See related article: http://www.autos.yahoo.com/articles/autos_content_landing_pages/1137/let-it-shine-silver-remains-top-auto-paint-color/

It was this: Baby Born with Second Penis on Back

Whhhaaaaat?! Huuuuhhh?! Why does nothing cool like this ever happen to me or anyone I know?!

The baby boy was born in China with a rare condition doctors call, “Fetus in Fetu (FIF)”. I prefer the term,”Double-sided Commie Dildo” but that’s just me. The extra manhood bestowed upon this young one is a symbol of luck in the Chinese culture as the number TWO is thought to bring very good things… There is even an old Chinese saying, “good things come in pairs.” Yes, yes they do. 

I was even more excited to discover that there are photos! The following may be graphic in nature, so if you have a weak stomach or, if you’re like any other woman in this world and tend to think the male genitalia is visually insulting and disturbing, prepare yourself…

The good news is, he just made the Reverse Cowboy a whole lot easier, he’s going to have more threesomes in his lifetime than Eric Dane and Senn Penn put together, and he’s Asian so he was probably going to need the extra help later in life anyway. God bless him.

Please send your favorite captions…this one is too good not to leave a comment.

WHO THE FUCK CARES?

The real story here is the smokin’ HOT Canadian fisherman. Yes, I said “HOT Canadian”. Oxymoron? Yes. Under all normal circumstances. But normal these are not, and this was no mistake.

Even with that stupid light on his head and fish guts all over his Columbia Sportswear, he’s still a 10. Perhaps he was the one genetically engineered. Perhaps the Canadians have been genetically engineering the world’s hottest guys for years, hiding them in their backwoods territories, waiting for just the right moment to unleash them on the world’s supply of unsatisfied and horny women, in an effort to create genetically gifted, super hot babies with an affinity for the outdoors. Did anyone ever think to question that? No. They didn’t.

No one would ever expect good looking people to hail from Canada…our neutral, and historically inferior, neighbor to the North – a country who has given us Mike Meyers…

Seth Rogen…

                                                       Michael Cera…

…NOT one of whom I would ever grant sausage pocket privileges.

In all fairness, the Canucks did send Ryan Reynolds our way, but even he looks a little laden with Downs Sydrome every once in a while. The evidence has been proven time and again – Canada isn’t exactly breeding at a top-tier level…or so we thought. Well, cat’s out of the bag now and he’s just taken down a really big fish. It should be noted that this specimen of a fish hunter has a twin brother. What do you say to that?

I say come fishing in LA Mr. Canada…you’re bound to catch something. And if he can’t make it that far south, single ladies take note: Summer in Saskatchewan… It has a nice ring to it.

                   Side Note: It must be one of Disney’s sneaky little perverted jokes that entrance into the park costs 69 dollars.

What I realized in my 7 hours at the park (all I could stomach), is there is a definite divide between reality and what we remember as being real from our childhoods. For instance, Space Mountain is NOT the thrill seeking adventure through a starry sky that I remember from when I was barely tall enough to peek over the “You Must be This Tall to Ride” sign. Instead, it is a terrifying, nightmarish, gut-wrenching experience that left my 29 year OLD body quivering and light-headed. The sign should read: “You Must be This Tall and/or Stupid to Ride”.Needless to say, my days on roller-coasters are over if I couldn’t even stand Disney’s weak attempt at duplicating the Corkscrew. And it wasn’t just the main attraction that did me in… Honey I Shrunk the Audience – WTF? How can it be that I nearly broke the arm of my chair, screamed like I was being gutted, and begged to leave before the show was over, while a group of toddlers sat motionless in front of me, 3-D glasses on, laughing the entire time? And don’t even get me started with Star Tours – Disney’s version of Back to the Future. I broke a sweat, became pale in the face, and was convinced I was going to vomit on the 5-year-old in front of me.  Disneyland should never be referred to using the word PARK. HELL is much more accurate and offers a far better description.

To further support my theory, my assumption as a child was that Walt Disney was godlike; a Peter Pan of sorts;a kid in a grown man’s body… As I got older I realized he was more of a grown man trying to get IN kids’ bodies; simply put, white people’s precursor to Michael Jackson.  But by the time I was peeling out of the parking structure, onto the I5-North, speeding back to LA, I was convinced he was much more than a pervert. He was in fact an evil entrepreneur; a masochist; a sick freak who spent his time on earth playing with and exploiting the fears of the masses to make billions. It’s terrifying to think he may one day be thawed out, able to then build more Disneylands and sodomize our youth in his free time. Come to think of it, Walt’s life-story could be a new thrilling attraction at his own park – You wait in line for 13 hours because you can’t figure out how in the hell to use a FastPass, only to find out that the ride consists of animating little boys with phallic noses, taking it in the ass from some overweight, carni-looking billionaire, and being trapped in an ice-locker for eternity. Uhhh… I think I’ll stick with Space Mountain.

My experience begs another question: How do teens, frat boys and even some of my friends in their thirties eat pounds of magic brownies, inhale peanut butter and shroom sandwiches, and take large pulls from even larger bongs just seconds before entering the park? How is this even humanly possibly?

              If I wanted to piss myself while riding Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, I would just do so.  I know the 3-year-old, whom I heard being reprimanded by his father for peeing his pants on It’s A Small World, would appreciate the gesture. Can you blame  him? That ride is extremely long – no one can hold it that long – and disturbing, especially the tour through Asia.

I definitely don’t need to be apprehended by Disney Security because I was caught, stripped down naked, diving from my boat at Pirates of the Caribbean, into the  swampy waters, dodging bullets being shot at me by plastic Johnny Depp lookalikes.  

These are the things that would happen if I were on drugs at Disneyland. I wasn’t even able to do it sober. It’s all fun and games until someone gets shipped off to the Mental Ward.

All in all, it was a fun day (I was paid to say that), but let it be known right now, on this blog, if my children ever see the inside of a theme park, it will NOT be with their mother.

There is absolutely NO excuse for the maneuver this fickle pickle pulled. I don’t have the energy or the desire to explain it all now. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, try tuning into a reliable news source every once in awhile, like E! Entertainment. I do however have some things I would like to say to those involved: 

Melissa, though you are far from the brightest light on the menorah, you’re way too good for this retard. You need to get a little hopped up, make some bad decisions and forget all about that loser. In fact, I know a few guys who would fuck the bitterness right out of you if you’re ever up for it.

Molly, you’re a troll with no spine or self-respect. You and Rhianna should form a club. Maybe Stephen Hawking can join.  

DeAnna, you should change your locks and change your number ASAP because this dickhead will definitely be calling you next. Six more weeks with the troll and he’ll be calling every bachelorette he ever sent packing.

Chris Harrison, quit referring to the bachelor as “historic”. World Wars are historic. The Civil Rights Movement was historic. Britney shaving her head was historic. Fickle Pickle changing his mind, though extremely douchey, is NOT historic.

Ty, one word: Emancipation. 

And lastly, Jason… How no one ever realized that you’re about 5’6” and a giant pussy, I’ll never know, but kudos to pulling the wool over the eyes of America. If it had been just one girl who wasn’t good enough for you, I may have been able to take this ride. But you failed your first marriage, you failed with DeAnna, you let 24 girls slip right through your hands, you failed your second engagement and the cycle most likely continues from here, so… Maybe it’s you. If you have one friend who kills them-self, it’s most likely them. If you have three or more friends who kill themselves, there might be something wrong with YOU. You catch my drift?

Peace out, Douchebag. We don’t have room for you here in LA, so take that shit back to Seattle and concentrate on making sure your son doesn’t turn out like you.

I’m thankful the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants trilogy was put to rest after number two since the idea of a pair of jeans that fit both America Ferrera and that little Gilmore girl was just plain stupid to begin with.   

I’m thankful for the phrase, “road hard and put away wet”. For many reasons.

I’m thankful for the people who feed the impoverished and homeless at Thanksgiving, allowing the rest of us to hideaway in our cozy homes and completely ignore the tragic issue at hand.

I’m thankful it will no longer be considered ‘weird’ or ‘creepy’ to masturbate during the State of the Union Address.

I’m thankful for YouTube. Specifically, watch?v=fUSvXzYnQZM which makes me piss myself laughing, even under the worst of circumstances. Did you ever drink Bailey’s from a shoe?

I’m thankful for the worst of circumstances.

I’m thankful Dancing With the Stars allowed Brooke Burke to realize her full potential and hope it can do the same for Sarah Palin next season.

I’m thankful for this shitty, shitty economy because now it’s almost cool to be poor.

I’m thankful for Asian people, but really only the Japanese because I love sushi.

I’m thankful for my brothers and sisters, but really only the ones that still talk to me.

I’m thankful for Chelsea Handler and her dirty little hot-pocket for paving the way for foul-mouthed blonds with bad drinking habits across the globe.

I’m thankful Christian Audigier’s daughter turned 16 so she can start fucking all the douchebags who wear her dad’s clothes and simultaneously take some of the heat off those of us who who think guys who wear Ed Hardy are hideous.

I’m thankful for hemrhoid cream… For the sake of those men who wear Ed Hardy.

I’m thankful for meatless corndogs.

I’m thankful for the 30 minutes of complete escape Wheel of Fortune provides me on a nightly basis. For example: “I’d like to solve the puzzle… John Hamm Sandwich!” 

I’m thankful gas prices have gone down, but disappointed my roommate has become more gaseous.

I’m thankful that I’m almost 30 and won’t have to give anymore blowjobs. That’s the rule, right?

I’m thankful our forefathers were able to cover up the rape, pillage and murders they committed with a national holiday dedicated to overeating and watching football.

I’m thankful for my readers…both of you. Feel free to let me know what you are thankful for this Thanksgiving.

VOTE. VOTE. VOTE. VOTE. VOTE. VOTE. VOTE. VOTE. VOTE.

I’m sure you’re already planning on it, but if you’re anything like me, you can never figure out WHERE to vote. Finding your polling location is more difficult than finding your g-spot, only most people will spend more time searching for their glory button than they would a voting booth. If you can relate, this website will help… http://www.vote411.org. If you need help tipping the man in the boat, I’m sure there is a website that can assist you, but I stay away from that sort of Internet content. Most of the time.

Back to the issue at hand… So, you’re already voting and you know exactly where to go. You ask yourself, what else can I do? Answer: Maybe you know someone who doesn’t plan on voting. They will never admit this as they would then risk public flogging and be ostracized by friends, so use your best detective skills (dickskillz as I call them), and find that one friend who claims they will be voting, but who you know very well will be hiding out in a cold, empty movie theatre or playing Guitar Hero in their basement until the polls close. Drag this person to the polling booth, use physical force if you have to, and make them VOTE. If they’re unsure who to vote for you must do two things… 1. Tell them they’re retarded…there is one clear choice and give them a swift kick to the head. 2. Tell them to vote for OBAMA.

Now, if you really want to earn extra credit this election season, even more than those damn 3rd graders in Alaska, call a friend from a swing state and persuade them to get out there and VOTE…preferably for OBAMA. Currently we are on very shaky ground in Ohio, Missouri, South Carolina and Indiana, but it never hurts to call your grandparents at their retirement community in Florida, your militia friends in Michigan, or your Coke/Ex dealer in Vegas. 

We only have 4 days left, but a lot can happen in a short amount of time if we have HOPE…

There will be those who argue that Sarah Palin’s speech at the RNC was impressive. I would argue that your expectations were LOW to begin with. What was so impressive? Was it her ‘I’m rubber, you’re glue’ tone delivered in that nasally, Fargo-esque voice? Or were you impressed with how she said “John Sssss. McCain” like she knew the biggest secret in town. Please, do NOT be fooled by this self proclaimed, small town girl’s lipstick-wearing-pit-bull routine. “I’m just your average hockey mom…” Come on… She was likable. That’s it. And I know plenty of other likable women whom I would NOT vote for, but at least take seriously, before I even thought about Sarah Palin.

On a serious note, what about Kay Bailey Hutchinson or Elizabeth Dole? I’m on the Biden train, but wouldn’t one of these women be a better choice for running mate? Why not Charlize Theron…she’s likable enough? Chelsea Handler (LOVE her)? My next door neighbor (a really cool chick)? Your Mom? My Mom…? The list goes on. The similarities between Sarah Palin and MY MOM are actually quite astounding and still MY MOM would be a better choice for VP. Take a looksie…

Palin was raised in a small town. MY mother was raised in a small town!

Palin served on the PTA…MY mother served on the PTA!

Palin is raising five kids with her Eskimo-husband Todd. MY MOM raised five kids, without A Todd around, while holding down a more-than-full-time job…two boys and three girls – NONE of which knocked anyone up or got knocked up at 17. Oooh, damn…point for Palin.

Palin was runner-up to Miss Alaska 1984…MY MOTHER was a Michigan Pageant Queen and WON! That means she actually went home with the crown. Take that, beotch.

Palin is a Hockey Mom (*note: if you drive the carpool once a month and provide Sunny D. for the kids, you are granted the coveted Hockey Mom status). MY MOM not only drove the carpool and gave out juice boxes, but she also attended every game AND coached 13 different teams for five different kids, over 20 years. That’s what the hockey world calls a Hat Trick. BAM. Puck off, Palin.

Palin was passionate about her efforts to cut wasteful spending…like the “luxury jet” that was “over the top” or her attempt to “muddle” through life without a personal chef… MY MOTHER could burn a pop-tart in a toaster, but she always had dinner (cereal or mac & cheese) on the table, she didn’t fly until she was 20, and she made a dollar stretch a mile. I’ll even guarantee she has the receipts to prove it. Sorry you had to forego your private jet, Sarah…Maybe you could’ve kept it if you didn’t spend so much on that Pearl Necklace you wore last night…Or was that a gift from Todd? 

Palin’s speech was so modest, she even admitted that she drives herself to work everyday. WOW…this is getting eerie, now…MY mom also drives herself to work. Cray-zee.

Since this whole election has turned into one giant shit show, I don’t see any reason why I can’t use this blog, 10 hours before McCain officially accepts the Republican nomination alongside his running mate, to nominate My MOM for Vice President 2008! We thank you ahead of time for your support and want you to know we are doing everything we can to have her trained to use a high powered rifle to kill innocent animals and/or people if they get in her way. AND, if it helps matters, she has no opinions on foreign policy either…JUST LIKE SARAH PALIN!

In summation, I’d just like to thank the Republicans, on behalf of Obama supporters everywhere, for choosing Palin, and in effect, banking on mediocrity to win this election. You are forever in my debt. -Love always and long live the Polar Bear, Harman

China seems to have thought of EVERYTHING – they extradited their troublemakers to Shanghai, had the small-handed children of Mongolia craft Chairman Mao Wristwatches, encouraged the Red Army to smile more and then some…For the past ten days, I have wished nothing more than to be Chinese. Yep, I said it.

Without further ado, here are the top ten reasons why these Olympics are the bees’ knees.

#10. This guy’s main purpose is to fire invisible laser beams into the sky, ‘seeding’ the clouds, making sure that the 2008 Olympic Athletes stay dry…With the exception of the athletes referred to in point #1. The Beijing Olympics will NEVER have to suffer through a summer rainstorm. I swear…Those Chinese think of EVERYTHING. Can I get a “what, what?” for my friend on the weather-ass-kicking nuke. God…? IS that you? You’re Asian!? I knew it all along!

#9. My parents went to the ’84 Olympics and all I got was a lousy t-shirt that read, “My Parent’s Went to the 1984 Olympics and All I Got  Was This Lousy T-shirt.” I’m sure they thought it was VERY funny at the time. If only I was a 4-year-old girl, awaiting their return, now that the souvenirs are 100% first class…I am literally dying for a Coozie with Chairman Mao’s fat face on it.

#8. The Phelpster…And I’m not talking swimming prowess or a record breaking, eight gold medals – I’m talking about those size 14’s. That’s right, ladies. Who cares if he looks like the off-spring from a drunken night shared by John Krasinski and Nicholas Cage? It doesn’t matter. Big feet equals a Big Cockatiel. And a Big Cockatiel equals a lot of loud chirping going on all night long. Chirp, chirp.

#7. Anything and everything is considered a sport…First of all, there is no way in Hell I will ever believe that Trampoline is a sport. I was doing that shit long before they made it an Olympic sport. I was doing cart-wheels, flips, triple axle somersaults, spread eagles, AND full penetration on my family’s backyard trampoline, in the middle of a ass-backwards, republican neighborhood full of white supremacists, BY the time I was 15, so SUCK IT China! That’s thrilling…That would have qualified me for 9.00 rating in Difficulty. Secondly…Speed Walking? Come on…Ping-Pong? That broom/curling/sweeping bullshit? Stabbing American Tourists? You’ve got to hand it to them…The Chinese really did get inventive for 2008.

#6. You may have been lucky enough to pick up a pair of these trendy 2008-Olympic-Recycled-From-2008-New-Years-Festivities-Sunglasses. OR you were lucky enough to meet this guy. Either way, you walked away a winner.

#5. The SNACKS…Who doesn’t love a little Sea-Horse on a Stick or Fried Scorpion or Goat Lung Ball Soup? Tastes just like chicken. 

#4. The Five Friendlies, duh. I just want to say that whatever the creator of these five animae creatures – which are suppose to represent the five Olympic rings (don’t ask how) – whatever he was on, whatever he was smoking, whatever pills he was popping or dust he was sprinkling in his eyeballs, PLEASE – SHARE THE WEALTH! I want a one-way ticket on your well-planned trip! Not since the Tellatubbies hit America in ’98 have we seen such bizarre, drug-induced behavior from non-sensiscal, G-Rated characters. I specifically like this image where the small balloon creatures closely resemble a mob of hairless testicles, holding a mosh pit in plastic grass. That’s symbolic, right? Personally speaking, the Five Friendlies really get my Olympic engine roaring. Well done Sun/Kim/Gin/Jan – whatever your name is.

#3. Fuck the air pollution. I’ve got two words for all you Olympic bound fools…BIRD FLU.

#2. The DELAY. Can someone please, please, please explain why the two most technologically advanced countries in the entire universe could NOT figure out how to offer the Pacific Standard Time Zone LIVE coverage of the Olympic games? I guess this is why the critically acclaimed, MTV reality show, The Hills, gave NBC a run for their money on Monday night. Fuck you NBC. And Fuck you China.

#1. The Olympic Committee has finally caught on to the timeless tradition of using SEX to SELL. Consequently, every 14-year-old boy on the planet sends their many thanks.

1.A. Bia and Branca Feres are twin Synchronized Swimmers from Brazil. As luck would have it, they fell into synchronized swimming when they discovered ‘cum guzzling’ was NOT an Olympic sport. I don’t think they’ll be wearing a Gold Medal around their necks any time soon, but I do know a few guys who would be willing to adorn those collar bones with some pearls. 

1.B. A female Swimmer, Laure Manadou, representing France, learned the hard way that WET NYLON can sometimes (always) be see-through. Ahhh…C’est la vie. The good news…there was no need to take home the Gold or the Silver for that matter – those Silver Dollar Pancakes are gift enough. 

1.C. And of course the United States gets in on the action. Who knows better how to exploit the female body then the same country who brought you Playboy, Hustler, Joe Francis, the porn industry, Bill Clinton, etc., We KNOW sex. Only problem is we have the bodies, but they’re matched with some butter faces. Note to the World…Kerry Walsh is NOT hot. Yes, she has an ass that makes Kim Kardashian’s cottage cheese milkshake melt in jealousy. BUT-HER FACE. What a mess. I’m just glad she’s good at volleyball so she has a shot in life. Is it me or is the standard issue volleyball uniform getting smaller and smaller?

I’m pretty sure that’s the signal for “one in the pink, fist in the stink.”

There you have it…The top ten reasons I loved the Beijing Olympics of 2008. Let’s go London…! You better start planning now because you have a lot to live up to.

Take for instance, the three guys who were hanging out, a little too close for comfort, near our bachelorette’s table on Saturday night…They were, what I consider to be, the epitome of a Reject – and that’s me being nice.

Let me paint a really clear picture for you…They didn’t have a table, so they stood there, talking to each other, drooling over girls on the dance floor who wouldn’t give them the time of day. And most girls are whores, ready and willing to go home with almost anything, so you know this crew was bad news. They didn’t know assholes from elbows and they might as well have been standing there, holding each other’s mediocre pricks in their hands. I guess girls just aren’t attracted to overweight, Rogain-dependent, middle-aged Losers – go figure. We don’t care if you “work in real estate”, how much you can bench press, and your UCIrvine degree is NOT impressive. Did I mention, I towered over these guys (I’m 5’7”) and I’m pretty sure one of them had bigger tits than my sister, who has a pretty nice rack. I can say that because she’s my sister. Anyway, I know I don’t really come off this way, but I truly am sweet as sugar, and apparently very talkative when sloshed. So, I float over, champagne in hand and ask for a cig, figuring just this bit of conversation will make their night. I get a cig, they get attention from at least one person with a vagina – everybody wins. They claim they bummed theirs and have no more. Fine. No big deal. But as I walk away, I hear Douchebag #1 say “This place is really going downhill.” I whirl back around and see Douchbag #2 pull a pack of Parliments from his pocket. Ugh…DOOOOUUUUUCCCCCHHHHHEEEEBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAGGGGGG! I was trying to be nice by using them for a cigarette. (*btw, I only smoke when I’m drunk, Mom).

Let me just say, I consider myself to be kind of attractive – I’m no Jessica Alba or Sienna Miller, but I do alright. I wish I had said something right then, or slapped him, or stuck my stiletto in his eyeball, SWF style, but ever since an incident in college I’ve been trying to exercise self control, so instead I’ve decided to bitch about them on my blog, in hopes that this somehow finds it’s way to one of their corny, freaky, and pedophiliac myspace pages.

“Hey Douchebags – channeling King Reject himself, Brody Jenner, does not make you look cool, your studded jeans and Ed Hardy T-shirts are lame, using that much gel in your hair should be illegal and lay off the tanning beds for a bit – only LeeLo can pull off orange skin. Quit going to clubs. In fact, quit leaving your shithole apartments in general. There’s a reason why you’re all single and jacking each other off at night. And it’s not the quality of women surrounding you. Trust that. Why don’t you give up on your useless acting career – there are no roles for rejects with mantits – hop in your TransAm and go back to whatever low class, Floridian village you hail from. While you’re at it…when you see your mother this mother’s day, give her a slap across the face, from me, for raising such a toolbag. I’m pretty sure your dad’s are not around – and you can’t blame them – I would’ve split too, the second you hit puberty and I realized you were going to be a world class retard who never accomplishes a thing in life. The only thing going “downhill” is each of you on each other, because a little friendly tea-bagging from your “bros” is all the action you’re going to be able to get in life. Best of luck.”

*A note to all my friends…If you know these guys or even just know guys like this, please forward this on and make sure this important message is read by any and all douchebags out there.

Remember, we CAN make a difference.