Can O' Whup-Ass

The Foxy News Channel: Spittin' Rhymes n' Shizzle Wit R. Kelly

Somebody gimme a HO-oh!! Dis be Foxy B, mo-fos. A sistah in one of her moods today, dawgz. So if somebody be finkin they gonna play wit a bitch, you best keep steppin. Foxy fro dat sh*t. Respeck. Why do a ho be all aggramavatid an' sh*t? Well shut the f*ck up one time, and maybe a bitch can lay it on yo fat azz. Coo? Firs, a sistah went to White Castle yessa-dee. All a ho want be a six-pack of m*therf*ckin cheeseburgers and some fry. But some Puerto Rican ho be workin da drive froo and she fink she f*ckin J-Lo. She be all "I'm sorry, but I cannot assep a Popeye's coupon" and she say "Foxy who?" and shizzle. Dayum. Foxy use whatchoocall selfish traint, ovah-wize a sistah be frowin a Blackberry at her fat head. A ho's lawyers say she can't go frowin sh*t no mo, unless a bitch wants to get her azz frone back in prizzizzin. Sh*t. If Foxy B tryin to pay for her White Castle wit her Popeyes coupon, you let a ho do dat sh*t. Respeck.

On da self improobmint tip, a ho finish dat book "Where da Wild Fings Be." That shizzle be off da hook, yo. Cracka boy's bedroom turns into a f*ckin jungle, an soon a dawg be chizzillin wit some monsters. Oooh, who dat monstah wit all da teef? Blow a sistah's mind. Wish those monstahs could walk into "Curious George" and slap dat gay-azz monkey into nex f*ckin year. Nex on a ho's readin list is Babar. Babar be all bout some nasty elephant that wear clothes and sh*t. Foxy be dreading that shizzle.

On dis eppa-sode of da Foxy News Channel, a bitch be doin a in-depf inna-whatzit wit my boy R. Kelly, who just done get his ass acquitted after makin a movie of hisself pee-in on a baby. Check it, mo-fos:

FOXY B: Somebody gimme a HO-oh! Foxy representin from da tour bus of R. f*ckin Kelly. He be da brovah who done get his azz a-quit-icted fo doin nasty shizzle wit his godchillin, includin takin a bitch on a pony ride and pissin in a sistah's face. Yo, dawg. Respeck.
R. KELLY: Respeck, ho.
FB: Foo, why you gots to go peein on a baby?
RK: I be finkin a bitch legal, ho. Besides, dat ain't no R. Kelly on dat tape.
FB: Foxy ain't frontin, dawg. A bitch can be a freak. If a man treat Foxy right, she might lick his azz or dress up like a nasty-azz school girl. Buy a bitch dinner and she'll strap dat shit on an hump a brovah up his back doe. Let a ho order da lobster and a brovah might get to poke a lady in her poo hole. But Foxy draw da line at dat pee shizzizzle.
RK: Check it, ho. R. Kelly don't be combictid of dat shit. Free words, yo: Not Gill Tay. Respeck.
FB: You check it, mo-fo. Firs, OJ get a-quit-icted for gettin stabby wit a cracka bitch. Den, Kobe get a-quit-icted fo bendin a maid ovah a couch an' doin a bitch up her poo hole. Now you get yo azz a-quit-icted fo peein on a baby. Meanwhile, Lil' Kim be all combictid fo frontin fo her posse, Remy Ma get her azz combictid fo poppin a cap in a ho's gut, an Foxy Brown get combictid fo frowin dat shit. How come da sistahs gots to go to prizzizzin? Dat shizzle be triflin.
RK: Listen ho, I be done spittin rhymes bout dat shizzle.
FB: Suffer, punk. Foxy be a reporter now and I gots to ax da tuff queshins. Why you standin, bro? A ho ain't froo axin stuff.
RK: A brovah be liss-nin, bitch. Spit yo tired-azz rhymes.
FB: A sistah be axin if you fink there be a whatchoocall dis-pair-o-titties or shizzle. Why you unzip yo stank-ass fly? Yo, punk...keep dat junk in yo trunk.
RK: R. Kelly just tryin to make hisself comfable. Respeck.
FB: Well Foxy ain't comfable wit dat tube steak a-danglin in a ho's face, dawg. Tuck dat shizzle back in yo draws.
RK: What da wevah forecass be, bitch?
FB: Do I look like Al f*ckin Roker to you, punk?
RK: R. Kelly be finkin there be a 80% chance of rain.
FB: Whatevah, chile. Foxy B is whatchoo call a serious in-depf reporter. I ain't no wevah girl. Oooooh! Whatchoo do???
RK: Aaaahhhh.
FB: Don't pee in a sistah's weave!! You out yo g*ddamn mine??
RK: Open yo mouf, ho.
FB: Stop dat sh*t! Dat nasty! Oooooh!!!
RK: Dis be R. Kelly pee, bitch.
FB: Dayum, punk! You be eatin f*ckin asparagus??? Dis inna-voo is more ovah than yo gay-azz career!
RK: Aaaaahhhhhhh...

Hump Day Perv-a-Palooza: Pervier Than Thou

Greetings, bitches! What a glorious day! As Yahweh continues to punish the Bible belt by sending nasty floods and tornadoes to the square states, we have decided to devote today's posting to the myriad of news items pertaining to our collective hell-bound naughtiness, which has undoubtedly provoked this divine meteorolical chastening. As luck would have it, today's Perv-a-Palooza explores that oft-traveled intersection between sex and religion. So lean back, relax, fondle your beads (be they rosaries or of the anal variety) and enjoy!

• COP A FEEL FOR JESUS: Choir practice at The United Methodist Church in Ocala, FL has been exposed as a lascivious vortex of shame. It seems that one Robin Forbes, masquerading as a vagina-owning alto, was in fact pants-serpent-packing baritone. His clever ruse would have gone unnoticed, had he not repeatedly squeezed the 73-year-old boob of a fellow choir member (presumably to adjust her wayward pitch during "Shall We Gather at the River"). Once it was revealed that a transvestite was packing something extra beneath a choir robe, other choir members began stepping forward, exposing Forbes as a serial boob-squeezer who preys on the low-slung ta-tas of devout wrinkled old biddies.
• ASS-SEX 101: In the sophisticated metropolis of Herriman Utah, some parents got some sand up their Moroni's because a Health Education teacher at a local middle school answered questions about sex posed by her curious students. Apparently, when a student asks about certain subjects (homosexuality, oral sex, masturbation, etc.), the teacher was supposed to grimmace and say "we don't talk about that satanic nastiness here. Now go home and pray that Jesus doesn't make your hoo-hoo fall off." Instead, the parents of Herriman's teens have been robbed of their right to teach their kids all about oral sex at home. Because as every Latter Day Saint knows, the book of Mormon tells us that if God finds a family to be slightly icky, he'll make the children explode and then rape their sad mommies (in that order, one assumes). Because God is all about family values.
• DEADER THAN THOU: Israel Gutman, Holocaust scholar with a black belt in kvetching, has a yarmulke up his butt about the recently dedicated memorial in Berlin which commemorates the Nazi slaughter of homos. Apparently, by the time the allied forces switched off the ovens of Auschwitz, the corpses labeled with the Star of David were deader than the corpses emblazoned with a pink triangle. We find a certain perverse irony at work here; Mr. Gutman is a very vocal opponent of anything with the faintest whiff of holocaust denial, yet he himself is engaging in the very thing he most reviles. What a f*g.
• POLE DANCING FOR JESUS: Two Christian women in the latter day Gomorrah known as Auburndale, Florida have opened a pole-dancing class for the devout housewife who periodically enjoys skipping Bible study so she can put on a pair of clear stilettos and learn the art of humping a pole with a g-string full of ones. Finally, every husband-honoring baby incubator who's ever dared dream of one day dangling upside down whilst clamping a pole betwixt her thighs can do so without breaking a commandment. While no men are allowed, and these are ostensibly fitness classes (as opposed to a day at the office), some rude killjoys are suggesting that Christian pole dancing makes Jesus sad. We rather think He finds it hilarious. RELATED: Also in Florida, folks got upset at the traditional Marathon Christmas Boat Parade (what says "Christmas" more than a boat parade in the Florida Keys?), when a woman dressed as an angel rudely executed a pole dance on the mast of a boat. One inflamed resident is trying to make it a felony to pole dance at any function celebrating the birth of Our Lord. Because the Keys must remain a bastian of Christian values.

Coffee, Tea or Satan? An AFA Action Alert

Headcheese, AR -- Homos, homos, homos. That's what's on the mind of the AFA (the American Family Association), an organization dedicated to the preservation of the family. As such, all the poor dears can think about is ass-sex and the hell-bound homos who practice it. In order to keep homos on their minds, they publish a constant stream of "Action Alerts" wherein they place well-aimed fatwahs on pernicious instruments of beelzebub such as Disney World, McDonalds, and the Girl Scouts (a Sears boycott failed when members found it difficult to find reasonably priced polyester stretch pants elsewhere). Of course, they're only thinking of the children. Protecting their retarded uterus spew from the subliminal pansy indoctrination of Jiminy Cricket (don't get them started on Daisy Duck, satan's ambassador for transvestitism), they instead wish to instill the pro-family values of the Bible, a book which advocates stoning sassy younguns, offering their asses to sex-crazed rapists, dashing their noggins against rocks, and getting stabby with them if the voices in your head tell you to.

A typical "Action Alert" instructs its membership to cut n' paste a letter of generic outrage into an email to their legislative representatives. And, lemming-like, they comply. Well, we here at COWA thought it might be cute to put out our own AFA Action Alert.

Cut n' paste the following and email it to your representative and the FAA.

Dear (insert name of elected official):

My name is (your name here), and I'm a decent Christian from (your town, state). Yesterday I was at the Piggly Wiggly shopping for weenies for my church's upcoming Dad-n-Lad Baptist Sleepover and Crafts Retreat, when I encountered two grown men pushing a single cart in the fresh pasta aisle. I was so disgusted by their flagrant assault on my traditional family that I dropped my weenies and sped home to notify the American Family Association. When I got on my computer's interweb and typed in "AFA," I found myself on a site so disgusting in its un-natural advocacy of all things sodomite, I had to dash out to the garage and vacuum my Dodge Caravan. The site in question? The Association for Flight Attendants. I'm sure I needn't tell you that "flight attendant" is homo-speak for "helium-heeled, airborne ass-spelunker." Why, last time I boarded a plane (my husband and I were headed to Fort Lauderdale to visit our son Chad and his roommate Lance), we were startled by an effeminate male stewardess who flounced up to us and lisped "nuts?" before limply tossing a bag of planter's salted almonds in my husband's crotch (honestly, was he trying to give us AIDS?). It spoiled our entire flight. All I could think about was what if The Lord decided mid-flight to call me home to Jesus (and the rest of the passengers, by default, dispatched to Lucifer's bosom in the fiery pit of Hell), and the Boeing hit the ground in a cartwheeling ball of flames? How would Satan know from the tangled mass of charred limbs which belonged to a Leviticus-defying trolley dolly and which did not? I certainly do not wish my limbs, charred or not, co-mingling with those of a poppers-crazed Ida Lupino fan. And make no mistake about it; the co-mingling of limbs is high on the homosexual agenda, right after child molesting and throw pillow awareness. Furthermore, I should like to lodge a complaint because as the plane was making its descent the pilot drew our attention to a glorious rainbow off the starboard side of the craft. I'm sure you're aware that the rainbow is the official homosexual symbol of the ass-wranger's buttsex rodeo. By calling our attention to it, the pilot rudely flooded our Christian minds with images of swarthy he-men riding each other like broncos, their muscular buttocks glistening in sweat as they undulate in a feverish haze of lust amid a chorus of gutteral grunts while Edie Gorme plays on the hi-fi.

Yours in Christ,
(Your name here)

Hump Day Perv-a-Palooza: Penguin Rape (and other sordid tales)

It's hump day again, bitches. It's the day we here at COWA endeavor to entertain our six dozen faithful readers by collecting and disseminating an olio of stories of a pervy sexual nature.

Speaking of nature, it seems, according to National Geographic, nature continues to sin against itself. Biologists have so far documented 1500 species of animals who, unacquainted with Leviticus, have shown a propensity to choose the unhealthy lifestyle of homosexuality. Of course this enrages the stretch pants mafia (aka Baptists), because it suggests that dolphins, flamingos, bonobo monkeys, orangutans, beetles, and (hilariously enough) fruit bats are either sinners (suggesting, among other unthinkable things, that hell might have a SeaWorld). It also suggests that perhaps the good book has a fib or two tucked away inside (that is, aside from that inconvenient "a rape victim must marry her rapist" and "slavery is the shizzle" fiddle-faddle).

Indeed, recall the hubbub when Roy and Silo (two limp-flippered chinstrap penguins at the Central Park Zoo) hooked up, shamelessly flaunting not only their lifestyle choice but a suspicious flair for nest decorating and a distasteful obsession with Ida Lupino. In fact, in a flagrant attack on the family, Silo and Roy even raised an abandoned chick named Tango (we see fresh pasta in Tango's future). Silo and Roy's civil union was inconveniently timed, as it coincided with "March of the Penguins," the movie hailed by the Christian right as a touching ode to the traditional family (apparently, penguin-like, traditional Christian moms barf in their babies' mouths and routinely abandon their chicks). And now, a children's book about Silo and Roy called "And Tango Makes Three," is the most widely banned book in the states, apparently because it endorses the penguin lifestyle.  So to kick off this week's perv-a-palooza, lets stick with the always-titillating subject of penguin sex:

• "SQUAWK" MEANS "SQUAWK" On the sub-antarctic isle of Marion, a lonely scientist by the name of Nico de Bruyn was treated to the enchanting sight of a seal raping a penguin. In fact, the BBC online flagrantly defied all morals and good taste by posting a pic of the two hell-bound interspecies perverts knocking flippers.
• THIS EXPLAINS SCALIA: In Scotland (are we surprised?), the land that invented an item that when swallowed is called haggis and when blown is called a bagpipe, where men skip about in dresses, tossing cabers and humping schwinns, the parliament is actually debating legislation banning cross-species man-on-chimp breeding. Scientists, in fact, say that creating a "humanzee" is theoretically possible (explaining the existence of Antonin Scalia and Robert Mugabe, among others). And although there are laws on the books against inseminating a human broad with non-human trouser spew (presumably to prevent Rush Limbaugh from breeding), there are no laws against putting human skivvy squirt up the hair pie of a monkey. Bitches, please. Only in Scotland. Perhaps they should first address the nefarious highland habit of cloning sheep for use as sex slaves.
• THE GREAT CHILEAN WRINKLE BANG: The retarded mayor of Lo Prado Chile has undertaken the profoundly ill-advised mission of distributing free Viagra to his city's oldsters. In the face of an impending hip fracture epidemic stemming from a rash of spectacularly unappetizing vitamin v-fueled wrinkle orgies, they shall see the errors of their ways. How does one say "Grandpa, get off my leg!" in Spanish?   
• EW: Spencer Pratt, a man whose very name begs us to loathe him, has thoughtfully provided a primer on all things ass-sex. Employing all the erudite wit and worldly sophistication we've come to expect from this dashing trust funded sperm hydrant, the Prattster sheds light on when a bro can pop his thumb up his lady's poo hole, and when that can progress (with enough Jagermeister) to a romantic evening of butt humping. Heidi, you lucky bitch.
• A WAM BY ANY OTHER NAME: You might have have noticed that as web master of COWA, we often refer to ourselves as Whup-ass Master. Likewise, it's unlikely to have escaped your attention that frequently, diddy-like, we also call ourselves WAM. Well, as it turns out (according to Urban Dictionary) WAM also means "wet and messy" as it applies to hetero coitus. Graphically speaking, it describes the fetish of those who prefer doing the hippity dippity with a broad when her Aunt Flo's sleeping on the hide-a-bed. We have mixed feelings about this; first, it's distressing to share our handle with something so uniquely icky. Second, we suppose it serves as a welcome reminder as to why, Silo and Roy-like, we much prefer our chosen path of hellbound sodomy over the hetero prospect of even accidentally WAM-ing it. Ew.

Eavesdropper: McGreevey-à-Trois Pillow Talk!!

Fresh from her "I feel Silda Spitzer's pain" book tour and press junket, professionally outraged victim (and erstwhile Brokeback wife) Dina Matos-McGreevey is currently battling to keep her former marital aid/boy toy from giving rude testimony in her upcoming divorce procedings. Teddy Pederson, apparently, was frequently the meat in a coital McGreevey sandwich back in the day. Dina doth protest he's a dirty fibby-pants, while her ex-husbosexual Jim, er, backs up Teddy's claim.

Well, bitches...it appears Dina's the one with her pants on fire. How do we know? You have to ask? One of our ruthless (and ubiquitous) spies was hiding under the bed during one such encounter, and transcribed the entire event verbatim. And we, because we care, have provided an excerpt:

DINA MATOS-MCGREEVEY: Okay, is everyone ready?
JIM MCGREEVEY: Can I be in the middle?
DMM: No.
JM: Can Teddy-kins?
DMM: No.
JM: Oh, fiddle-sticks. You're no fun.
DMM: Let's ask our guest what he wants.
TEDDY PEDERSON: Um, I want a new car.
JM: She means what position do you want?
TP: Um, something that pays a lot of money so I can get a new car.
DMM: I know! Let's do "the rusty trombonist and the naughty piccolo player."
TP: Or how about "Dirty Sanchez punches his donkey under the hershey highway overpass?"
DMM: We can't. SOMEBODY forgot the sombrero and the mayonnaise.
JM: Oh! Let's do the "gimme-s'more-buttsteak Leviticus lambada!"
DMM: I don't know that one.
JM: That's with me on the bottom, Teddy on top, and Dina in the kitchen making s'mores.
DMM: Isn't that a little faggy?
TP: I love s'mores! Do you have any Mountain Dew?
JM: I don't know. Dina, go check if we have any Mountain Dew.
DMM: We don't have any goddamned Mountain Dew. Now what position, guys. Think!
TP: How about "Gladiator Leapfrog?"
JM: Yes! (MM and TP high five each other)
DMM: Nothing doing.
JM: How about "The Hardy Boys and the Dead Lady Mystery?"
DMM: Veto. Last time I fell asleep.
JM: And...?
DMM: Let's play "Madame Pompadour and her Prancing Poodles!"
TP: Okay.
JM: Fine, but the tu-tu makes my butt look fat.
DMM: Bitch, your butt makes the tu-tu look fat.
TP: Ha-ha! Oh, snap!
JM: Are we going to do this?
DMM: Ready...set...go!
JM: Arf, arf!!
DMM: Bad doggie! Le smack!
TP: Um...arf and stuff.
DMM: Ow! You're on my hair!
TP: Sorry.
DMM: Not you.
JM: My bad.
DMM: Stop! My ankles don't quite go behind my ears today. I missed yoga this week.
JM: I didn't miss it! I'll be Madame Pompadour!
DMM: I'm not in the mood anymore. Let's play Yahtzee.
TP: Darn.
JM: Let me and Teddy finish this hand.
DMM: Fine. I'll go make some s'mores.
TP: Can you make them with cinnamon graham crackers?
DMM: We don't have any cinnamon graham crackers.
JM: Well while you're at the store, pick up some Mountain Dew.
YP: Yay!

(holla-back to queerty)

Kidz Korner with Pax Jolie-Pitt!

Hi. My name is Pax (as in "that lady with the big boobs shops for ethno-tots in smelly countries and pax them in her luggage"). One day I was squatting in a dirt room with 753 other kids in a place called the Nike Factory orphanage and a lady with scary puffy lips and big sunglasses came in. She said "ew gross" and held her nose. She pointed at me and said "he matches my dress." Then she wrote a check and I went to live with her so I could be her pet.

I live with Mommy's other pets in her baby zoo. I like it here. There's a brown girl who acts all bossy and has funny hair. There's a white girl who's sad because mommy hates her. We live in fun cages. Sometimes I see a doggie and I bite it. "Woof-woof-yum!!" I say. But Mommy says we can't eat doggies at her baby zoo. Sometimes a scary girl named Suri comes to play. She wears a skin suit to hide her green scales. She tells funny stories about her daddy and his friend Buttsteak LaRue, who's a cowboy that rides her daddy like a horsie and puts naughty things in his fanny.

My Mommy and my Daddy like to look in their mirrors. They like to stand like statues in the living room. Every day they let us out of our cages to look at them standing like statues. Then they make us vote on who's more "gorgeous." If we don't vote for Mommy she makes us sit on the ouchy stool. We get bored in the baby zoo. Sometimes we're sad. So I decided to find fun stuff for kids to do! Yay!

• MORE-MOMS FUN CAMP! Some kids get to live in a fun camp where they have 84 mommies and one daddy. They call themselves "More-moms." And sometimes the sad girls have to play a game called "if you let grandpa put his shame hose in your oopsie hole you get a lollipop." And sometimes they teach the sad boys how to play "lasso the girls and pretend they're cows." Then they all sit around and drink milk and make macaroni art to send to some scary people called Osmonds. Then they drink more milk and cry.   
• BABY FIGHTS! There's a place called England where people poop on cakes and have black teeth. There's a club called the Chavs, who dress like clowns and act like donkeys. They like to put their babies in a ring and make them fight. They punch and cry and cry and punch so their mommies can get some money to buy more clown clothes. I think they do this so their babies won't grow up to be homo sissies. There's a mean old lady who lives in the biggest house in England. She wishes she made her son be in some baby fights when he was a baby.   
• DADDY'S PEE-PEE GAME: Sometimes daddies drink beers and it makes them get all sad so they go pee-pee on a baby. Then their mommy gets yelly and Daddy has to sleep in a cage like in the baby zoo, except they share their cage with a bad man who puts naughty things in the daddy's fanny and it makes daddy sadder cause it feels like he's sitting on an ouchy stool.
• WHO IS THAT SCARY SKINNY LADY AND WHAT DID SHE DO WITH MY FAT UGLY MOMMY? One time when Mommy and Daddy were standing like statues and making us play "vote on who's more gorgeous," we all voted for Daddy. That's cause Mommy was bloated and had a zit on her chin. And face it, my Daddy's a hunka-licious slab of mansteak. Mommy got mad and told us that some kids have fat ugly mommies with small boobs and big noses. She told us to think about that while we sat on the ouchy stool. But sometimes fat ugly mommies pay a doctor to cut off their big noses and stab their boobs until they're big enough for boys to like them. Then they give a fun book to their kids so they won't be scared of their new pretty mommy who can't stop smiling even when she's punishing them by making them sit on the ouchy stool.
• BIBLE SCHOOL CUT-N-PASTE CRAFT DAY! There's a nice man in Florida who lives in his mommy's basement and teaches boys and girls about Jesus in Bible school. They play lots of fun games. His favorite game is called "Let's take pictures of the kids and paste their faces on pictures of sad naked ladies in magazines!" But now the naked sad ladies look happy because their faces look like happy kids! And we learn that Jesus makes sad ladies happy! But now the nice man is sad because he's sitting in a cage.

Throwing the First Stone: Sodom n' Gomorrah Fun Facts!!

To the hell-bound heathens among you (yeah, you), the story of how Sodom and Gomorrah (Hebrew for "fire-pit" and "Ash-heap," respectively) became Baptist for "ass-sex," here's the short version: God told Abraham of his intent to torch 5 towns (conveniently located in the same valley) unless 10 or more righteous folks were discovered to be living in Sodom. Alas, they only found four: Lot, his wife, and his two betrothed virgin daughters (who later blossom into superfreaks). Sodom, as it turns out, was full of sodomites; they rudely demanded the pleasure of ass-raping two angels who were crashing in Lot's crib (and who were apparently quite hunk-a-licious). A paragon of virtue, Lot offers his virgin daughters to appease the lust-crazed crowd, who concluded that the two girl's asses were patently untappable. Long story short, Lot flees the city with his daughters (his wife took an ill-advised gander at the fireball and was transformed into a cylinder of iodized Morton's). Later, in a cave, Lot's virtuous daughters got him drunk (thankfully, they remembered the hooch as they fled the inferno) and took turns sitting on their father's pee-pee. Each got preggers and plopped out two inbred womb boogers. Thus endeth another Old Testament parable about virtue. But now some scientists believe they've decoded some ancient writing that describes an eye witness account of what really happened. God threw a big rock at us. With that in mind, let us consider the following:

1. How could there be an eye witness account, when witnessing it apparently made one undergo a bizarre transformation into a common table condiment?
2. In Matthew 10:14, Jesus says the real sin of Sodom is that they were rude hosts. This is immediately suspect, as we know sodomites throw the best parties. J-Naz mentions no objection to the fact that every man woman and child in the city was suddenly overcome with a desire to do the horizontal butt bolero with a heavenly messenger. Regardless, if an indecent proposition led to the incineration of 386,000 square miles in the Otz Valley, how did the subsequent daddy/daughter three-way escape punishment?
3. If the residents of Sodom were gay, one ponders how children could have been scampering about. Even then, how to we explain the fact that Lot's daughters were engaged to two local boys? Were they fag-hags? Beards? Should we ask Katie Holmes?
4. According to NASA'S Near Earth Object Program, approximately 330 extinction-threatening asteroids are currently hurtling about hither and thither in our immediate environs. God certainly seems to be well-stocked in ammo. But in today's news, a Kansas man was arrested for raping a picnic table, snapshots surfaced of British race car driver being spanked by dominatrices in a Nazi-themed orgy, a San Diego politician was busted for wanking it off in public, and Britney Spears has threatened to pursue a career in television. What exactly is the Yahweh waiting for? At the very least, why the continued existence of Tuscaloosa?
5. Hurricane Katrina, sent by God (according to McCain supporter John Hagee) as punishment for a recent gay event and destroyed every ward in the New Orleans except for the gay one, plainly demonstrates that God's aim ain't what it used to be. With that in mind, if one lives in Vegas proper, we rather think you're safe. If, however, you're living in neighboring Henderson...well...you're toast.

Hump Day Perv-a-Palooza: Objects of Our Affection

Human sexuality is fraught with unfathomable mysteries. Some folks chase chicken (see: Jackson, Michael; Glitter, Gary). Conversely, Ashton Kutcher's Aquaman underoos are dampened by visions of the paleolithic Ms. Demi Moore's deflated and vericose-vein-bespangled ba-dunk-a-dunk; and is therefore a text book example of a wrinkle-chaser (see also: Allen, Soon Yi; Zeta-Jones, Catherine). Still others have tastes that veer even further to the side of the bell curve. One person's idea of a romantic evening might include rubber sheets and laxatives, while others (mostly from Tuscaloosa) envision a utopia wherein they could elope with a goat without enduring the judgemental whispers of the townfolk. But whether a man tries to attract his date by pulling up to her house in a penis-compensating (and suggestively-named) Hummer, or if the kinda gal he fancies is more easily procured by bringing a shovel to the cemetary, they both want the same thing. It's all about the chick-a-bow-bow.

But then there's the folks whose cranks are turned by inanimate objects (oddly enough, this sort of noun-o-phelia typically manifests itself in the UK). Recall, for example, the retarded Scotsman who was caught by a pair of domestics violating the virtue of his bicycle (a Schwinn of loose morals by the name of Sally McFinn). Of course there's the incorrigible lad in Edinburgh who slipped his bone to a traffic cone. And now, there's the case of a Polish building contractor who was discovered in a severely compromising juxtaposition with a vacuum cleaner named Henry Hoover (we swear we didn't make that up). Although the clever polack insisted he was only trying to clean his underwear, rape counselors immediately whisked the traumatized suck machine from the scene to determine whether it was capable of consent (its dirtbag scrutinized for incriminating DNA, no doubt).

Sensing an alarming trend, and due to the impending development of pleasure model androids, some lawmakers of baptist/retarded/obese party (see: GOP) are aiming to pre-emptively outlaw sexbots, lest our distopian future is to be haunted by salacious sex machines loitering about on street corners, leaking oil in broad daylight, offering passersby the chance to plug them in after the swipe of an ATM card in their oft-used slots. The flipside to that coin is Jim Naugle, mayor of Buttsexburg Fort Lauderdale, who wants to employ prudish robot toilets to prevent wide-stanced homos from engaging Larry Craig-style stall sodomy.

But it would appear our attraction to inanimate objects isn't entirely profane. Nay, perhaps there are those whose intentions are entirely spiritual. For instance, in the retarded nation of Malaysia, Kamariah Ali has been imprisoned for apostacy. Why? Well, cause she has rudely declared that she worships teapots. Ms. Ali belongs to a cult called Sky Kingdom, which eschews Allah in favor of a since-demolished two-story teapot-shaped shrine. Since in Malaysia's Sharia-based court system it is illegal for Muslim-born citizens to leave the religion, the 57-year-old woman is currently blowing off steam as she steeps in a prison cell. Five times daily, instead of bowing toward Mecca to pray, she dresses up like Mrs. Potts from Beauty and the Beast and reverently sings the following devotional hymn (to the tune of "I'm a Little Teapot"):

Great and wondrous Teapot
Fill my cup
Feel your steamy liquid
Filling me up
I see Heaven when you
Teabag me
Sha-zam!
That's f*cking awesome tea

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.