventriloquist rat or a kitten. Some men exit the hotel and I enlist their services. Within 5 minutes the fur ball has been shaken from the pipe and out pops a male, short-haired, long tailed gray kitten.

LEON!


This kitten started out psychotic; afterall, he was totally "street"- he had no manners. Over the past 4 years, he has found a rhythm that synchs perfectly with mine. He's my heart! He knows my moods, he knows my hot buttons, he knows when to seek attention and when to back away. We jive and I love him. He's EXACTLY what I wanted. He's smart, intuitive, and funny. He's independent and "high order". He's not an idiot cat like my other one. It's like Leon is higher on the evolutionary scale or something. He listens and understands some things. Sneaker just eats and poops and is an animal. Leon is a friend.

Coincidence or divine intervention?

An Atheist Christmas?

Liz writes (with no help from above):

I've run across a lot of "news" about Atheists lately. Billionaire genius Bill Gates, Atheist. The insightful and intelligent guy that writes Dilbert, Atheist. Cancer-kicker Lance Armstrong, Atheist. Sigmund Freud, Godless. Deist: Thomas Jefferson and George Washington. The molesting priests and pedophile congressmen, Christian. The guy (Ashcroft, I think) that draped clothes over the Greek statues in Washington, Christian. Mel Gibson... well... alcoholic Christian.

Not that I'm prone to follow in the footsteps, but when I look at the impressive list of brainiacs that do not believe in God, I have to wonder: Am I in the wrong camp?

I went through some serious questioning about God and Christ and all that is holy when I was in high school and college. I spent several years believing in nothing, but that didn't work for me once I got older. I want to believe in something other than ME. I'm telling ya, if I am the benchmark of my own universe, we're all in a heap of trouble. But I have to confess, I don't live each day wondering how my actions will pay off or not pay off in the long run. When I ask "WWJD" or "Am I going to Hell for this?" it's more tongue-in-cheek than a serious exploration of the ramifications of an unethical act.

I have a core set of values which I occasionally disregard and do the wrong thing anyway. Believers call that sinning and give you an OK for it, we are human we sin. Atheists call it "Friday" and you get a pass too.

I have not been to church on purpose in something like 24 years. I've gone for funerals and christenings oh, and the holy union of marriage... which lasts on average of 8 years.

This leads me to the heart of my question. If my soul searching leads me to the revelation that I do not think Christ was the son of God, born of a virgin, able to perform miracles, walker on water is it unethical to celebrate Christmas?

Thinking.... Thinking.... Thinking...

No. It is not unethical. Seriously. Who REALLY takes Christmas in the spirit in which it was intended? Who invented Christmas anyway? I know Coca-Cola "invented" the image of Santa that we worship until we're 6. Who REALLY thinks more about renewing their faith in God and their strict adherence to Christian behavior more than they think about what sales are going to be going on prior to Christmas Eve?

So, if this Christmas I announce that I'm Jewish that should not affect your obligation to provide me with a Christmas gift. As a matter of fact, I think that Jews get 8 DAYS worth of presents, so please start buying now.

I sincerly hope that the God your choice blesses you with happiness this holiday season. Even if the God of your choice is you.

Shalom.

How About Some Sane Posts, Killer Rants?

Liz asks:

Is Killer Rants quirky humor or disgusting beyond belief?

I think we've pushed the envelop too far. Killer has posted about a man humping an "incapacitated" animal and I have posted about how you can go from confused to cannibal in .5 seconds. Maybe it's because I'm almost sick from all the leftover dressing I ate earlier, but these posts seem tasteless (that is not a reference to my cannibal posting).

It's the holiday season. I think people are looking to Killer Rants for a little light-hearted spin on musing and wonderings- not a trip to the dark side of humanity. We need to keep it light and bubbly not dark and disgusting; which reminds me:

How come a 45 lb. dog can push out a turd bigger than Webster?

After Thanksgiving lunch, I went out into my parents yard and I swear I thought I was going to have to put one of them in a home THAT AFTERNOON because it was so obvious one of them had shit in the yard. There was a turd in the grass that would have convinced you that a village of giants had stopped by on the way to mountains to crap in my parents' back yard. I stared in wonderment and started considering how to brooch this subject with my folks. "Ummmm... which one of you dropped trow in the backyard and then neglected to wipe?" is what I had settled on. Luckily, I saw Pete in that humped over position that can only mean one thing and I knew instantly that that turd was, in fact, not human.

Thank God.

If you can't have sex with a dead animal, what can you have sex with?

Here is an example of our government clamping down on our freedoms. If we really are a "free" country, shouldn't we be able to do what we want? Dead Deer Sex.

Apparently a guy was driving down the road and noticed a hot, sumptuous, and apparently dead, deer in a ditch on the side of the road. He stopped, quickly assessed the situation and decided to take advantage of an available sex partner. It seems to me like a victimless crime. I don't think the deer is going to mind, and it actually keeps this nut job from going after some human. Where is the crime?

It does raise an interesting question. What happened in this guy's life to make him find road kill uncontrollably sexy? It is not like you can use the old, "my mom dressed me like a girl until I was twelve." It has to be something really traumatic. Maybe he was molested in a taxidermy.

The sad thing is, he would make most otherwise freakish people look normal. If you knew your neighbor was often found running around his back yard wearing woman's underwear, rubbing chocolate pudding in his hair while enjoying the moonlight, but on the other side was a guy who has been arrested for having sex with a dead animal, which one are you going to let watch your kids this Friday night? Unfortunately, our archaic societal mores say that humping dead animals in a ditch on the side of the road is almost at the pinnacle of bizarre and unacceptable behavior.

The next time you are flying down the interstate and see a big steamy pile of road kill take a second to think about how somewhere there is a guy who would be really turned on right now.

Pass the Chianti and Farva Beans, Please

Liz shamefully asks:

Is it just me, or does this heart look like a mouth-watering fillet, just waiting to be grilled medium rare?

((Don't hate me. Pitty me.))

I cannot help that before I clicked on the picture to enlarge it and read the caption I thought this was going to be a blurb about Kobe beef. Imagine my disgust and guilt once I realized that I had just had a "food moment" over some kid's heart.

You don't think you get sent to Hell over things like this, do you?

In this photo released by the Holtz Children's Hospital University of Miami Jackson Memorial Medical Center, baby Naseem Hasnis heart is shown outside of his body. Hasni was born with his heart outside of his body Oct. 31, 2006, at Holtz Children's University of Miami Jackson Memorial Medical Center. The condition called ectopia cordis is very rare that occurs in about 5.5 to 7.9 per one million live births.

(AP Photo/Holtz Children's Hospital University of Miami Jackson Memorial Medical Center)

DIY: Funny Blogging and Boobs

I was asked recently, "I think your blog is funny, how do you know what to write?"

I'm not very smart, so it's actually a simple formula that I use. I just decide upon a random topic and plug in the appropriate words, kind of like a mad lib, but not as creative.

Magicians don't like to tell their secrets, but there is no real magic here, so I am going to let you see just one of my many "funny blog" templates. If you just follow these steps I guarantee (not legally binding) you too can write a blog that you and atleast 8 other people will find funny.

1. A catchy title is important. It should grab the reader and make them want to know more. It doesn't actually have to pertain to the content of the blog, and if you mention something sexy, all the best.

2. Open with a self deprecating statement. Since you have a "blog" the non-blogging readers already have a pre-conceived notion that you think you are better than they are. You want to set the tone that, although I am web savvy and can type, it is basically a matter of excess free time.

3. Now is an important moment. You have to set the stage for the rest of the post. What is it about, what do you hope to accomplish, and you should make it funny. If you haven't said anything funny by now the reader is already scrolling down to see how long this is and if they are willing to stick around to see how it turns out.

* Important side note: NEVER say anything remotely serious. You don't want to get drawn into the over populated world of "real news re-hashers". That is what Yahoo news and CNN.com are for. Does anyone really want to hear what Ed, from accounting, thinks about the new federal reserve interest rates.

4. Here is the body of your post. It should point out everyone else's short comings, while making you look clever and witty. Ask a few simple questions, and then answer them yourself.
If you don't think you have enough funny, add an unrelated statement about something that is universally funny, like making fun of the handicapped or ingesting shaved gerbils rectally.

5. This is possibly the most important part, or atleast in the top five. Here you bring it all home. The closing statement should sum up the whole post and if it doesn't bring the funny, you might as well go back to posting cute videos you found on youtube. If you get to the end and realize it is not shaping up like you hoped, then you need to break out the big guns. Just finish up with a reference to you balls. I have found that is always a winner. If you don't have balls, you can't be funny anyway.

Thanksgiving: Let the Turkey Fly!

Liz whisks this:

My mother has had a rough year. Chemo- a couple of different times- surgeries, etc. So, being the awesome first born I am, I offered to the whole Thanksgiving deal at my house this year.

Me on the phone with Lil Bro: OK. So, we'll do Thanksgiving at my place. I'm doing a ham instead of a turkey.

Lil Bro: WHAT? It's TURKEY DAY! You CANNOT do a ham on TURKEY DAY.

ME: I'm doing a ham. Can ya'll bring rolls and broccoli-rice casserole? If you'll do that, I'll fix green beans, mashed potatoes, a stuffed cranberry sauce, pumpkin something, corn, and I'll do the dressing.

Lil Bro: YOU'LL do the DRESSING instead of Dad? Great. Thanksgiving is ruined. I'll just call ya'll from deer camp and wish you a happy Thanksgiving. This is the worst holiday ever. RUINED. Why don't you just have sushi and be done with it? How more could you fuck up the holiday? My God. I look forward to this holiday all year and now it's going to all "metro". Great.

Long Pause.

Lil Bro: Will there be leftovers for me to take to deer camp?

Now the plan is as follows:

Lil Bro brings broccoli casserole and rolls
Mom and Dad do: dressing, gravy, lemon merigune pie, sweet potato casserole, mustard greens, ham... AND turkey
Liz brings two cans of corn and a pumpkin pie.

Don't you just love it when a plan comes together?

How Can I Get Google To Appreciate Me?

Liz spies on herself and doesn't like what she doesn't see:

Recently, National Public Radio had a story on how potential employers use Google and My Space to "snoop" on perspective employees. Hummmm... although I'm not looking for a new job it did make me wonder what is floating around in cyberspace about me. So, not having a My Space profile (this is a perpetual statement, by the way) I Googled myself.

I am nowhere to be found.

I was once on the first page of "Liz" hits. I had a job and a fancy title and was pretty easy to locate. Now that I've left that job my Internet identity has apparently left too. My stock has plummeted.

What if a potential suitor is using the Internet to make sure I don't have any adult films for download or have a notorious reputation for living outside the law? Will he be disappointed, even discouraged, if there is NOTHING out there about me?

To summarize: You can find pictures of rhinos humping, instructions for growing mold, dozens of websites dedicated to Three's Company, and pictures of the wonderful world of deli meat on the Internet but NOTHING about me? I can understand Googling your grandmother and getting "nada" hits, but I'm a product of the technology-driven, information-geared generation. We THRIVE on knowing that we're being marketed without our own consent. Yet I have somehow been left anonymously behind.

Am I a........ loser?

How can I get back in this critical loop without exposing a breast, leading a revolution, getting an award for quilting or being arrested?

**Friends should not interpret this post as an invitation to put pictures or stories on the web.

Something is Fishy

A: Blogger sucks. I tried to post last night, but blogger was down for a few hours and I could never get it in.

Today I learned an interesting fact about California health care that has changed in the past year while I was away in Memphis. Now, with left over narcotic drugs, they have a special container that has a large sponge in the bottom for wasting into. In the past, when you had a 8mg syringe of Morphine, but your patient was only ordered 4mg, you gave the patient 4mg, and shot the rest down the sink. Or, if you were less than upstanding, you shot the rest into your ass.

It appears the Hippies-without-a-cause around here, which there apparently are many, decided that the practice of sending small doses of narcotics down the drain, would add up to a large drug problem for the aquatic life at the receiving end of the drainage pipe.

Was there a big problem with drug addicted fish that had been discovered the last few years? Maybe a seedy underbelly of fish society has been exposed. A growing number of fish dropping out of their schools and hanging out around the old drainage pipe looking to get high. A group of fish who are no longer contributing to the fish society of eating, swimming and pooping. What else do these damn fish have to do besides get high? I say let them have the drugs.

All we are doing by not giving the fish free drugs is increase the criminal element that will now be involved with fish drugs. We have gotten them addicted over the years, and now we expect them to stop cold turkey? All we have done is create a group of desperate fish giving little fishy hand jobs in the bad part of the ocean in order to score the next high.

I think we should not jump the gun. Keep the fish with their drugs until they start showing some negative drug problems. Lets wait until there is an increase in domestic violence, increase in fish on fish crime, or atleast until some celebrity fish overdoses in a rock star type fashion, maybe Nemo will turn up in a French hotel dead after choking on his own vomit. Show me a petition being passed around by MADS (Mothers Against Drunk Swimming). Who are the human nut jobs who seem to have an insight into the drug addictions of the animal kingdom?

I for one intend to keep sending my extra drugs down the drain. That is better than my previous plan of keeping them until the next time I go SCUBA diving and try to get a fishy hand job.

It's a Whine, Not a Rant

Liz wants to know one thing:

WHY WASN'T I INVITED TO THIS??

Beefcake: It's What's For Dinner

Liz asks: Am I a gay man ?

As I searched for images to add to this post, I found that "beefcakes" appeal more to gay men than to 35-year old sexually deprived women. I was surprised to learn that images such as this are considered "homoerotic". Really? Is there something sexy about a man who cannot rest his massively pumped arms on his side?

Yesterday I went to a very dangerous place- a junk store. Unfortunately I love junk yet have no additional room in my house for junk and no additional funds in my pocket for purchasing more junk. Yet, $25 later, I was leaving the musty store having struck a deal with the black man reeking of bourbon with 10 vintage 8x10 images of muscle men; pictures straight from the late '50's and early '60's. They're GREAT.

I love the poses of the beefcakes from the 50's- one man is standing in the waves on a surfboard with a harpoon in hand- poised to strike, one guy is in "The Thinker" pose except his left leg is pointed out in front of him as if to say, "all shall be mesmorized by this calf", one man is standing in the brush, flexing to the point where his veins are popping just beneath the skin all over his body. I worry that he suffered a stroke as soon as the photo was taken.

All the pictures have titles that were typed, likely 40 years ago, on standard white paper and glued to the pictures. They give the competition titles of the men and the year that they were "Mr. Universe" or "Mr. America". I love this about the photos. The typing was done on a typewriter in that font that can never be replicated. The pictures have that hint of yellow that comes with age and the tight boy shorts and loin cloths the men are wearing truly are classic.

I am going to spray-paint matching hot pink frames and hang the pictures in my house. An homage to men so pumped that they do not have time for women. I plan to add the photo of Killer in the Playboy bunny suit in the mix, just to see who is paying attention.

After some pondering, I think it's safe to say that I do not find these images erotic as much as cheesy(not you, Killer). Adding the point that I cannot stand Streisand or more than 15 minutes of Techno music, I can safely conclude that I am, in fact, NOT a gay man.

If I Wrote This Blog; This is How I Did It.

Really?!? Only in America can you kill two people, but pay enough money to get off, and then write a book about it. And only in America can you get a prime time TV show talking about what it was like, IF you had killed your ex wife and her friend. But that of course is on Fox.

It's not like this can ruin his image. It is not as if Hertz is going to put O.J. back in T.V. commercials.

Opening scene: A busy airport
O.J. comes running through the airport hurtling chairs and spinning deftly around frantic and frightened people. They pan back more and show he is carrying a bloody knife and pulling bloody gloves off as he runs.
Tag Line: Hertz, for when you REALLY got to get away fast.

One issue being debated by the television pundits is, who is going to advertise on this show. Who is confident enough in their product that it wants to be tied to this media debacle. Below I list some possibilities and motives for advertising with OJ's pseudo confession.

1. Ginsu knives: I mean come on, think of this commercial. A non descript man, hacks up one person with ease. The second person tries to block the knife with a tin can, but the ginsu knife carves through it like hot butter before severing his jugular. Then as he is about to flee, he stops and cuts a tomato in to perfect thin slices. These knives can do ANYTHING!

2. Prego spaghetti sauce: All you see is a silhouette stabbing and then red fluid splattering the walls and running down the ground, over the edge of the sidewalk and on to a steaming plate of spaghetti. Pan back and OJ has just butchered a bunch of tomatoes. Tag line: No matter how bad your day, Prego will make it better.

3. Budweiser: Any commercial really, these guys just advertise with anything, they don't give a shit. I guess if you want something clever: Four frogs sitting in a swamp, croaking, "O"..."J"....."O"..."J"....."O"..."J"..."Did"..."It".

4. Icy Hot Patch: OJ brutally kills two people, turns all bloodied to the camera and winces in pain and holds his shoulder. "At my age, it is getting harder and harder to kill the ones you love. That is why I wear Icy Hot."

"It ain't too late, Killer in 2008"

My fellow Americans, President Killer

I like taking money for doing favors. I like flying around the country to smile and shake hands. I like calling anyone who opposes me, "a terrorist loving, tax raising, homosexual." This is why I am officially announcing my intention to run for President of the United States of America in 2008.

I have been following politics for quite a while now, and I paid especially close attention last week when we upset the status quo in Washington in order to replace it with the new status quo that we will most likely replace in about six years with another group, shockingly similar to both of these groups. What did all this political study teach me? It taught me that I want in on the action. I like to think I am a good public speaker, and people generally like me. So why not enter the wonderful world of politics?

I haven't really decided which party to run with yet. I think it is best to wait until the dust settles. Americans are very fickle. 20% are die-hard Republican conservatives and 20% are un-wavering Democratic liberals, but another 20% don't follow current events enough to know what the hell is going on, and which party stands for what. They just have friends in the other two groups who steadily barrage them with inane talking points until they decide to choose someone based on what color tie they are wearing. Oh, the remaining 40% is a chaotic mix of morons, slackers and illegal aliens. The kind of people who think Super Tuesday is "two for one lap dances" at Terry's Titty Town Cabaret and Oyster Shack.

My platform for Presidency is going to be solidly built on telling everyone exactly what they want to hear. If I go to a rally in Mississippi, I am a born again Christian who hates gays and loves shooting animals in the woods, and sometimes gay animals. If I go to a rally in San Francisco, I am a recovering alcoholic who wants strict gun control and, although not gay, I did experiment a little in college, so I can support that lifestyle. When I go to a swing state, like Florida or Ohio, I am going to say as little as possible and just smile a lot. Those people can't even decide what they hell they want, how can I.

I am not above running dirty campaign ads. I might try to run the dirtiest campaign around. A campaign ad with Hillary in a explicit menage a trois with McCain and Giuliani. There is no limit to the things I can do with photo shop. If it is one thing I have learned from politics, "if it is not true, just show it over and over again until it is." You don't have to convince everyone, just that undecided 20% who only get their political information from 30 second commercials between "Desperate House Wives" and "Andy Griffith" reruns.

And don't forget my secret weapon, I am going to offer free Hot Wings at Terry's Titty Town, every Tuesday while I get up and campaign between strippers. Then come the real Super Tuesday, I bring a couple of buses and bring all those idiots to the polls. That 40% of the population just might be stupid enough to send me to the White House. Stupid enough is all I need.

Where Did Martha Go?

Liz explains:

For those of you wondering where WWMD went, I remembered that the person I was writing about might actually read this blog! Damn it! I hate it when that happens! Censorship!

In the spirit of the Holiday gift being kept top-secret, I elected to remove the post. I don't want to ruin her Christmas surprise... the way my neighbors ruined Christmas for me when I was 6. ((shudder)) ((should have gone to therapy)).

Thanks for your comments and harsh judgements against the woman in question. At least I know that my efforts have been appreciated by some! By the way, my right hand is cramping from overuse. I can't remember the last time I actually WROTE so much. My office supplies are coming in very handy. Justified, at last.