Can O' Whup-Ass

Prez Campaign Shocker: Project Runway Judges Berate the Final Three!!

PARSONS -- In a truly bizarre twist that no one saw coming, the three remaining contenders for the White House found themselves standing on reality television's most famous catwalk. Project Runway judges Heidi Klum, Michael Kors and Nina Garcia grilled Senators Clinton, McCain and Obama in the unorthodox debate, while Tim Gunn flounced about acting as mentor/moderator.

And, natch, our covert band of spies have gotten its filthy hands on a partial transcript:

HEIDI KLUM: Only one of you will make it to Olympus Inauguration Week. As you know, in politics, one day you're in und der next you are out.
HILLARY CLINTON: Thanks, Heidi. I would just like to start by saying --
HEIDI KLUM: Achtung! Silence!
HILLARY CLINTON: Sorry.
HEIDI KLUM: Let us begin by introducing our judges. First we have top American designer Michael Kors.
MICHAEL KORS: Hi guys.
CLINTON/McCAIN/OBAMA: Hi.
HEIDI KLUM: Next, we have Fashion Editor for Elle Magazine, Nina Garcia.
NINA GARCIA: Hola.
McCAIN: La cucaracha, señorita.
HEIDI KLUM: Schließen Sie Ihren Mund! Achtung!
JOHN McCAIN: Sorry.
TIM GUNN: Don't bore the voters! Knock their socks off! Make it work!
HEIDI KLUM: Gehen Sie zurück zu Ihrem Käfig, Sie homosexueller Pudel! Achtung!
TIM GUNN: Sorry.
HEIDI KLUM: I would like to start vit der John McCain. Senator McCain you are der candidate vit der boner for Iraq, und he hopes to be eine kliene George Bush. Tell us about your look.
JOHN McCAIN: Um...I'm in a navy blue Brooks Brothers suit with a red tie. I'm also proud to wear a flag lapel pin, unlike a certain uppity negro who's named after a dictator and dresses like a terrorist.
MICHAEL KORS: I don't know. It's not very flattering. Your whole platform makes you look hippy.
NINA GARCIA: We know you like to fear monger and appeal to America's xenophobia, but we need to see more from you. Didn't we see the same design from Bush? It didn't look good on him, either. It's too matchy-matchy.
HEIDI KLUM: I wouldn't wear that. You look like you belong in der casket at someone's great grandfather's funeral. Ha-HA!
JOHN McCAIN: I would like to respond to that...
HEIDI KLUM: Schließen Sie Ihr strudel Loch, Sie alter Sack der Paste! Achtung! Auf!
JOHN McCAIN: Sorry.
HEIDI KLUM: Und now we talk vit Senator Obama. Tell us about your gown.
BARACK OBAMA: I believe that America is ready for change, and that's why I'm wearing a traditional Somalian High Priest Ooga-Booga dress.
HEIDI KLUM: Auf!
MICHAEL KORS: I don't know. You look like one of those savages on Skull Island that King Kong steps on when Faye Wray wriggles free of his giant hairy palms. But could a woman wear it to lunch?
NINA GARCIA: I find it cliché, and it looks pinned together. Can we see what's underneath your cliché?
BARACK OBAMA: Just ten inches of ebony bratwurst.
HEIDI KLUM: Auf!
BARACK OBAMA: Heidi, I got your presidential "seal" right here, if you catch my drift.
HEIDI KLUM: Auf! Auf!!
HILLARY CLINTON: I have a vagina.
HEIDI KLUM: Achtung! Next we would like to hear from der Hillary. Aside from your hairy Scheide, what can you tell us about your look?
HILLARY CLINTON: Yes, I have a vagina. And to off-set my vagina-having, my whole concept was to dress like a Presbytarian Lesbo from Boise who shops at Sears.
MICHAEL KORS: I don't know. Your hips make those slacks look hippy.
NINA GARCIA: You look like a gym teacher for retarded third graders.
HEIDI KLUM: I admire your hanging an entire platform from your vagina like Frau Merkel. But from your slacks I can see you dress left.
HILLARY CLINTON: That's Bill's. I hold onto it for safe keeping.
HEIDI KLUM: Auf!
HILLARY CLINTON: He can't keep it in his pants, so I keep it in mine.
HEIDI KLUM: Und now we announce der winner of this challenge. Congratulations...John.
JOHN McCAIN: Holy crap.
HEIDI KLUM: As the winner, your look will seen on stodgy stuffed shirts until the last of the "good ole boy" dinosaurs sink into the tarpits. You can leave the runway.
JOHN McCAIN: Okay. (exits)
HEIDI KLUM: Ha-HA!! We're going to take eine kliene break. Achtung! When we return one of you vill be in, und der other vill be out. Auf-auf!!

END OF TRANSCRIPT

Hating the Right People, the GOP Way

• When Jesus said "blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God," what he really meant is that if a Jew kvetches about teachers calling their Jewletts "Christ Killers," it's a good idea to publish the Jewish family's address, threaten their lives and run them out of town. Such were the actions of the good Christian folks in the dazzling metropolis of Indian River, Delaware; whose Republican primary was recently won by McCain. Praise!
• When an uppity negro gets his shifty eyes set on the White House and gains the endorsement of a hate-spewing, anti-semitic radical Muslim, the negro must be forced on national television into a "sho-nuff, I denounce Farrakhan" tapdance. But when an ancient pasty white man with similar ambitions is endorsed by a mega-church minister who advocates attacking Iran to speed Armageddon so we can be rid of the Jews once and for all, the doddering fossil croaks "I'm very proud to have Pastor John Hagee's support." Oh, heck...Hagee can't be that bad. Even though he claims Katrina was God's punishment to New Orleans for a holding gay event called Decadance (despite the fact that God's aim faltered when the hurricane destroyed virtually every neighborhood in The Big Easy but the gay one), the right reverend's balls were given a luxurious tongue-bath by self-loathing Democrat Joe Lieberman in a fawning address he gave to Hagee's political action committee.   
• Goodly Ohio Christians who think that McCain doesn't hate Jews or gays quite enough for their taste, are currently being led in prayer by Janet Folger (Huckabee's Family Values co-chair), asking God to send a blizzard to the buckeye state to strand all the folks who might not "vote the right way." True, the blizzard in December killed 22 people across the midwest; but fret not, right-voting Ohioans! God's aim ain't what it used to be (evidenced by His recent "homo-be-gone" hurricane attempt). Perhaps all the dead folks will be from Indiana. Praise!
• Although John McCain once called Pat Robertson an "agent of intolerance," he has since flip-flopped changed his mind; last year he spoke at Robertson's SC-based Jesus-tastic Skool for Kreationist Book-Learnin (aka Liberty University). It was a good move; after the "agent of intolerance" remark, he lost the 2000 SC primary to Dubya. After the all the hot make-up sex with America's evangitwats, McCain won the 2008 SC primary.
• William F. Buckley, the pundit hailed by conservatives as an oddity in their midst because he could speak the English language with proper grammar, was yanked into Hades by the icy hand of death a few days ago. Buckley once famously opined that AIDs sufferers should be tattooed. Mike Huckabee, on the other hand, suggested that we might sequester them in cheerful razor-wire festooned AIDs camps. If, as stem cell research seems to suggest, two men could theoretically conceive a child together, the love spawn created by Bucklabee would make a helluva Hitler. Isn't that right, Senator Lieberman?

This Just In: Your Kids Are Retarded!!

"As yesterday's positive report card shows, childrens do learn when standards are high and results are measured."
-- George W. Bush

Six years into our totally brilliant president's (ahem) "brain" child legislation called No Child Left Behind, a survey was undertaken by by a group called Common Core, to take the temperature of your lil' darlins' book-learnin prowess. Twelve hundred 17-year-olds were tested.

"Quite frankly, teachers are the only profession that teach our children."
-- Dan Quayle

The results have revealed that Bush's towering intellectualism seems to have rubbed off on America's youth; their grasp of history, literature and geography ranks them somewhere between Dan "Potatoe" Quayle and a sack of hammers.

"You teach a child to read, and he or her will be able to pass a literacy test.''
-- George W. Bush

We here at COWA headquarters, shocked to the core of our collective being, decided to conduct our own test on a totally representative cross-section of American teens. Below, we have provided the answers given by three of the participants: Mindy Cox (a born-again sophomore from Jefferson Davis High, Tuscaloosa), Travis Butz (starting varsity quarterback at Our Lady of Perpetual Cramps High School, Sheboygan), and Advil Johnson (homecoming decorations chair, PS 113B, Detroit).

"Border relations between Canada and Mexico have never been better."
-- George W. Bush

QUESTION ONE: Sally has had twice as many abortions as Susie, but one-third as many as Nan. Susie has one cold sore for every three abortions she's had. Nan has three infected "self-cutting" scars on her thighs for every abortion Sally has had. Which one is going to be prom queen?
Mindy Cox: Satan.
Travis Butz: Poop.
Advil Johnson: I hates me dem cracka bitchiz.

"We must have the attitude that every child in America — regardless of where they're raised or how they're born — can learn"
-- George W. Bush

QUESTION TWO: You meet a pervert with whom you've been chatting on MySpace. When you climb into his van behind the Jiffy Lube and recline on an inflatable mattress, the pervert tells you that by the glow of his dome light you look like a Botticelli. What does he mean?
Mindy Cox: He meenz if I tell my Mom he's going 2 davorse her.
Travis Butz: Poop.
Advil Johnson: Dat shit mean I chargin double.

"Africa is a nation that suffers from incredible disease."
-- George W. Bush

QUESTION THREE: Compare and contrast Stendahl's "The Red and the Black" with Proust's "Remembrance of Things Past"
Mindy Cox: Their both ritten by Frinch faggits who R going 2 hell.
Travis Butz: Poop.
Advil Johnson: Yo, you gots any weed?

"The problem with the French is that they don't have a word for entrepreneur."
-- George W. Bush

QUESTION FOUR: What was Columbus looking for when the Nina, Pinta and Santa Maria discovered the West Indies?
Mindy Cox: Jesus? A new maid?
Travis Butz: Poop.
Advil Johnson: Dat cracka be lookin to lay some pipe up some mexakin bitchiz vajayjay.

"You know, sometimes when you study history, you get stuck in the past."
-- George W. Bush

QUESTION FIVE: Why were the Allied Forces at war with Nazi Germany in World War II?
Mindy Cox: Cause joo-ish peeple tell fibs and make stuff up.
Travis Butz: Poop.
Advil Johnson: Bitch, you axe me one mo kwestyun Advil be bustin a cap in dat ass.

"Reading is the basics for all learning."
-- George W. Bush

Foxy Brown's Red Carpet Re-Cap

Rikers Island -- Somebody say HO-OH! Dis be Foxy B, and a bitch be representin from da clink. Fo all da mo-fos out there dat be libbin under a rock, Foxy's crib be a stank-ass cell at Rikers ever since a sistah bounce her Blackberry off da noggin of some trash-talkin country ho who get all up in a bitch's face an sh*t. Dat be after Foxy bust some mad ju-jitsu moves wid a couple o' sassy Korean manicurisist hos who try to make a bitch pay after she done git her tips did. Respeck.

When a ho get her ass frone in prison, she gots time to fink about sh*t. A sistah gots time on her hands, 'cept when she be usin em to fist da stank-ass muff of dat crazy ho wit da lazy eye fo a pack of menthol bajinya f*ckin slims. She gots a razor blade in her weave, dats fo sho. But Foxy be tryin to say she been attempin to improob herself, yo. Dat's why a bitch be readin dat off-da-hook book all 'bout those cracker-ass mo-fos Dick and Jane and they gay-ass dog Spot. Dat also be why a bitch be writin some ass-kickin pomes an' sh*t.

But las Sunday when me an da hos from cellblock D be watchin da Acamidy Awards in da TV room, Foxy be finkin doze Hollywood hos be crazy. Dey be frontin in threads dat Foxy wouldn't be caught dead wearin to no dog fight at Michael Vick's house, let alone da f*ckin Oscars. Das fo shizzle, rizzle. Den Foxy gots to finkin...who be doze faggits Regis f*ckin Phibbin an Ryan f*ckin Seacrest? Doze homos be gayer than Michael Jackson at a Liza Namelli concert. Sh*t. 'Sides, I gots me some style, mo-fos. I gots class and respeckabilitude comin out my twat. So here be Foxy's rockin' opinion bout what doze hos be wearin on dat red carpit. Check dis, mo-fos:

DIABLO CODY: Dat ho be workin dat lepperd dress! Dat slit be showin a bitch's vajayjay. She be thinkin she some cracker jungle cat. Speakin of f*ckin jungles, dis be da m*therf*ckin Oscars, girl! Wax dat sh*t! She gots mo ink dan dat rican sistah on cellblock C who bus' a cap in her maff teacher's ass fo gettin in all up in her face bout carrying da f*ckin two. Foxy could rock dat dress at da NAACP image awards. Respeck.

JENNIFER HUDSON: And I am tellin you dat ho think she cute. Dis sistah best step correct befo Foxy cut a slab of bacon off her fat back. Dat mo-fo Seacrest need to fro his iPhone at dat bitch's fat head. 

TILDA SWINTON: Dayum, yo. Dat lesbo bitch be lookin like Richie Cunningham was crowned Miss Hefty Bag in da pasty-ass cracker-fairy booty pageant. She be Doogie Howser goin to a drag ball as Lena Horne. Dat sh*t be fugly, yo.

HEIDI KLUM: Okay, dat dress be coo. But Foxy jus don like dis bitch. She lift her skirt and squirt another oreo baby out her twat every other damn day. And why she gots to be aufin all da negros from her gay-ass runway show? Foxy like to slap the white right outa dat bitch's Nazi Doris Day ass. Why Seal gots to go fishin in dat ice hole for baby seals?

DENZEL WASHINGTON: When dat n*gga strut his fine bald ass on da TV, all da Cellblock D hos be actin like they uteruseses be fixin to jump out they twats and dance the f*cken 'lectric boogaloo. Sh*t. Dat crazy ho wit da Tupac tattoo, she just up and 'splode. Nuffin left of dat bitch but her cheap ass weave and a wisp of f*ckin smoke. Dayum, Denzie. Foxy tryin to ride yo fine bizniss til yo ass be bouncin off da m*therf*ckin ceiling, ya feel a ho? Sh*t. Dis bitch even let a brovah get up in a lady's poo hole. Call me, baby.

North Korea Make Lucky Fun Official Welcome to Poopy American Orchestra Peoples!!

Pyongyang -- Early today, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra landed in Pyongyang North Korea, marking the first time American musicians have played in this insular kingdom since Eisenhower's boys played their farewell performance of the Shrapnel Symphony in D.

As the musicians emerged from the plane, woodwinds in their hot little clutches, scores of North Korean "minders" met them, their faces lit up with the kind of dazzling smile only the threat of a one-way ticket to a gulag can inspire.

A dozen North Korean school children stood by, holding bouquets of roses, standing upright in their crisp uniforms, each handpicked for this occasion for their cuteness, dimples, and willingness to sell their grandmother up the river for the sake of Dear Leader.

Following an ear-splitting fanfare blasting through a circa 1948 loudspeaker, the tallest child marched up to Conductor Lorin Maazel, and issued the following welcome statement, knowing full well that DPRK guards stood by ready to drag her behind the terminal and bust a cap in her noggin if she stammered, forgot her lines, or failed to sufficiently demonstrate her adoration for Kim Jong Il:

"We make happy to saying welcome to glorious nation of Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea! Dear Leader is wanting to extend smiley-lucky florals to sad poopy imperial oboists and frowny unlucky violin peoples! Today is big historical, and you to lay official florals at foot of statue of Dear Leader! Yay! Then to happy fun tour of Yankee Soldier bloody skeleton museum! We the happy lucky fun peoples of DPRK not to have starvy freezy fun-famine! We not to eating bark noodles or dog patties! We have iPod!!! When we to conclude our happy hello we make gift of super fun blindfolds for ride in funny bumpy bus! We to feed you yummy happy Korean foodstuffs of rice with rice on top! But before we to embark on funny smiley bus, we happy childrens are to sing laughy fun traditional songy song that Dear Leader write just for you!"

CHILDREN'S CHOIR
(signing to the tune of "Happy Talk" from South Pacific)
Kim Jong Il write funny happy song
It's about how you lost the war
You used to eating poop
But we'll serve doggy soup (woof-woof!)
You the ones we build the nukies for!
You play evil song
We pretend we like
Then you watch our army make parade
You admit you wrong
We make fun of Ike
Then we make the rice for iPod trade
Kim Jong Il write lucky happy song
It's about how you stupid yanks
We dance Korean jigs
For you imperial pigs
We're nukies now and we have you to thanks
We play funny jokes
Pee-pee in your Cokes
Then we tour museum of yankee bones
You pretend not see
Our starvy freezy folks
When you go we give you back your phones
Kim Jong Il write laughy happy song
It's the best song you'll ever know
Too bad you lost the war
And don't let that screen door
Hit you on your fanny when you go

Ask Aunt Betsy: Betsy's Oscar Bets

Hi-de-ho, dear readers! My! Aunt Betsy has been away too long! Every time I situate myself in my butterscotch and avocado-colored formica-and-naugahyde dinette to pen the invaluable words of this universally admired column, a sense of contentment washes over me that I haven't felt since Hilda Porchnik rolled her last desperate stab at a "Large Straight" in last year's tension-choked Yahtzee semi-finals, and yielded a pathetic array of aces and deuces (forcing the uppity Lutheran to mark down a hilariously low "Chance"). Aunt Betsy's prolonged absence was due to an unpremeditated (and thoroughly unpleasant) jaunt to Sheboygan to attend to my demented mother. Apparently she's been agitating the other residents of Geezer Barn, the budget retirement home to which I confined her at the first whiff of impending incontinence. The apoplectic nursing staff informed me that the woman from whose uterus yours truly plopped has been organizing late-nite swingers orgies in the TV room leading to an unlikely syphilis outbreak (an in one unspeakable instance, pregnancy). My immediate presence was required to sign over permission for the staff to use restraints, shock therapy and waterboarding on the daft old biddy for the safety of her defiled fellow oldsters and the general amusement of the nurses. Done and done.

As I was contemplating what I might write about, it dawned on me that an orgy of quite a different ilk was coming down the pike this weekend: the Academy Awards. Yes, my dears. Final preparations are being made for Hollywood's night to drop trou and pleasure itself on prime time, so that an insular clique of pill-popping negro-babynapping strumpets can tart themselves up and parade their cleavage about while thanking Jesus and their publicist. Aunt Betsy's favorite part is the inevitable schadenfreude-inducing reaction shots of the losers, forced to smile with the knowledge that their careers aren't destined to blast off on the post-win trajectories experienced by the likes of Marlee Matlin and Helen Hunt. Be that as it may, I'd like to humbly offer my Oscar predictions:

BEST PICTURE: NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN
When a godly person is forced to choose between a feel-good sleeper about a hell-bound pregnant teen, a bodice-ripper populated by snotty Brits, a movie about a lawyer starring Rosemary Clooney's nephew, a film whose distasteful title reminds us of menstruation and a morality tale in which a nice young man dispatches sinful Texans with a pneumatic cow rifle, the choice is clear.

BEST DIRECTOR: JOEL and ETHAN COEN
Aside from throwing tantrums and impregnating starlets, no one really knows or cares what a director does. So while Aunt Betsy would love to see the bald effeminate statuette go to the one contender whose name doesn't sound vaguely Catholic or Jewish (Paul Thomas Anderson), two dreidel-spinners on the same ticket is bound to be too much for the Jesus-killing Academy voters to resist.

BEST ACTOR: DANIEL DAY-LEWIS
Of the two thrice-named contenders in this category, one played a man whose dead son leads him to question America's sensible "blood for oil" policy, while the other starred in a far more patriotic film which seems to argue that blood for oil is a rather reasonable transaction.

BEST ACTRESS: JULIE CHRISTIE
The only actress sensible enough to play a woman with a disease. And since none of the others are sufficiently attractive/blond/chesty to win on the Paltrow/Jolie/Sorvino bimbo ticket, Mrs. Christie is a shoo-in. Aunt Betsy must admit some trepidation; when an actress plays senility how am I to condemn her if she forgets a line? It makes one suspicious.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR: JAVIER BARDEM
To my mind, supporting actors are shiftless underachievers who simply don't have the ambition or talent for much else. Mr. Bardem sounds like a foreigner, and as we all know, jobs that true Americans don't want to do are best left to swarthy immigrants.

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS: AMY RYAN
Of the two Americans in this category, blacktress Ruby Dee is both old and a negro (read: doomed).

ALL OTHER CATEGORIES: WHO GIVES A FLYING FIG NEWTON?
How refreshing would it be if the telecast wrapped it up before anyone remembered what a colossal bore it always is? We can do without an ear-raping rendition of the inevitable Randy Newman song, the dreary dead-folks montage, the fairy costume designer giving tearful thanks to his dreadful sodomite "life-partner" and the constant vapid banter that makes us nostalgic for the writers' strike.

McCain Responds to Those Homo Jews at the NYTimes and Their Commie "Ethics" Flapdoodle

TOLEDO -- On Wednesday, the Old Gray Lady (no, not Barbara "This-is-working-out-very-well" Bush, but the New York Times) reported that the GOP's likely prez nom John McCain (who discovered ethics after his stint in that once-famous boyband "The Keating 5") appeared to have engaged in some shady shenanigans with a blond lobbyist whore lobbyist by the name of Vicki-with-an-"i" Iseman, wherein they shared cozy jaunts on private jets and sashayed hither and yon at various soirees thrown by wealthy campaign contributors (who also happened to be clients of Icky-Sticky-Vicki). Today, Senator Rumplestilskin McCain responded to this rude expose by spitting/growling/hissing the following comments through his trademark insincere grimace/smile:

SEN. JOHN McCAIN: "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I stand here today to defend myself against the disappointing fibs written by those goddamned hacks at an uppity homo rag that rhymes with Jew Pork Times. I think America is disappointed by these dirty politics. I say these attacks are really the demonic machinations of a certain frigid horse-hipped lesbo and an effeminate half-negro whose terrorist-y name I won't mention because I have friggin ethics coming out my goddamned ass. I've been serving my country with honor since Adam and Eve were racing his-and-hers stegosauruses around Bible-stan in the first annual Creationist Derby. Need I remind you of my heroic five-year stay in the "songbird" suite of the Hanoi Hilton, where I first demonstrated my aversion to torture by spilling so many beans, the gooks knew the consistency of Nixon's skivvy skids? Big whoop, so while in 'Nam I forgot that whole "evade answering questions to the utmost of my ability" part of the Code of Conduct when I had a conversation in Spanish with a Cuban interrogator over cake and coffee. Sue me. What if I made so many propaganda broadcasts with the Viet Cong I made Tokyo Rose look like John Wayne? I'm disappointed that even though I went to Hanoi in 1993 and made those commies agree never to release my interrogation files, the U.S. Wire Service still has a broadcast I made during which I fellated Ho Chi Minh by praising my treatment and calling American soldiers a bunch of crybaby poopy-pants. America neither cares nor remembers that at the height of the Savings & Loan debacle, Keating greased my palm so much I could fist a gnat. Now, there's some pinko commies spreading a bunch of disappointing horse hooey about how I like to ride in private jets with lobby tarts with perky racks and campaign payola falling outa their twats. So what if I took legislative actions on behalf of her clients who now and again slipped me a couple thou in gas money for the Straight Talk Express? If anything, I was the one making the donations, as I frequently slipped Cialis-enabled man-milk payments in Sticky-Vicki's night deposit slot! But I have never been unfaithful in any way to my retarded gazillionaire beer tycoon wife. When we cheat on our spouses, we do it together. Disappointed by the liberal media, disappointed talking about the real issues that Americans want to see debated, like how the economy's tanking so badly that Ann Coulter's VISA GoldCard was rejected at the Shop n' Save. Americans do not care that my wife Cindy sometimes accidentally steals prescription drugs. They care about God-crazed Arabiacs galloping on camel-back through Tuscaloosa and making their fat Baptist daughters wear burkas so they can ass rape them without seeing their faces. I will leave you with that thought, my fellow Americans. Remember it when November rolls around you're choosing between me and Barack Osama Hussein Allah Akbar Mohammed Taleban Obama. Thank you, and may God Bless America™

Hump-Day Perv-a-Palooza!

• A TALE OF TWO SEX TAPES: In a desperate bid to remain hip/relevant, sagging paleolithic rocker Gene Simmons made a sex tape (we KNOW!). In it, the fetid bag of paste lackadaisically humps a profoundly unfortunate bimbo/low-aiming starf*cker as he gets his nasty greasy stuff all up in her icky business (although he mercifully leaves his shirt on so that we may keep our lunch down, and also presumably to protect his partner in coital bliss from being knocked unconscious by his pendulous moobs). While Simmons is claiming he doesn't want us to watch, we feel as if we have no choice. Meanwhile, in China: a super-happy sex tape showing two pandas in the clutches of a two-minute hippity-dippity session is being shown to Qing Qing and Ha Lei (both currently living the panda lifestyle at a Chengdu zoo) in hopes that it might give them an idea or two. Unfortch, the panda porn has had the same boner-killing effect on Qing and Ha as Mr. Simmons' icky romp has on us.
• THE HONORABLE JUDGE SUGAR-PANTS: Not so long ago, a federal bankruptcy judge by the name of Robert Somma thought it would be a good idea to get tarted up like a "Chicago" chorus girl and go a-honkey tonkin' in New Hampshire. With his fishnet stockings, cha-cha heels and priceless black cocktail dress, Princess Somma pranced hither and yon whilst arguably living NH's state motto of "Live Free or Die" well beyond its likely original intent. The happy judge's blithe frolicking came to a jolting end when, all liquored up, he plowed into a parked car got hauled in on a DUI rap. Now, the hapless judge has been forced to resign from the bench. But here's our beef: it was his attire, not his actions that ended his judicial career. Wassup wit dat??
• SIT ON THIS, TEXAS! In the Lone Star state, where everything is bigger (asses, hairdos, prostates, etc.) the Fifth Circuit Court recently overturned a long-standing fatwa on dildos, french ticklers and anal beads. At the hearing, the state (in which guns are sold like gum-balls and folks are routinely executed) said it has a moral prerogative to "discourage the pursuit of sexual gratification unrelated to procreation." Well suck it, bitches. To our Texas brethren: that low rumble you hear is the sound of millions of folks stampeding to the "Alamo Buttplug Emporium" to purchase their very own party-sized Vibrating Mandingo Double-Dong so they can ride it like Debra Winger rode the mechanical bull at Gilley's.
• FIBBING FOR JESUS: Occasionally, the stretch pants clad Jesus freaks of God's favorite country get worked into a snit over the thought of two men-folk doing the horizontal butt mambo under the legitimacy of state recognized fag nuptials. When that happens, after falling into a fugue state and vacuuming their Dodge Caravans, they hire Arno Political Consultants to collect signatures for a petition to amend the state constitution against the pervy eventuality of tastefully planned weddings and rainbow cummerbunds. Unfortch, Arno has repeatedly been questioned regarding fraudulent tactics, from fibbing to folks as to what they're signing to outright forgery. The precedent they set by breaking a commandment (that whole "Thou shalt not bear false witness" thing) to fight sin, opens the door to those of us who might want to break that "thou shalt not kill" commandment in order to fight self righteousness.

A Statement From President Bush to All Cuba-Ricans: Adios, Grampa Stinky-pants!!

Good morning. Today, me and Pickles toured this here country in Africa. At first I thought I was bein punked by Condi when she told me I was goin to a place called Rwanda cause sometimes she likes to make stuff up, like when she told me cow farts are melting Antarctica. I tell you, for a negro broad with an Alfred E. Newman smile, that Condi is one hilarious dyke. But anyways, it seems a while back a bunch of folks in these parts got a little killy and stabby 'cause there was a gang of negros called the Tootsie-Pops that got a tad uppity. Then Pickles and me had our pictures taken with a mountain of human skulls. Boy was my face red when I called them Obama voters and no one even cracked a smile at my funny joke. Then Pickles picked up one of the skulls and asked the tour guide how much he wanted for one of those cute souvenir negro-noggin ashtrays.

But speaking of smelly foreign countries no one wants to go to, I understand that you Cuba-ricans have somethin to cheer about. Seems that fuzzy old humidor Fidel finally got it through his retarded noggin that he might have overstayed his welcome. Ya THINK? I mean, when this dude was painting Cubastan red, I was still sucking ice milk from my mommy's pendulous hirsute titties and dropping bunker busters in my pampers. And now, eight gazillion years later he's decided to take a powder. And you Cubist folks can can dust off your Carmen Miranda fruit hats and cha-cha in the streets as you gulp down your first sweet breaths of freedom air. Now you can quit outfitting your family in leaky water wings so's you can feed the sharks as you dog-paddle to Miami. No longer must you gaze longingly through the razor wire at Gitmo to see how Jesus' favorite country handles its business. And you don't hafta pretend to have a boner for Señor Castro; you can openly wish for your president's demise, just like they do here in America.

Yessiree. After decades of enduring the ickiness of collectivism, universal health care, and equal access to education, you all are on the brink of breaking the shackles of misery brought on by a certain thing I like to call "el trado embargo." You all haven't let it sink into your retarded skulls that the good ol' U. S. of A. don't do business with no stinkin' commies. Face it, only pinkos imprison political prisoners. You can thank gramps Castro for making you take Kruschev's flesh missile up your collective poop chute and getting all uppity over that Bay of Pigs thingy.  So let la dia nuevo signal an end to the rude and cruel exile of Vanna White and Elian Gonzales. Let us embrace a future of plantain mcmuffins. Let the poor skulk back to the mountains where they belong so's you can bulldoze your slums to make way for Havana-Disneyland. Let the gates of free trade be open wide, so's you can stop sending us your wetbacks and start sending those cigars. Cause if Hillary is our nation's first Presbian, our first lady-man slick Willy will have nothing but time to cram Montecristos up porker JAP stink holes. And America can send you folks some Carpet Fresh and Febreze. Face it, dudes. Cuba-stan could use a million or five Glade Plug-ins. If there's one thing y'all got in common with Rwanda (aside from a negro problem), it's that both your gross countries smell like donkey butt.

Thank you, and may God Bless America.

Valentine's Day Special: Love Poems of the Rich and Famous!

Happy VD, bitches.

While we generally don't care for this holiday (it seems designed to move cards and chocolate and to cause general misery), we feel compelled to let you know, dear readers, that you are our Valentine. No, really.

And to celebrate, we have unearthed a few love poems penned by some of our favorite persons of notoriety:

"Hugo, Hugo"
by Mahmoud Ahmadahmaramalamadingdong
Hugo, Hugo, let's be besties
I'll suckle at your manly breasties
Make me whimper, make ma holla
Tap my junk til I see Allah
Your leche-spitting flesh chalupa
Stick it in my hairy poopa
Lube it good, my man-cave's tight
And you're hung like a sodomite

"Ode to That Broad I Banged"
by Donald Trump
Yesterday at Cartier
Some bimbo whispered at me "hey"
Her teeth were clean, her boobs were hot
Her skirt so short I saw her twat
Into her ear I whispered "oink"
Then in my limo did we boink
She finger-popped me up the butt
That crap makes me bust a nut
For a grand she let me hump her ass
That broad I banged had extra class

"Ram Me Home, Jesus"
by Beverly LaHaye
Jesus, would it be a sin
To feel your balls against my chin?
To feel you nailing me but good
Like the Jews nailed you to wood?
My Lord, I'd really love to say
I know you in the "Bible way"
Forgive my yucky sinful wish
Just bring your loaf, I'll bring the fish
Let's run away, it'll just be us
We'll contradict Leviticus
Mum's the word, I shall not tell
I'm not going to go to hell
Hell's not for gals like me, I swear
I hear there's faggots living there

"Keep it in Your Pants"
by Laura Bush
Hold it right there, buckaroo
I know what you wanna do
You want to do the nasty dance
Georgie, keep it in your pants
I don't want to touch your weenie
I've only had one Xanatini
Last time we did those icky sins
I plopped out two retarded twins

WE SHAN'T BE POSTING AGAIN UNTIL TUESDAY 2/19. CHEERS!