Can O' Whup-Ass

Can o' Goop: Gwyneth Paltrow's Guest Column

We at COWA don't always have time to pen our brilliant posts, and frequently outsource to an ever-growing pool of talent (Aunt Betsy, Jeannie Bladdersham, Foxy Brown and Sailor-Talkin Sue). And now, we are proud to add the lovely Ms. Gwyneth Paltrow (actress, fashionista, uppity shiksa) to their illustrious ranks. Her lifestyle website GOOP has been dazzling the blogosphere with its unique brand of snotty condescension for months now, and lucky us, Ms. Paltrow has graciously agreed to spread her goop all over us. Take it away, Gwynnie!

Thanks, WAM.  You know, when I'm not dashing off to do Pilates with Madonna or plucking Apple up from celebrity gymboree, I like to surround myself with gorgeous things and think about people who are  less fortunate. Not a day goes by when I don't stumble across the same icky homeless lady passed out in a puddle of her own filth in front of my fabulous London townhome. And she's really gross.

But when you think about it, the homeless are kind of like people. They say "ouch" when you kick them and cry when you have your personal assistant turn the hose on them. And anyone who knows me knows I'm nothing if not a people person. I like people. I just prefer people who aren't so gross.

The other day, while enjoying a kelp scrub at spa with Vicky Becks, I had a totally great idea! How cool would it be if we made homeless people less gross and stuff? Today's guest column is about how to de-grossify that derelict whose misfortunes rudely cramp your style by disrupting the stream of vapid happy thoughts you were thinking.

1. Urine is a natural anti-biotic: My personal homeless person (I call her Shabby Shelly) has icky scabs on her thighs. So I frequently have Apple and Moses pee on her. She doesn't seem to mind and the kids enjoy doing it. It's important to teach our young proper respect for the less fortunate.
2. Good clothes make all the difference: Shabby Shelly's look is overlayered and dated (grunge is SO 90's). So the other day when she was in a gin-soaked stupor, I had personal assistant strip her naked, burn her clothes and dress her up in some old cast-offs from my wardrobe. It did my heart good to watch her through my parlor blinds as she regained consciousness. She didn't know what to make of her ferragamo stilettos and sequined Alexander McQueen cocktail mini! She was a new woman. And although she seemed a tad chilly (London in mid-March can be brisk), every girl knows she has to put up with some discomfort when she's sprinting from the limo to the theatre on premier night!
3. We are what we eat: So true! And with that in mind, Shabby Shelly's a discarded half-eaten Whopper with Cheese. I frequently have cook whip up a batch of tofu paste on a bed of organic sprouts and leave it on the curb next to her. So far, Shabby Shelly hasn't developed a taste for it; she keeps feeding it to the pet rat who lives in her vagina. Vegan microbiotic cuisine is an acquired taste, after all.
4. Love makes the world go 'round: Who doesn't need a shoulder to cry on? At the end of the day, it's nice to come home to a significant other. I believe everyone has a soul-mate out there somewhere. Mine happens to be a dreamy blue-eyed millionaire musician. After searching for AGES I finally matched Shabby Shelly to her future life partner, a schizophrenic ex-con triple amputee midget alcoholic I found scooting about on a skateboard harrassing commuters in the tube. His name is Stumpy McGill and they're perfect together. So far, Shabby Shelly's wisely playing hard-to-get.   
5. Wait, what? I've ceased being interested in whatever I was talking about. I'm off to do lunch with Sting and Kate Moss. Be gorgeous!

 

Gwyneth sez: "I'd rather subscribe to this blog's feed than listen to my husbands crappy music"

The Iranian Edition

A law recently passed by Iran's parliament, and due to be approved by the guardian council (those men who flounce about in turbans and caftans like Eartha Kitt) aims to execute bloggers who "write about or promote illegal activities." According to Al Jazeera, there are currently 60,000 Farsi-written blogs in Iran and the nervous fundamentalists are hell-bent to shield its populace from the dangerous ideas that inevitably result from free thought.

So while the mullahs are hunched over their laptops Googling "apostasy" "ass-sex" and "chita rivera" in an effort to decide whom to stone or hang next, we thought we might do our best to distract them so that our Iranian bloggers-in-arms may escape their scrutiny.  Sound fun?

Introducing...

 

Friday March 27, 2009: Ayatollah Kahmenei Sings Showtunes
At the end of the day, when no one's around, the Supreme Leader Ayatollah Kahmenei pulls down the blinds. His heart all a-flutter, he dashes about dressing up like Mary Martin and firing up his karaoke machine. When everything's set, he performs an enthusiastic rendition of "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair" from "South Pacific." Other songs in His Holiness' repertoire include "And I'm Telling You I'm Not Going" from "Dreamgirls" (his Jennifer Holiday is uncanny) and "We Had a Real Nice Clambake" from "Carousel." How he wishes he could find other clerics who shared his interests; he's memorized all the cute choreography in "Steam Heat" from "Pajama Game" (as long as the Ayatollah can play the Carol Haney part). 

Thursday March 26, 2009: Did Muhammad Wear Panties on His Head and Whistle at Sailors?
A shocking discovery revealed by an ancient stone tablet found in an archaeological site outside Medina proves that Muhammad (prior to receiving instructions from Allah to permanently f*ck up the Middle East) amused himself by wearing ladies undergarments on his head and cat-calling lasciviously at lonely seamen on shore leave. He quickly gained a reputation as the sort of rude young man who'd give naked camel rides to randy rear admirals in exchange for a couple riyals and a bottle of myrrh.

Wednesday March 25, 2009: Hilarious Hajj Pranks!
1) A flaming bag of dog poop placed strategically near the Kaaba leads to a eventful Tawaf!
2) As millions are running between the hills of Safa and Marwah, yell "Fire!" or "Soap!" and mayhem will ensue! 
3) During your pilgrimage to Arafat: when nobody's looking, discretely drop as many empty condom wrappers as you can along the way! Hilarity will follow!
4) While everyone is busy stoning the devil, go to their tents and leave autographed photos of Liza Minnelli under their pillows. High-jinx shall commence!

Hey, Mullahs! If you subscribe to COWA we'll let you issue a fatwa on our head!

REJECTED MEN'S HEALTH COVER #1

A subscription to the COWA feed is almost as gay as a subscription to Men's Health.

Ask Aunt Betsy: Aunt Betsy Messes With Texas

Howdy-doody-doodle-all-day! Gracious! It's been ages since you've enjoyed an indispensable dispatch from Aunt Betsy-stan (Christian theocracy, population moi). Here I sit, comfortably wedged in my gorgeous mint green and chartreuse custom House Beautiful breakfast nook, lounging over a lovely cup of instant Taster's Choice and a toasty warm Pop Tart with lemon-esque filling, eyeing with some annoyance my neighbor's flower bed. Those irritating sodomites are hostile gardeners; they delight in growing perfect tulips for the sole purpose of diminishing the effect of my more natural (heterosexual) flower bed. Once again I'll be forced to hire that retarded gypsy boy who bags groceries at the Piggly Wiggly to sneak Drano pellets into their Miracle Gro. 

As you know, my twin sister Levitica and I are voracious theatre-goers. So when I heard that the regional tour of a dazzling all-caucasian production of "The Wiz" starring Loretta Swit was to enjoy a brief run at the Greater Headcheese Arts Center and Livestock Auction House, I quickly snatched up two orchestra seats. It was enjoyable enough, and makes infinitely more sense with white actors. However, I must admit I felt Ms. Swit was a bit long in the tooth to be playing Dorothy, particularly considering Mindy Cohn's (Natalie from "The Facts of Life") alarming interpretation of Auntie Em (was the black-face really necessary, Natalie?). Anywho, Levitica and I waited at the stage door for Ms. Swit to sign our programs, when "Night Court's" Markie Post (forgettable as Evilene) whisked us into her limo for a night on the town. It was ill-advised; we awoke at 7 a.m. in a pasture behind a Jiffy Lube on the outskirts of Amarillo. Long story short, I was quickly reminded why I hate Texas. 

When I see a t-shirt emblazoned with that impotent "Don't Mess With Texas" threat, stretched across the manboobs of someone from Dallas, I am filled with a desire to mess with Texas until it thinks it's Saskatchewan in a dress. And so I've decided to answer letters of a Texas-centric nature, and mess with them. Aunt Betsy's fixing to mess with Texas. Let the Texas-messing begin!!

Dear Aunt Betsy: I done saw a story on FoxNews 'bout some folks in England who are too fat to work so they git money from the guvmint. 'Sept now they say the 40 grand the guvmint give 'em every year ain't enough to buy all the chow they eat. Then I saw a picture of them. Shoot, they's skinny little things, Betsy! Those folks ain't too fat to work! Still they on welfare like negros or democrats. Signed, Lovely Austin Redhead Don't Abide Skinny Sluts

Dear LARDASS: Texas produces the fattest people in the US, which in turn is the fattest country on earth. The fattest people in Texas live in Houston. So the next time Jesus punishes you by sending you to Houston, ponder the fact that you're surrounded by the fattest people in the solar system. New homes being built in Texas now have hinged roofs so when their grease-choked hearts fart to a stop and they have to be hoisted by crane onto a flatbed ambulance, minimal damage is done to the home. The charming Chawner family of England are indeed brittle waifs next to the typical Texan, whose gravitational pull is roughly equal to that of Neptune. 

Dear Aunt Betsy: I am homeskooled. I am in the forth graid. I am sevintene. I live in a town in Teksis cald Tyler. My mom sez we got a reppazentive in are state guvmint who wants are skools to teetch about Adam and Eve riding dinosarz in the buybul. I want to learn dinosar stuff. Its kool. Do you like tater tots? I like minez with kachip. Signed Boy U Sure Have Funny Address! Neat!

Dear BUSHFAN: What a charming and well-worded letter. Indeed, you are a constituent of State  Representative Leo Berman, a gaydar-activating old codger who is currently sponsoring House Bill 2800, which would remove accreditation requirements for any college that doesn't receive government funding. I know big long words like that make you go pee pee in your Sears Tuffskins, so I'll state it simply: "Sugar-Boots" Berman (who has proposed relocating immigrants to concentration camps), wants schools to be able to teach you that unicorns are extinct because Noah didn't want any homo critters on his ark. Then he wants you to be given a degree in science. 

Dear Aunt Betsy: I've been reading this column and it's full of such flapdoodle that I had to write a letter. Texas is a lovely state! You should stop saying fibs! My husband and I just came back after spending a few years in a snotty city in the east where they laughed at my outfits and made fun of my husband cause he don't talk good. I like Texas cause when folks say stuff to me I can understand it. I just had my third Xanatini. How come armadillos are doing the Achy Breaky dance on the ceiling? Signed Lies And Untruths "R" Aggravating!

Dear LAURA: Perhaps I've been a bit harsh. After all, when your husband was back east leading us into a war against Muslims in Iraq (a hot flat wasteland that smells like camel poop), Texas (a hot flat wasteland that smells like cow poop) led the nation in the number of converts to Islam. And although every single person in Texas is an insufferable malodorous bore, at least you have the good taste to execute your citizens at twice the rate as the rest of us.  

Aunt Betsy sez: "I'd rather subscribe to this blog's feed than go to Texas"

Eavesdropper: Illuminating Moments in Rugby

We have overheard interesting conversations between soccer players. We've eavesdropped on the boys of summer and spied on those rugged gridiron fellas. What's left? Rugby? Shut up. That's not even a real sport. Stop making stuff up!

No one really knows the rules of rugby. It seems to be played by sweaty men who are all grumpy because they came dressed to play soccer only to discover that the ball is lopsided and won't roll. For those of you into football, the rules are exactly the same. Except:
1) No padding or helmets
2) No pausing for tea and crumpets just because someone gets tackled. Boo-friggin-hoo.
3) Kick and toss the ball anytime you want. Just don't toss it forward or kick it backward.
4) Concussions are fun; teeth are temporary
5) At any random moment (and solely at the referee's whim) the players may be forced to "scrum" which is basically a dry hump daisy chain wherein they grab each other's crotches and turn the player in the middle into a "hooker" (an activity which, in the states, is a misdemeanor and typically results in mass arrests).

The whole spectacle would be a great deal less confusing if the players could decide whether they wanted to play soccer, football or a scene from a gay porno about a mud orgy. But COWA is nothing if not educational, so we've dispatched our ruthless band of covert ninjas to eavesdrop on various illuminating conversations from the pitch.

Again, you're welcome.

CONVERSATION ONE:

Player 1: So I says to him, I says "anyone who thinks Ida Lupino is fiercer than Bette Davis is a Philistine!"
Player 2: You go, girl!
Player 3: Excuse me, but...
Player 1: And he goes "Who cares what you think? Your mother shops at Sears!"
Player 2: Oh no, he di-int!
Player 3: Sorry to interrupt but...
Player 1: So I shrieked and told him to take it back or I'll tell everyone he stuffs his calvins!
Player 3: I really have to insist you release my testicles.
Player 1: Queen, please. This is rugby.
Player 3: Actually, this is Pugsley contingent of the Aadams Family convention.
Player 1: Oops.
Player 2: Explains the striped shirts. Sorry mack.
Player 4: Not at all. I love your bald head. It's very Uncle Fester.
Player 2: Thanks. Care to grab a frozen yogurt?
Player 4: With or without the nuts?

CONVERSATION TWO:

Player 1: Bun check!
Player 2: I'm not talking to you.
Player 1: What's wrong now?
Player 2: Last night at Lance's Golden Globes party you loudly ridiculed my Crepe Suzette.
Player 1: No, I didn't. All I said was that your crepes give me the trots.
Player 2: You called them Craps Oozette. You laughed at my expense. Leave me alone.
Player 1: Aw, who's my widdle pookie-monster?
Player 2: At couples counseling you agreed to stop belittling me in public.
Player 1: I only said that so we could be home in time for Project Runway.
Player 2: I need some time apart. I need to find out who "me" is.
Player 1: Okay, if that's how you feel.
Player 2: I need some space.
Player 1: Fine.
Player 2: Ahem.
Player 1: What?
Player 2: You can start by taking your thumb out of my poo hole.

CONVERSATION THREE:

Player 1: Excuse me, but may I cut in?
Player 2: Um, I don't THINK so!
Player 3: Dude, we're competing in the foxtrot championship.
Player 1: You haven't been foxtrotted til I've foxtrotted you.
Player 4: Excuse me, but may I cut in?
Player 1: I'm already cutting in.
Player 2: This is ridiculous.
Player 3: Hello!!? We're foxtrotting here!
Player 4: I'll foxtrot you til your eyes roll back in your head.
Player 1: I'll foxtrot you til your toes curl.
Player 4: I'll foxtrot you to the middle of next week.
Player 2: This is just silly. Four people can't foxtrot!
Player 4: We can try.
Player 1: Okay...
Player 3: Everybody foxtrot!
Player 2: But who's leading?
Player 4: I'll lead.
Player 3: You can't lead, you're too easily distracted.
Player 4: Dwayne Johnson is so dreamy. I like chocolate.
Player 2: Have you been eating poop?
Player 4: Huh?
Player 3: He's right, dude. Take a tic-tac or a certs or something. Jeez.
Player 1: Are we foxtrotting or what?
Player 2: Say, this isn't so hard!
Player 3: Okay...everybody DIP!

"CONVERSATION FOUR:

Player 1: See?
Player 2: You're right! His sphincter does look like Betty White!
Player 3: Shut up, my sphincter doesn't look like Betty White.
Player 4: But does his sphincter look like "Sue-Anne Nivens" Betty White or "Rose Nyland" Betty White?
Player 2: Excuse me, I think we've forgotten why we're here.
Player 1: Oh. Right. Do you see it?
Player 2: I don't see your cell phone. I see an iPod and a hamster cage and the Melrose Place season three DVD set, but negative on the phone, dude.
Player 1:That's bullsh*t. I saw him stick my phone up his shame zone.
Player 3: Shut up, I didn't put your phone up my butt.
Player 4: Call your number and see if his ass starts to ring.
Player 1: Great idea! Let me borrow your phone.
Player 4: My phone doesn't text.
Player 1: I don't need to text his rectum, I need to phone it!
Player 4: Okay, here.
Player 1: Damn!
Player 2: What's wrong?
Player 1: I think I left it on vibrate.
Player 4: Call it anyway and see if Betty White starts to smile.
Player 3: If you put your ear to my ass, Betty might give you the Password.

If you don't subscribe to COWA, we'll tell everyone that you shop at Sears.

Armageddon Narrowly Thwarted by Minneapolis Heterosexuals

ST. PAUL -- Nobody really knows where Minnesota is, they only have the vague notion that they don't care to find out. The word itself is Dakota for "Polluted Water" (no lie), but for most Americans "Minnesota" is the English word for "Get me the f*ck out of here." Its chief exports are peas, beets and iron ore. Minnesota also exports its young, as anyone raised there with a working pair of legs usually escapes shortly after learning the alphabet (or their mid-twenties, whichever comes first). No one knows precisely how many people live there. Most are too embarrassed to admit to being Minnesotans to census takers.

And now, calamity has appeared on the horizon; the MN state legislature is currently considering a bill that would make the state's marriage laws gender-neutral. This has caused an interfaith group of hysterical Minnesotans (imaginatively called the Minnesota Family Council) to experience shared nightmares involving rainbow flags sprouting along the streets of St. Cloud (rudely driving property prices upward in a f*ggy way), bistros and antique shoppes popping up in gorgeous downtown Litchfield, plagues of throw pillows and skin care products, all of this followed in short order by the extinction of mankind.

Yes, the Minnesota Family Council believes that immediately following Minneapolis' first (flawlessly catered) homo nuptials the planet earth will abruptly vanish. Or in the words of one MFC member: "If everyone is a gay, this world will cease to exist in ten years."

So true. First, allowing a couple of homos to mince down the aisle to Beyonce's "At Last" will instantly turn everyone queer. After all, that's what happened in Massachusetts. Isn't that right, Governor Romney? (call us, Mitt; you hunk o' burnin' Mormon man-steak). Second, in the years following Holland's and Spain's legalization of gay marriage their population growth rates have decreased, startling evidence that mankind is hanging on by a thread and the gays are packing scissors (because, of course, the exploding global population holds the key to our survival).

So the Minnesota Family Council has launched an effort to amend the state constitution to ban gay marriage, thereby dashing the dreams of homos everywhere who dreamed of one day escaping the drab, banal purgatories of San Francisco, Fort Lauderdale and Manhattan so they can settle in the dazzling shangri-la of Duluth.

It's not for nothin' that its state bird is the common loon.

Hey! Here's an idea! Click hereto save humanity by donating a penny to the Minnesota Family Council! Yeah, sure...it'll cost them at least five cents to process each donation, but it's the thought that counts!

xox
WAM

Al Franken sez: "I'd rather have a subscription to the COWA feed that a seat in Congress."

Hu Jintao's Facebook Wall

That's right, Chinese President and Party Chairman Hu Jintao does Facebook. His spokesperson assures us that the fact that he only has 12 FB friends reflects his overzealous privacy concerns, and has nothing to do with rude suggestions that most people don't like him very much. Of course only friends can view a person's FB Wall. So one of our ruthless ninja operatives posed as Bai Ling and generously copied the Chairman's Wall o' China for your general amusement.

Hu Jintao is so so angry stuffs stompy foot frowny face at poop-eating Dalai Lama to saying fibby stuffs! He poop-eating lady man! Ha ha!

Hillary Clinton likes this.

Dalai Lama: Shut up poo-poo face. Dalai Lama kick you ass. You are the lady man guy.

Hu Jintao: You poo-poo face. We make Tibet peoples to doing laughy fun cattle prod dance! How are you to liking those apples, man in dress? ROFL!!

Dalai Lama: You laugh now, lotus boy. Tibet peoples know you tuck your pee-pee between your thighs and put on a wig and lip sync to "I Enjoy Being a Girl" from Flower Drum Song. You homo and you boyfriend name is Siton Dong! LOL!

Hillary Clinton: Listen, you shifty little creep. Next time your retarded navy surrounds a US spy ship in international waters we'll blow  your cheap-ass made-in-China flotilla into chop sticks, got it?

Lucy Liu likes this.

Dalai Lama likes this.

Hu Jintao: We make that part of sea extra special China trade territory! That how we get dog meat from Korea! So shut your mu-shu hole, lesbo lady.

Hillary Clinton: The Chinese navy is so retarded...

Jackie Chan: How retarded is it?

Hillary Clinton: The Chinese navy is so retarded Chairman Hu put screen doors on all their teeny-tiny submarines!

Lucy Liu: LOL!!

Foxy Brown: Yo, Hu-Ji! Sup, mo-fo? Listen punk, wassup wif yo chinesey bitches? How come evry time I go to those chinesey manicuricist hos they f*ck up a bitch's tips, dawg? Then Foxy gots to bust some kung fu shizzle on they flat ass. Respeck!

Lucy Liu: LOL! I just got Hillary's joke about teen-tiny submarines! OMG that's like so funny! Cause Chinese really DO have teeny tiny submarines! ROTFL!!

Hu Jintao: You are not to being the sharpest tool in the shed, are you, Lucy-san?

Dalai Lama: I'd still hit it.

Hillary Clinton: ditto.

Dalai Lama just tagged Hu Jintao with pictures of retarded Chinese signs (click to enlarge):

 

HIllary Clinton: OMFG did you hear that the president of Taiwan likes taking negro shame hose up his poo hole? :-)

Hu Jintao likes this.

Foxy Brown: Don't knock it til you try it, foo.

Jackie Chan: ditto.

Hu Jintao: Ma Ying-jeou is a lady boy, LOL!!

Dalai Lama: Bitch please. You are just to being jealous face.

Hu Jintao: You are to shutting you chow-mein hole, man-in-dress! I make so so angry stompy foot!

Hu Jintao thinks Dwayne Johnson is the dreamiest! And all

his FB friends should subscribe to the COWA feed!

 

God Beat with Jeannie Bladdersham: Demons Among Us

Hello, hello, hello! Hell-bound agents of Lucifer among you might say "Thank God it's Friday," as if we are disobliged to thank God for Tuesday. Who told you not to praise Yahweh for Thursday? Besides, the platitude "TGIF" has been annexed by the devil since it became a place to enjoy fried cheese sticks and patty melts served by suspiciously extroverted waitresses.

Besides, today is Friday the 13th, which I hear is like Christmas for Wiccans. It's also the title of a lovely movie about a shy hockey enthusiast and cutlery aficionado who does God's work by teaching a group of hyper-sexed teenagers what Jesus wants to do to youngsters who don't save themselves for marriage.

Those among you who believe that Friday the 13th is unlucky are absolutely right; believing in non-biblical superstitions consigns your souls to the bosom of Lucifer, and you can't get any unluckier than that! For my part, today has been anything but unlucky. First, Trudy Plank (alto soloist with the Peducah Praise Singers, the all-girl inspirational choir with whom I'm currently enjoying a meteoric ascent to stardom) stopped by to inform me that our single "Ride Me Home, Jesus" has soared up to #15 on the Pentecostal Hit List, surpassing even our break-through single "The Devil is a Homosexual."

Unfortunately, Trudy's Aunt Flo was visiting which threw my excitable pet ferret Lord Skippy Scamperpants into a tizzy. He scurried up her thigh and tried to burrow in her sin hole. Trudy screamed and tossed Skippy into the fireplace. Skippy caught fire, jumped through my picture window and hid under the gas tank of Trudy's Buick Skylark, which promptly exploded sending shrapnel into Trudy's ample buttocks. Although I'm saddened by the passing of my second ferret in four months (RIP, Lady Hildegarde Hoparound), Trudy's survival combined with the fact that I escaped injury entirely proves it's a lucky day!

And it's your lucky day too, because it's another episode of God Beat! Praise!

• The other day in Devon England an old biddy named Jill Wade awoke to discover that the horned one himself had been prancing around her house overnight, leaving his devil tracks in the snow. Although Beelzebub had done this once before (154 years ago), the meaning is inescapable: Ms. Wade is shortly bound for eternal damnation where she'll roast in a fiery pit whilst being sodomized by demons. Joy!
• Waterlogged hedonist Michael Phelps appeared on the Today show this morning to kick off the next leg of his "Smoking Devil Reefer Cost Me Lucrative Sponsorship Deals And Now My Malformed Face Won't Terrify Children as They Try to Eat Their Cornflakes" tour. Mr. Phelps will eventually learn that smoking devil reefer will also earn him a spot right next to Jill Wade, where he'll be anally abused by the Goat God through the end of time. Praise!
• When our negro president Barack Hussein Bin Laden Mohammad Jihad Obama reversed Bush's fatwa against stem cell research, he signed the death warrant for millions of frozen fetuses to enable Michael J. Fox to commence filming Teen Wolf IV. Hallelujah!
• A nice young man echoed most Baptists' feelings toward the more permissive denominations when he got naked, climbed the cross high atop the West Central Presbyterian Church and pooped on it. Amen!
• Hallmark is a company that makes lovely greeting cards and produces television specials in which failed sitcom actors star as retards and cripples. And now that they've introduced a series of homo wedding cards, they embrace El Diablo and poop on the crosses of our hearts. Add Hallmark to the pile of companies (Ford, Disney, McDonald's, etc) that godly folks must boycott. Unless Meredith Baxter plays a retarded gimp on the Hall of Fame. Praise!

Beelzebub has spots reserved for everyone who subscribes to this blog's feed. 

Man Trouble

Sometimes a gal has man trouble. From the moment Adam drove Eve off her diet (thereby condemning mankind) through that night Lorena Bobbit Bobbited hubby John's wee donnie doblin (causing every man in the Western hemisphere to sleep on his stomach for a month). Face it girls; occasionally dudes make you behave in a most unladylike manner. In fact, several of you have prompted us to write. We Know. Sometimes we just care too much.

LETTER ONE:

Dear Keri Heath,

We worry about gals whose names end with an "i" as they seem unfairly predisposed to become pole dancers or Bennigan's hostesses. But apparently you'd avoided both fates and were coasting through life with your cutesy name until your boyfriend Joseph Strasburg did something you found irksome. So you created a fake ad on Craigslist using naughty pics of Joe (featuring his excitable pants worm), soliciting nasty men to call him at work to engage in rude conversation. After fielding a couple odd phone calls, Joe put two and two together. Your hilarious prank hardly seems worth it. You're facing felony charges (a giant step closer to a career on the pole) and word has it Joe has met someone who's naughty whispered insinuations turn his crank in ways you couldn't imagine. Oh and a note to guys everywhere: sending phone pics of your shame hose via text message will never have a positive outcome, because all roads lead to craigslist. That is all.

xox
WAM

LETTER TWO:

Dear Tracey Davies,

We read with interest the story in the Daily Mail about how you were feeling sulky when you whined to your lucky beau (the forlorn Mr. Mark Coghill, whom you'd met on a singles site) that he never kissed you anymore. When he tried to mollify you by slipping his tongue into your perty cakehole, you started acting a tad bite-y. Specifically, you chomped down on his tongue and bit a third of it off before spitting it out on the carpet. This strikes us as rather unwise, Ms. Davies. For not only have you now been convicted of causing grievous bodily harm, but you've also been dubbed "Tongue Chomp Woman" by the tabs, a nickname we suspect drastically reduces your chances of any man putting anything he values anywhere near your mouth. Ever.

xox
WAM

LETTER THREE:

Dear Betty-Jo Leonardson,

Sometimes a gal gets a hankering for a lil' hippity-dippity. And Lord knows we don't judge, because who hasn't exercised questionable judgment at the hands of an active libido and a shot or ten of tequila? But there are lines we don't cross. One of them is humping a homeless grandpa. In public. Next to a playground. In broad daylight. We must admit, however, that your naughty escapades likely provided the lil' tykes frolicking nearby with an invaluable lesson in sex education. And they are likely to remain celibate until their thirties or until they've taken enough Xanax that the mental image of your spread-eagled hobo humping seems like a John Waters movie.

xox
WAM

LETTER FOUR:

Dear Khamisa Sawadi,

What a filthy old broad you are. So the morals in Saudi Arabia have decayed to the point where a 75-year-old widow is discovered in a room with her 24-year-old nephew and his pal? Sure, you had asked your nephew to bring you some bread, and tantalized by the thought of saucily co-mingling with his ancient breadless auntie was simply too much temptation to resist. You slut. When you are dragged out to the public square and your sentence of 40 lashes is carried out before a crowd of totally moral Saudi subjects, do have the decency not to nap off. You are a succubus from hell, and when your bread-handling nephew is given his public flogging, the lesson will be learned: hungry old widowed aunties are a bunch of disgusting whores. Because as every Saudi knows, Allah only wants sex to occur between a man and one of the twenty-seven twelve-year old wives for whom he traded a goat.

xox
WAM

Don't stand by your man. Stand by your COWA. Subscribe today!

It's Michael Steele's Totally Gangsta GOP Hip-Hop Rhymez, Dawg!!

 *** FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE ***

When I was named chairman of the RNC, a lot of folks thought it was a cynical attempt on the part of the Republican Party to steal Obama's thunder. Gosh, what a load of malarkey! Just because I'm a negro! As a matter of fact, I'm negro-er than Obama. His mother, if memory serves, was what the kids might call a cracka bitch from da boogie down Kansas.

However, with the economy going down the toilet, two wars being waged, and our doom fast approaching, that uppity half-Negro still has a 60% approval rating. Far be it from me to accuse him of ooga-booga voo-doo shenanigans. No, I suspect it has something to do with the fact that he connects with the youngsters, whereas statistics show that Republicans, in general, are old, fat, pastey Caucasians (hello Mr. Limbaugh!). That, and as we learned from Kanye West, some of y'all have a kookie idea in your noggins that Republicans just don't like black folks.

To remedy this situation, I've decided to take our shiznit to the street so that the Grand Ol' Party can kick it old-school on da urban tip, dawgz. And with that in mind, I've decided that I'd like the kids to holla at their boy Steely-G as he get all gangsta an spits some mad rhyme, yo.

STEELY-G'S MAD FRESH REPUBLICAN RHYMEZ
(to be rapped to the rhythm of The Beverly Hillbillies Theme Song)
Spittin fresh rhymez dawg, my name's Steely-G
A brovah be da leader of da WHAT? (RNC!)
I be rockin' dis party till I look around and see
What kinda peeps do da GOP be
Hillbillies, rednecks, Toby Keith fans
Members of da NRA, members of da Klan
Fat Southern Baptists who believe that Jesus
Punishes the pansies by giving them diseases
Alcoholics, wife beaters, country singers, nuns
Average age: 80. Average weight: seven tons
They drink Metamucil and they like Perry Como
And Liberace too before the homie was a homo
How can a gangsta like Steely relate?
I fink and I fink till I finally sez wait!
GOP's da party dat be kickin wif da bling
They be da millionaires who can buy anyfing
Collectin green paper wif da portraits of da prezzes
They proposition cops but they hate gays an' lezzes
Nasty freaky bitches but they keep it DL
And they like to tell the liberals they're gonna go to hell
A peep of color used to be their janitor or maid
But Obama traumatized them all and now they're all afraid
So when it come time for da RNC election
They pick a pickaninny wif a popular complexion
Steely G's they homie now and now a brovah's flush
Long as I can hush talkin smack about Rush
A brovah be chillaxin, and now a brovah's axin
Am I da kind of brovah who Obama should be taxin?
African American, come along with us
All aboard! (lots of seats at the back of the bus)

Michael Steel sez: "COWA is da bomb, dawgs. You gots to subscribe to dis shizzle."