Can O' Whup-Ass

Eavesdropper: U.S. President George Bush and Ugandan President Yomamas Muskyvajayjay

WASHINGTON, D.C. -- Yesterday, two universally despised world leaders posed for pictures at the White House. President Bush wore a Baptist smile (read: toothy and insincere) while Ugandan President Yomamas Muskyvajayjay put on his brightest sho-nuff Cream of Wheat grin. Immediately afterwards Bush wiped his palm on his slacks and Muskyvajayjay smelled his fingers. But during those few awkward moments as the photographers futzed with their equipment, one of our ruthless spies (disguised as a photographer's assistant) was able to record the following fascinating exchange:

PRESIDENT BUSH: I gotta say, you seem like a nicer feller than that Eydie-Gourmet-Is-Mean dude.
PRESIDENT MUSKYVAJAYJAY: Did they run out of paper towels in the mens room?
PB: Ha-ha. No, I just get sweaty palms whenever I have to touch a negro. It's genetic.
PM: Ah...but you have soft skin like a woman.
PB: Shucks, Yomamas. Anyways, I wanted to thank you for your AIDS-tastic effort to use American tax dollars to get rid of all them Ugandistani homos.
PM: We were going to dump them all on an island in the middle of Lake Victoria, until we realized we couldn't throw rocks that far, and they'd probably just fix it up nicer than the rest of Uganda and that would go against message.
PB: I wish we could put our ass-sexers on an island.
PM: You did. It's called Manhattan.
PB: The good ol' U.S. of A. could take a few pointers from you Ugandanesians. Like chopping off a broad's diddly-bop before she gets too uppity and doing a bitch up the pooper if she don't sign a chastity agreement.
PM: Yes, we believe that all Ugandan ladies should save themselves for rape.
PB: Here, getting rape-y with a broad is a no-no. Unless you're rich.
PM: You'd like my country. If a man wants to rape a bitch all he must do is give his life to God's work by joining the Lord's Resistance Army. Also, we print the names and addresses of poofs in the newspapers, so we don't make oops of throwing flaming bags of hyena poop at the wrong mud hut.
PB: We got ourselves a hillbilly broad who does that. Her name's Kristen Swing.
PM: Has her diddly-bop been hacked off?
PB: I doubt it. She is kinda uppity.
PM: I brought my rusty diddly-bop hacker-offer knife. Where can I find this Swing whore?
PB: 204 West Main Street, Johnson City Tennessee. Just off Highway 26.
PM: I'm on my way.
PB: I'll come with you, President Muskyvajayjay. You'll need someone to hold 'er down. It'll be just like that time we branded my Mom so's we could tell her apart from the cattle.

A Brief Note of Friendly Concern: Dear Adrian Grenier

Um, hi Adrian...

Why the Mr. McGrumpy look on your puss? Didn't you have a good workout? Was jazzercise class vexing today?

So listen. It's like this: We tolerate you because we enjoy Entourage. We saw your documentary about trying to reconnect with your deadbeat dad. You actually seem humble and sorta nice. You've got the tortured artiste with smoldering eyes and a three-day-bender beard schtick down to a science. But we've got four crucial words for you. We're going to type them slowly, so if by some miracle of osmosis, you'll read them slowly and let them sink in:

JOCKSTRAPS. ARE. YOUR. FRIEND.

Holy crap, dude. What's going on in those shiny royal blue spandex jazz pants?? (we keep things tastefully black and white here at COWA, but trust us readers...shiny royal blue spandex) Look, we support a guy's right to show bulge. Broads are allowed to hoist their girls up to their necks to create acres of cleavage, after all. And there seems to be a camel toe epidemic these days. But however proud you are of that unruly nest of crotch vipers you're breeding in your basement, WE DO NOT GO COMMANDO IN RICHARD SIMMONS STRETCHY-PANTS!

You look like (pick one)

1. You're smuggling a litter of kitty cats into rehearsals for Pippin.
2. You've been fused at the molecular level with a marsupial and your baby kangaroo is being spandexed to death.
3. You've got a rare case of Alaskan king crab lice.
4. Your testicles are miniature sumo wrestlers in the middle of a particularly contentious match.
5. Iggy's found a new home.
6. Your balls are trying to escape the tyranny of your shame hose and have decided to make a break for the northern border.
7. Bloody hell.

XOXOX
WAM

The Mormon-tastic Beef-a-roni Calendar: Slurp-a-licious Hunks o' Latter Day Butt-Steak!!!

SALT LAKE CITY -- These are interesting times for Mormons. Mitt Romney is already drawing up plans to retro-fit the Lincoln Bedroom for his wife kennel. Moroni is chugging coffee through his trumpet. Uppity judges are rudely jailing bigamists for getting jiggy with the My Little Pony set. Marie Osmond is overcome by hedonistic out-of-body experiences and doing face plants on the dance floor after shamelessly shaking her groove thing in a steaming samba on Dancing with the Stars. Meanwhile her brother Donny, is still adamantly claiming (despite mountains of evidence to the contrary), that he's a little bit "rock n' roll."

And now, those boner-riffic mens who skulk about suburbia in their short sleeve white oxfords and JC Penneys neckties (with creepy "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" grins on their profoundly caucasian faces) distributing those handy door-stops (aka The Book of Mormon) have us adjusting our Fruit of the Looms as we lustfully gaze at their new Mormons Exposed 2008 beefcake calendar. Hey, guys! Let's meet a few of these steaming hunks of Latter Day Studs! Here's a random introduction to a few prime examples of grade A Mormon Manmeat:

SAY 'HI' TO BRANDON: Putting the sizzle-fo-shizzle back into the month of August, this cheeky studmuffin is currently spreading the word of Joseph Smith throughout the disease and famine plagued country of Mozambique. Holding the Book of Mormon in one hand and a sandwich in the other, he proudly boasts of converting 69 negro savages (unfortch, he buried three times that because God sent them AIDS as penitence for being non-Mormon before Brandon could get to them). The denizens of the small village where Brandon bears God's witness all live in mud shacks with no plumbing, but thanks to his heroic efforts, now they can all go to a shiny clean chapel to see how God will let them live if they put down the spear and follow in the footsteps of Donny Osmond. Just like Jesus (as quoted in the Book of Mormon), his "bowels are filled with compassion!" He's hump-a-licious!
TURN ONS: Mayonnaise, crosswords, Yahtzee, anal beads
TURN OFFS: Mean folks, cuss-words, vaginas

SHAKE HANDS WITH MATT: Matt is Mr. October. With his Clay Aiken hairdo and his "how the heck are ya?" smile, he's a delicious morsel of pious he-man. Matt annoys the residents of the dazzling mecca of Kumamoto Japan by constantly blaring "Every Day a Little Death: The Mormon Tabernacle Choir's Sondheim Tribute" on his Philco cassette deck. When he's not spreading the gospel by bearing witness to anyone who doesn't run faster than he does, he frequently delights his bemused neighbors by dressing up in full geisha drag and performing a medley of Yum-Yum's arias from The Mikado.
One of his favorite pastimes is annoying heroine-addicted prostitutes by reading from the Mormon book of Nephi, stressing the part where God smites the daughters of Zion cause they pranced about in tacky clothes and they over-accessorized. Looking at Matt's succulent heaving man-breasts, God might smite us for the naughty thoughts we're having! Yee-haw, throw a saddle on this stallion!
TURN ONS: Pictionary, Ovaltine, sudoku, felching
TURN OFFS: Blasphemy, negro rappity-hop music, vaginas

A BIG 'HOWDY' TO CASEY: Start 2008 on the right note with Mr. January, slurp-tastic hunk-o-love who answers to the name Casey. He fondly remembers his mission to the gorgeous shangri-la that is Donestk, Ukraine, where he oversaw a platoon of Chernobyl-deformed cyclops babies as they harvested turnips from the radio-active dirt with their teeth. As a member of the National Guard, the Case-meister has served in Iraq. There, the scrumptious sugar buns followed the example of Moroni, who in the Book of Mormon, directed the Nephites to slaughter more Lamanites than you can shake a stick at (not that Casey shakes his stick at anyone, much less a Lamanite), cause they were naked and therefore grossed God out. Feast your eyes on Casey-cakes as he seductively poses and taunts you with that smoldering "care for a glass of ice cold milk?" look in his eyes. Hotter than Iraq in August, nakeder than a dead Lamanite. Yum! Take a whiff of this bodacious slab of butt-steak!
TURN ONS: Stratego, fruit roll-ups, Ziggy, well-lubed fists
TURN OFFS: Uni-mom households, Zima-swilling spin-the-bottle participants, vaginas

Ask Aunt Betsy

We here at COWA, approaching our ninth month since conception, have proudly given birth to a new feature! It gives us deep pleasure to introduce Betsy Blodgept, your third grade teacher's twin sister. Ms. Blodgept (or "Aunt Betsy" as you'll come to call her) is an expert on virtually everything. So if you've got a problem, be it a matter of personal, sexual, religious, moral, career, parenting or geopolitical concern, don't hesitate to Ask Aunt Betsy! Take it away, Bets!

AUNT BETSY: Thanks WAM. Goodness gracious! The letters have already started pouring in! This week, I've decided to answer a trio of questions involving parenting skills. So let's crank this baby up!

Dear Aunt Betsy: My child (I'll call him Willy) is a kindergartner at a public school here in Headcheese Arkansas. Just last week the principal sent little Willy home with an index card reading "RAPIST" pinned to his cookie monster windbreaker. When I called to ask why, the school claims that in a game of tag during recess he got hands-y with little Ashley Sapowitz, that 5-year old harlot whose uppity Saab-driving mother sends her to school dressed in provocative Smurf pinafores. What should I do? Fretting About Randy Toddler

Hello FART! As we know, it's important to start putting healthy ideas about sex into our babies' heads as soon we squeeze them through our icky stink holes. In little Willy's case, I suspect that particular boat has sailed. You must make up for lost time by making him wear a dress to school (this will give the little dickens some sensitivity as to what it's like to be a vagina-carrying member of the helpless sex). Next, I'd start shocking him with a taser every time he hugs you. Gone are the days of "good touch/bad touch," I'm afraid. All touching is sexual and the sooner he learns this the less likely his smooth young fanny will be annexed by an axe murderer in San Quentin. Finally, make sure little Willy knows that Ashley Sapowitz is a hell-bound Jew and Jesus will make his pee-pee fall off if he so much as looks cross-eyed at the little whore. 

Dear Aunt Betsy: Sometimes I drop my babies on their noggins. Is that bad? Also, a mean judge is making my babies stay with their daddy now cause I like to let them right on top of the car when I go for a Chalupa run down to the Taco Bell. Twas Really A Super Hard Year

Hi Britney. Considering the short straws drawn by your children in the genetic lottery, dropping them on their heads is like dropping a lit match in Malibu. It doesn't help matters much...but face it TRASHY, the damage has been done. Yours is a case of "an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure." With that in mind, at the risk of shutting the barn door after the cow has escaped, I highly suggest getting your tubes tied and douching with asbestos.

Dear Aunt Betsy: I suspect my next door neighbor of kidnapping children from third world countries and creating a human zoo in her basement. Hardly a week goes by when another shipment arrives, and every time I see her leave her house, she's carrying a different baby that happens to match her shoes. Also, after digging through her trash, all I see are ticket stubs and peanut shells. Concerned Unassuming Neighbor Talks

Hi C*NT. I'm going to say this once. Lay off Angelina. She's better than you.

Love,
Aunt Betsy

White House Edits Science-y, Fact-centric Flapdoodle From CDC Speech!!

WASHINGTON -- When the Director of the Center for Disease Control (uppity cassandra Dr. Julie Gerberding), decided to give a rude speech to congress regarding possible health effects stemming from climate change, some folks at the White House uncapped their Sharpies and got a little edit-y. And although the president's press secretary (smirkingly defensive sexpot Dana Perino) said that the redacted portions of the text contradicted findings of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), one of the lead authors of the panel's annual reports, called Ms. Perino a dirty fibber, saying the original speech was "scientifically accurate and absolutely in line with the findings of the IPCC."

And, natch, our clandestine network of ninja trained operatives was able to get its hands on a few of the edits made by Bush's flapdoodle crosser-outers:

WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!
POSSIBLE WIDE-SPREAD HEALTH RAMIFICATIONS OF HORRIFYING THINGS LIKE CLIMATE CHANGE
by DR. JULIE GERBERDING

Ladies and Gentlemen of the United States Congress. I am here to outline the many detrimental effects of climate change, which many of you might find alarming, and present a wide range of related threats to the very existence of man. First, I'd like to address the theory that air pollution makes our population vulnerable to increased instances of diseases of the lungs, the evidence of which is growing stronger every day. Second, I intend to outline how large corporations produce toxins that harm the people we love, and what you can do about it. Third, I hope to describe how global temperatures are on the rise and how this can be particularly harmful, because it can increase the duration and areas affected by malaria epidemics and other tropical diseases, the exposure to which makes me particularly concerned when I look at how hot formerly temperate regions are predicted to get. The Science supporting these threats is solid; not, as some misleading politicians might have you believe, unestablished and inconclusive. I believe that in a worst case scenario, we'll see higher health risks, storms of increasing power, and if nothing is done, or if you don't act to curb global warming, I believe we might see a future in which our country becomes a God-forsaken land and you're going to see America become hell on earth.

Haiku Review #24: Saw 4/Rendition

America needed

Two feel-good entertainments

All about torture

NY Post Declares Fatwah on Uppity Transsexual!

NEW YORK, NY -- Jeffrey Epstein, multi-gazillionaire and massage aficianado, is in hot water these days cause he likes to get a little rape-y/molest-y with underaged models (the idle rich need hobbies). One of them, Ms. Maximilia Cordero, is now suing him for causing emotional distress stemming from being coerced into doing the horizontal shame mambo with the liver-spotted wretch when she was 16 years old. Now 23, the statuesque model is understandably traumatized by previously repressed memories of that ghastly creep getting all up in her stuff. And for that, she wants to get paid vast amounts of money. We say "go for it, bitch."

However, Page Six of yesterday's NY Post (glimmering beacon of journalistic integrity) revealed that Ms. Cordero used to have an "outie." That's right...she was (born a biological) man, baby. The article amounts to a rather balls-to-the-wall smear campaign, characterizing her as "sickly," and mentally unbalanced, repeatedly taking delight in degrading her and referring to her as a "he." It quotes Epstein's lawyer Gerald Lefcourt as saying "[Epstein's] never been accused of trysting with underaged boys, it's ridiculous." Of course Ms. Cordero was living as a female and taking hormones at the time. And of course no man who's pleaded guilty to multiple counts of statutory rape (in exchange for a slap on the wrist) is mentally unbalanced, much less capable of inflicting emotional distress on a teenager in the midst of gender transitioning (who, by virtue of her circumstances, was probably rather fragile and vulnerable if you think about it).

But here's the kicker: as pointed out by Gawker, Epstein's publicist Howard Rubenstein (quoted throughout the piece slamming Ms. Cordero) just happens to also handle publicity for the NY Post. Nauseating, huh? The publication whose front page screams sarcastic headlines of moral outrage on a daily basis (and is owned by Rupert Murdoch, second only to Antonin Scalia as the grossest man alive) has gathered its resources, lawyers and publicity machine to protect a sex abuser by training its cross-hairs on a young transsexual. Apparently, they don't want folks to think their rapist brethren is a tranny chaser. Cause that would, like, tarnish his good name.

Creeps.

Hey! Check out these email addresses!
dareh.gregorian@nypost.com ("author" of the article)
letters@nypost.com (to contact the paper's editor)
rjohnson@nypost.com (editor of Page Six)
psmith@nypost.com (to inform the paper how likely it is you'll advertise with them)

Rupert Murdoch contact info:
Rupert Murdoch, Chairman/CEO, News Corporation
1211 Avenue of the Americas, 8th Floor, New York, NY, 10036
Phone (212) 852-7000
Fax (212) 852-7147.

Howard Rubenstein contact info:
Howard Rubenstein Associates, Inc.
1345 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10105
(212) 489-6900
www.rubenstein.com

Totally Exclusive!! Valerie Plame's Tell-All (UNEXPURGATED!)

WASHINGTON, DC -- Valerie Plame Wilson, once the foxiest spy since Pussy Galore (or at least since Barbara Feldon had shoe-phone sex with Don Adams on Get Smart), has written a shocking tome called "Fair Game," which chronicles her meteoric rise through the ranks of the CIA and subsequent downfall at the hands of a ghastly trio of vindictive, impotent tubs of paste (i.e., Cheney, Novak, Rove).

Any time a current or former CIA employee writes a book, it is submitted to the agency for review. As one might imagine, the agency went through a case or two of Sharpies on Plame's manuscript. Well, wouldn't you know it? Our underground crew of sociopathic operatives has recovered an unexpurgated copy of "Fair Game." Below, we've provided a glimpse at a few of the most alarming passages the CIA deemed too sensitive for public consumption:

"...and at the last minute orders came from the top brass to abort 'Operation Camel Toe,' wherein a fleet of stealth aircraft were to air drop 570 cases of Right Guard and Carpet Fresh over downtown Riyadh..."

"...unfortunately my evening was cut short by a call informing me that Barbara Bush (code name: 'Rhymes-with-runt') had managed to pick the lock to the White House liquor cabinet and was once again streaking down Pennsylvania Avenue clad only in a flowery rubber bathing cap and a dickey, screaming obscenities and slapping people of color. She was subdued with an elephant tranquilizer dart at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial, where she was found lying on her back, spread eagle, screaming at Lincoln's statue: 'Read THESE lips, n*gger-lover!'"

"...and what could have been an international crisis was narrowly averted. Just think: the world was merely seconds away from discovering that Queen Elizabeth was in fact a lesser-known cross-dressing Windsor cousin named Archibald!"

"...suddenly I found myself face to face with the man himself. Here I was, a married woman, undercover as a scat top dominatrix, getting ready to 'conduct business' with Robert Mugabe. His eager, hungry eyes flickered by candle light in his darkened mansion. He laid himself down on his back and I hiked up my skirt. I heard the unmistakable sound of hyenas copulating in the distance as I pinched a loaf into malodorous president's mouth."

Eavesdropper: Laura Bush in Abu Dhabi

ABU DHABI -- Laura Bush (Xanax posterwoman, henpecker of the Burmese Junta) has embarked on a whirlwind tour of the middle east to chat with heavily cloaked womenfolk about boob rot. Seen here with her legs tightly crossed (she's learned, through unfortunate experience, to be on her guard during photo ops in foreign monarchies), our First Lady is fashionably clad in her favorite gray pants suit (from Dress Barn's short-lived "Chairman Mao" line) and flanked by two piles of black cloth as she waits for the ordeal to run its course. Fortunately, our undercover spies disgracefully cloaked themselves in burkas and recorded their whispered conversation:

LAURA BUSH: I'm so embarrassed...I didn't know we were supposed to wear costumes!
WOMAN ON LEFT: Costumes?
LB: I like your Obi Wan Kanobi outfit.
WOL: This is hijab.
LB: Hijab...I don't remember him. Was he an ewok or a jawa?
WOL: Huh?
LB: (turning to woman on right) In our country we make scary ghost costumes out of white sheets.
WOMAN ON RIGHT: I see you're dressed as Auntie Mame's houseboy.
LB: You talk funny! Are you magic?
WOR: I'm a breast cancer survivor.
LB: Right! I remember!
WOL: We both are. That's why you're here.
LB: Do they make all women with boob rot wear black sheets? That's barbaric!
WOR: We told you. It's hijab.
LB: There's that funny word again. You sure you're not magic?
WOL: Please, Allah...let them take our pictures so we can get away from this woman.
WOR: You are an imperialist infidel!
LB: Yeah well at least in America girls can drive cars and we don't prance around dressed like ninja nuns!
WOL and WOR: IT'S HIJAB!
LB: You really shouldn't go around making up words. I know whereof I speak. I was a teacher, and that word is a bunch of Arabese flapdoodle.
WOR: "Hijab" means devout clothing.
LB: Poppycock! Hijab was the jawa who sold R2D2 to Luke Skywalker. Anywho, I'm glad Dress Barn doesn't sell black sheet-dresses. They'd make me look "hippy." Besides, if you girls wore something a little prettier and showed a little knee, maybe your husbands wouldn't go bringing new wives home every other day. Now, if you'll excuse me I don't have any more time to play Star Wars with you. My mid-morning rum-and-Dr. Pepper is waiting in my limo and I've got a Burmese Junta to annoy. Bye!

Cooking With Mrs. Seinfeld: Plagiar-riffic Recipes for the Kiddies!

OPRAHSTAN, IL -- When Fat Oprah (Skinny Oprah appears to have taken an open-ended sabbatical) chatted with noted starfucker Jessica Seinfeld about her cookbook that encourages American moms to fib to their kids about what they're eating, Missy Chase Lapine started feeling a tad victimy. Why? Because Seinfeld's book "Deceptively Delicious" is a flat-out ripoff of Ms. Lapine's "The Sneaky Chef." They share identical recipes. HarperCollins sent its second rejection letter to Lapine on the same month it agreed to publish Ms. Seinfeld's book. What's more, Ms. Lapine's publisher (Running Press) contacted HarperCollins to kvetch when a brochure touting its publication of Ms. Seinfeld's copycat tome featured a very similar illustration as the one on Ms. Lapine's book's cover (a woman hiding carrots behind her back).

Ms. Seinfeld, whose honeymoon with her Broadway producer hubby was cut short when Jerry Seinfeld waved some cash under her nose, adamantly insists that she's not in it for the money. What's more, Fat Oprah (arbiter of America's literary taste) would never EVER push a book of dubious origins. Not even if the author was so desperate for the limelight she plied the big O with $20,000 worth of shoes in exchange for airtime.

All this ugliness aside, our network of ruthless spies has uncovered a few of Ms. Seinfeld's fib-a-licious recipes that are totally original, but were eventually jettisoned from her cookbook and substituted with the more edible (and plagiar-riffic) recipes of Ms. Lapine's. Try them today!

UPSIDE-DOWN OOPSY CAKES
Ingredients:
4 Hostess Twinkies
Handful of Flintstones vitamins
Orange peel
Raspberry Fruit Roll-up
Directions:
Puree Twinkies in food processor with Flintstone vitamins. Scoop the gloppy mixture into the half-sphere of orange peel. Cut a circle out of a raspberry Fruit Roll-up and place over the top like a pie crust. Microwave for 1 minute on "High." Enjoy!

LIVER AND SNICKERS HAPPY PIE
Ingredients:
One lb. chicken liver, diced
1 dozen bite-sized Snickers bars, unwrapped
1 cup of malled Manischewitz
2 cups of Count Chocula cereal
1/4 cup of wintergreen Tic Tacs
1/2 cup Mrs. Butterworth imitation maple syrup
Directions:
CRUST: Put Count Chocula in a ziplock baggy and pound baggy with this cookbook until it turns into brown dust. Mix dust with syrup and spread into greased pie pan. FILLING: Simmer the chicken liver in the Manischewitz until your eyes water. Pour mixture into pie. Add unwrapped Snickers, sprinkle Tic Tacs on top. Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Serves 6. Dig in!

MINTY GEFILTE FISH-AND-LICORICE POPSICLES
Ingredients:
1 dozen sticks of Wrigley's Spearmint gum, chewed
2 cups gefilte fish paste
1 quart green Kool-Aid
1 dozen black licorice sticks, frozen
2 tsps Minty Scope mouthwash
Directions:
Place a wad of chewed Spearmint gum at the end of each licorice stick, affix sticks to empty ice cube tray so they stand upright.  In blender, mix Kool-Aid, gefilte fish and Scope. Pour mixture into ice cube tray, around licorice sticks. Freeze. Yield: 1 dozen popsicles. Yum, yum!