Trivial Antics

LeBron James Speaks To Team Mates Post Game

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Tue, 10 May 2011 20:04:00 +0000

No need to thank me, fellas.

Yeah, I said I was sorry for using the R word but, c’mon… you know that was sincere.

The truth is not Paul Pierce. The truth is, I lost my patience with that dumb ho.

Give me a break! Playing dirty? What fool in their right mind would question one of my bros like that? And she wouldn’t shut up! She just kept rambling on like an idiot!

So. Of course I didn’t mean for that word to slip out, ‘retarded,’ like she had special needs or something. If that were the case, she’d be entirely innocent but, there are reasons we don’t allow people with special needs to question us after games, right? Ha-ha-ha…

So. Why do we even allow bitches the privilege of interviewing us?! We need to go back to the good old days, when only men ventured out where they belong. When women knew their place, and stayed there, god dammit!

You know there IS the WNBA. Ha-ha-ha… yeah. I think all the female reporters who care about basketball should mosey on over there, and leave us alone! Only men understand just how hard we play. And only a man can understand another man‘s pride, so they ain’t gonna ask us any stupid questions.

Bitches need to back off! And stay out of our locker rooms too, god dammit!

How did that girl get in here?

Aww shit.

Trump Speaks To Republicans In New Hampshire

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Sat, 30 Apr 2011 09:33:00 +0000

People of New Hampshire and the rest of the important states… like Iowa…

Nobody here from Iowa? I was told there would be. Hmm. Obviously someone needs to be fired. Well for those of you here, I want you all to listen very carefully. I’m only going to repeat this possibly one hundred times in the next few days on any outlet I can muscle my way into.

Do I have your attention? Listen, you people- I’m SO serious. Turn off your phones because what I have to say is a thousand times more important than whoever could be calling or texting you in the next few minutes. Let me put it this way… if I don’t get your full attention, you’re fired. Trust me, I will find a way.

Are we ready now? Good. First off I want to talk about Obama in the poll I conducted in the Trumpousine on the way here. I asked all my people this: Do you believe Donald Trump was indeed responsible for single-handedly getting Obama to finally release his long-form birth certificate.

Okay I admit, it wasn’t really a question. But they all quickly and enthusiastically answered with a firm, ‘YES.’

That is, all but one. And do you want to know why I’m going to tell you this? Because hopefully we all can learn something here. This person had the audacity and misfortune of being of the alien species known as FEMALE. And whatever she said isn’t important or relevant since I could never relate to her anyway. SO. I said to her, ‘You’re fired.’

SO. As far as the birth certificate goes, it’s like this… Trump: 100; Media: 0; Obama: -1,000; Alien chick: -900.

Money-money-money-money… money!
Money-money-money-money…

Oh. Excuse me for just one sec. I gotta take this. Be back in one sec.

Thanks for waiting twenty minutes. I’m really glad because I’d hate to have to fire any of you. I really appreciate you saving me those calls.

Now I want to talk about jobs, which is my strength. It’s true, I own a lot of businesses, but I alone can’t hire all of the unemployed. Besides, we all know I’m not the problem. China is the problem. Trump is the solution. We have to Trump China. There are many ways we can do this that all begin with the letter Trump. SO. Let me tell you my first idea for what will eventually come to be known as, Operation: Trump China.

We raid the Wal-Mart stores, gather everything up and ship it all back to China. Then we employ kids right here in America who want to work, but can’t get any jobs thanks to all the illegal aliens that Obama brought here. It’s the perfect solution. We hire kids from say, ages ten to fifteen, to make clothes and ashtrays while their lazy parents stay home on their asses. No more unemployment checks. The budget is happy, the parents are happy and the kids are happy they get out of school early. Next thing you know, China is bowing to me- I mean, US. They’ll bow to us and come crawling on their knees, begging for mercy. And I’ll just pull out my finger and point at them and say, ‘You’re fired.’

Now it’s… Trump: 10,000; Media: 0; Obama: -100,000; Alien chick: 10, because now I recall she was very attractive and maybe that’s why I hired her.

SO. Blah blah blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah jobs. Blah blah BLAH blah blah blah blah blah Blah. Blah blah blah liberals, and Blah Blah blah blah blah. Because I just can’t believe blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah, thanks to Obama. Blah blah blah blah BLAH is blah blah blah blah blah blah this country.

SO. If you only remember one thing I said today, remember this… I never said Republicans were too crazy for anything. The media, CNN especially, just hates me because they’re jealous I have a TV show that’s a thousand times more popular and entertaining than any of their lame shows, now that Larry King is sipping wine on a nude beach. The only time their shows aren’t lame is when I’m on them. I’m the ratings juice. I’m the O.J. of politics. Why? I’m tangy and delicious and good for this country.

Twisted News: Captain's Lawsuit Fails

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 11:11:00 +0000

Ima Maroon

**************************

Judge Play Land threw out Captain Caveman’s complaint on Wednesday against the legendary animated comic hero, Superman, saying it was, “a lawsuit a grade-schooler could find irony in.”

Play Land also noted the litigation has fueled the small but loud “birther movement” against Superman, and described it as, “nothing but a stack of rhetoric covered in poo gravy.”

Caveman filed the complaint as an effort to club Superman’s orders for the Captain to deploy to an animated version of Iraq.

Caveman’s logic for shirking orders is based on it’s claim that since Superman was never born on the planet Krypton he is a phony, and therefore shouldn’t be allowed to commandeer.

Caveman issued this written statement in advance:

Caveman’s proof includes it’s strong belief that if Superman were actually born on the planet Krypton, he wouldn’t have a deadly allergic reaction to kryptonite. It makes no sense whatsoever. How can something on his own planet- with basically the same name- send the ‘man of steel’ spiraling tragically into a death roll? That I’d have to see to believe, but he won’t put on a demonstration. What is he hiding?

Caveman also believes Superman has used 39 aliases, all stolen from other animated characters.

Caveman itself spoke to us for a moment before entering the court room. “If Superjerk win, terrorist win; no way me gonna win game of Club, Gun, Bomb!”

In response to that Superman said, “Caveman is a cartoon character. It will be up against other cartoons and cannot be exterminated. It has nothing to worry about. What a jackass.”

As Play Land ruled against Caveman, she also had this to say, “Unlike in ‘Alice in Wonderland’, simply saying something is so doesn’t make it so.”

She then ordered Caveman to, “Go to hell. I mean, Iraq.”

My Thoughts on the VMA Show

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 07:22:00 +0000

Music Video Awards makes a lot more sense than Video Music Awards… Aren’t they called music videos, or is that so totally 80’s?

I almost didn’t watch after turning on the Pre Show and seeing Taylor Swift arrive in a Cinderella carriage. I think it says a lot about how most famous under-talented musicians view themselves. Then I read on Twitter last night Green Day had won something- I decided to try and sit through it. It gets more difficult every year, pretending to be a teenager. Even worse- my MTV, or what barely passes as a cable company, was on a serious time delay of some hours (probably for censorship reasons, since the show was censored, ******* bull****!). So it didn’t even start until 10:00 or 10:30 MST and went on forever (like this). I documented my evil observations and eventually got some time to type it up so, whatever. Work sucks.

Madonna, Key Note Speaker: She got entirely too much mic time. In her babblings I heard something about a witch hunt against MJ… she went on to slam herself and everyone else for abandoning him. After seeing Janet I really hoped she would find her and attack (maybe a nip would pop out and hit her in the eye) just because her BS was so over the top while here she was, playing a serious role. Then again, she might enjoy being roughed up. Final thoughts: There’s really no point in nip-slapping unless they’re both into angry lesbian sex. Some things I just don’t want to know.

Russell Brand, Host: Not a bit funny without a good script and director on his ass. Wait, that didn’t come out right. Not a bit funny except in that movie Forgetting Sarah Marshall. For the record I haven’t seen his other work, but he made me yawn last night. I wonder if I’m the first woman to actually say that last part.

Cinderf***ingella: She wouldn’t be there without the masses of little girls who were first brainwashed by Disney into thinking Miley Cyrus is talented. Hannah Montana lowered the bar for her, so I’d be surprised if some day a sex tape doesn’t surface, compliments of Katy Perry (someone needs to hold the camera). Wait. What?

Kanye West, Auto-Tune King: Although what he did to Taylor Swift made me laugh out loud, it has to be the crappiest thing anyone has ever done in all of TV award show history. I still don’t like his music and like him even less as a person now but damn it, I have to give him some ‘instant ego deflation’ points for taking her down such a huge notch in literally seconds. And the look on Beyonce’s face. Ha. Perhaps she was thinking, Oh F no! You didn’t just let the world know I think I’m better than Taylor Swift! Well truthfully, she is.

Green Day: They won Best Rock Video and for a moment I felt like anything was possible. Maybe Swift would sneak a ‘FU Kanye’ into her performance, gain instant favor with the far, way-over-there right and become Glenn Beck’s top pick for the race in 2012. Or McCain’s next VP choice (he isn’t dead yet).

Lady Ga Ga: In all of her attention whore glory, out-doing Madonna’s past costumes and moves, she even raped a piano at one point… but I just can’t hate her because she loves the gays. She still has to learn some day that she’s not a baby, and change that ridiculous name.

Okay, don’t ask me how I survived most of it, especially the Jackson Memorial book ends (he is gone, can we just accept it?). I think it had to be…

The Eminem-Morgan Show: And near the end when they brought in Cyndi Lauper I nearly hit the floor. But please, someone give Tracy his VMA so this won’t be revisited again next year… unless (of course) Phil Collins can be persuaded to make an appearance.

So, after Lady Ga Ga Goo Goo it finally got to that point- I assumed I wasn’t going to see any acts worth watching. Then wa-lah, Green Day took the stage. For a few awesome minutes, everything was right in the world.

Beyonce: What can I say? I love this woman, only because I’ve always aspired (wished) to look just like her. I’ve already got the hair. Remember the way it poofed while she was busting a gut? I can make mine do that. So it’s clear nature gave me a good start. All I’d need is the right amount of steroid, boob inserts and a high-quality spray-on tan… wow, I’m turning myself on just thinking of all the guys I will turn on, in theory.

Kanye, Forever and Ever: Yes, the entire world is sick of him now. And yet he appears again, to open his mouth, oblivious as to why the crowd is booing when he mentions himself… How big can one ego get? I think we just found out.

Pink: The acrobatics were refreshing and the only reason I paid any attention. And it really brought home the point that the show was a circus. Then, looking at her- no boobs whatsoever, more muscular than your average dude, starting shit with Kanye on Twitter… I think someone could be getting a good daily helping of steroids. Of course I don’t want to know but I tend to think normally she smells like rotten eggs and sweat. I also don’t know how I got most of this based on her looks. Hmm…

The rest, I don’t care to recall. Is it way too late for a Woah oh oh, oh oh oh? Good. I was sick to death of that song months ago.

Twisted News: Drug Counselor Tells Celebs, "Just Die Already"

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Tue, 01 Sep 2009 07:49:00 +0000

Bebe Maker
****************************

Celebrity patients undergoing treatment for substance abuse in Hollywood, CA were beside themselves when their counselor told them to, “Just die, already. Please. All of you. Just keel over and die.”

Web-certified (self-proclaimed) rehabilitation expert Simi Ragg says she was at the end of her “long, long, waaay too ffffing long assed rope” with the celebs, now her ex-patients.

“I had to kick them out of my program. You can only do so much talk therapy with these losers,” Ragg sputtered. “I thought I had a good group here. In the beginning they agreed they were insecure, greedy dumb shits who had lost all control. And I told them regularly how sad and pathetic their self-centered, woe-is-me attitudes and reckless behaviors were- and how if they continued to want all of the time they were going to get… it!”

Ragg continued, “Like I said they started on the right track. I don’t know how, why or exactly when it happened but I ended up with a room full of whining pussies and boasting idiots. What am I supposed to say when all they can talk about is how badly they need to get lit? Or their last high, and how great it was to crash into a ffffing embankment and cheat death on a bottle of Demerol? That’s loony speak.”

Note from Bebe: It was then I looked at my watch and raised a brow, noting aloud it was almost 4:00, as if I had to leave immediately and rush home to my children. Ragg saw right through me, and rambled on for what seemed like hours.

“I couldn’t imagine telling them, ‘Just live, already. Keep right on living and breathing cocaine. Keep teaching the youth who idolize you that if it isn’t dope, it isn’t chill.’ ”

“The world thinks every artist is nothing more than a walking medicine cabinet or a pissing bum in sharp threads, thanks to those boneheads. So I couldn’t tell them to keep on living. I can’t promote a DUI or insulting the Jews. That would be sarcasm- something I’m just not capable of pulling off. I’m too sincere… I’m very serious about my work.”

Although Simi Ragg’s ex-patients are celebrities, this particular group would like to remain anonymous for now. A few are working on their stories and should have them in print within months. Others will slowly but surely make appearances on reality TV. The remainder plan to, “keep bangin’ and livin’ it up till we OD, like the Ragg lady told us to.”

As for Simi Ragg, she has already fled the country. Rumor has it she’s bleeding in a cave somewhere near the Pakistani border.

King Interviews The Grim Reaper

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 08:42:00 +0000

No! Don’t take me! I haven’t even lived! I’ll put up a fight!

You invited me. Silly King.

King: Cut me a break! You’re one scary looking son-of-a-gun. Let’s get right to it. Why Michael and why so close to a major holiday?

Grim Reaper: You’re kidding, right? I don’t select my victims. It’s not up to me to decide! I’m so misunderstood and really a nice dead-spirit-guy. I’m tired of being portrayed or thought of in a dark light. You know, as some kind of meanie. I’m not a monster! But, it had to be this way. Fire couldn’t kill him. Mob of angry parents? Not a chance. Another nose operation? Maybe. Hmm… It would make sense.

King: So it’s not up to you to decide. Are you saying Judge Judy is your boss?

Reaper: Do you ever hear what anyone says? Are the questions in your head banging around so loudly it makes listening impossible? No! Judge Judy?! NO! When did I say I had a boss? Life is a crap shoot. Now can we move on? I must return to sucking the life out of celebrities, Charlie’s Angels style.

King: Uuuuh, most of my questions just went poof. Oddly enough, Farrah Fawcett passed earlier the same day. How can you knock Charlie’s Angels when folks like me are still grieving? *And when will I die?

Reaper: Who wouldn’t want to knock them - boots? Well, not Kate Jackson. I may be a dead-spirit-guy but I’ve got bones. Uh, sorry! It’s tough, this business of taking lives. It gets to me. Anyway, Farrah left after the first season. Heart wrenching. You know gorgeous actresses, when they realize the whole world knows of their beauty they try to act all smart and shit, taking on ‘serious’ roles. *And I sure wish I could tell you when you’ll be eliminated but I don’t get much of a notice. Damn it. Damn it all.

King: Ditto on Kate. I’ve always wondered how she got the gig.

Reaper: Well as far as her acting… Right, it’s a mystery that shall remain in the 70’s. Seriously, don’t look it up on wiki. You’ll kill the wonderment. And that’s all beside the point. I would’ve preferred striking down someone else’s buttocks. Madonna? She hasn’t put out anything worthwhile in ten years, said Guy Ritchie. See? I’m really a caring individual. Now do you want to discuss the works of Bea Arthur? Dom DeLuise? David Carradine? Billy Fucking Mays, bitches? Like it or not he could get our attention. How we responded was a personal choice. More like a lifestyle, really.

King: I can see you’re no social butterfly. Let’s get back to the topic everyone in the free world and China wants us to discuss. Tell us more about Michael Jackson and everyone he ever knew in his lifetime.

Reaper: Have you turned on the news lately?! What more could I possibly add? Why can’t this story die already?

King: Hey, I’m supposed to be asking the questions.

Reaper: Then do it better.

Humph. Well if you want the story to die, why don’t you kill it?

Smart ass.

Eddie Murphy & Madonna, some new thoughts

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 00:24:00 +0000

I recall blogging about Eddie Murphy last year, after he was interviewed by Al Roker and said he plans a return to stand-up comedy. That tickled me. I was a fan in the 80’s so of course I’m rooting for the Murphster to bounce back. He’s not a washed-up has-been!

To be fair he said he had movie commitments to attend to first. That was his global warning we should brace ourselves. Luckily my kids didn’t want to meet Dave. They’ve already met Dr. Do Little and in their defense, they were under the influence of helium and sugar-8-balls and it was like… 10 years ago. Hell, some of them weren’t even born yet.

Take heed if you have little girls. In the near future you may be dragged cursing to a theater near you. The three of us (in theory I’m little too) have seen his latest trailer, and the only career that could benefit from this is that of his young female co-star. My girls want to see it so I’m already mentally preparing… to pass this one off on their father.

I want to believe he’ll make a triumphant comeback via live stage and a tour. I’m just concerned the utter embarrassment of promoting Meet Dave made him sputter absurdities. Like I’ve said before, I’d punch Madonna in the face to see him perform stand-up. And I’d still like to hit her so hard I’d send her back to Sean Penn. But seriously, that isn’t even remotely possible.

Since their brief, crazy stint together in the 80’s (after the drugs she slipped into his drinks wore off) she’s been screwed by enough guys to populate an entire country. That country could be called… Madashell.

When I was a teenager there were a lot of sluts and dirty-dogs in my neighborhood who thought AIDS was a charitable organization. Due to it still being a threat 20 years later I can only assume this ignorance lives on in the minds of some trashy white people. Sean Penn was never one of them.

So… what’s/who’s the next A-Rod? After Madonna has regurgitated every jock in every nation with a team she’ll be forced to relocate to a smaller, dumber country than the one she’s already stolen 1 child away from (they’re on to her now). She’ll steal a castle or have one built, and every night a new baby will be brought in for dinner… An unsuspecting and well-hung bloke for dessert. She’ll find a way to live forever. In 2100 she’ll have already exhausted every species in the animal kingdom and will move on to rare auto parts.

Since Eddie Murphy was probably mad-bangin’ her post-Penn, I blame Madonna for his musical contributions. Wait, did I say ‘musical’? I meant WTF, and why did the radio stations play his crappy songs? She liked to party all the time. See, it just makes sense. Well, not really. Nothing in pop culture makes sense - the 80’s weren’t much different. And because nearly every girl aged 7-17 dressed up like, emulated and worshipped her… And boys from 7 to 71 wanted to do her… Well let’s just say Oprah still dreams one day she’ll have that kind of power.

Miley Cyrus has said Madonna is her idol/role model. I think that’s as good a reason as any for the masses to boycott Hannah Montana. But why stop there when you can get a bulldozer and crush every CD bearing the name Cyrus? Remember The Dixie Chicks backlash? Think of it as a chance to right the wrongs of the past, America.

The End…

Or is it? Will Eddie Murphy return to comedy? Will Madonna die from AIDS?

IFAW Epic Fail: The Tiger Debate

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Tue, 19 May 2009 05:34:00 +0000

Once upon a time in a land far, far away I foolishly thought I’d finally found that special dot.org which not only shared my love for the world’s helpless creatures but might also be backed by some common sense. After all, I’d never heard of IFAW (International Fund For Animal Welfare) provoking blind followers to throw paint or animal guts on people wearing fur…

Or to make love to vegetables…

There’s a cucumber joke here, I just can’t see it…

Once upon a time I also thought one voice could make a difference in a room full of dummies. Then I watched ten minutes of C-SPAN…

Once upon a time I also thought one voice could make a difference in a party full of dummies. Then I heard Nancy Pelosi speak and thought, Yeah…

After signing up for IFAW’s emails and reading them every blue moon it became clear I was very wrong. But I found them so amusing I couldn’t bring myself to unsubscribe. So now I take a few minutes to share the gist of an outrageous one I got a week ago that I actually read.

Subject (direct quote): Tell ABC and the Chinese Embassy to say “NO!” to eating tigers

Omigods! WTF is this about?

Body (summed up with their words but not direct quotes): ABC is irresponsible and crazy… John Stossel is dangerous… He said we should eat tigers… Express your outrage… Email 20/20 and the Chinese Embassy. Get these tiger farms shut down…

Time for a reality check!

A minute with google and I found John Stossel and Jeff Diamond's story which just happens to make perfect sense, and pretty much proves IFAW is an organization run by monkeys gone bananas for people who can’t think for themselves. Oh but they DO have a cute man helper, don’t they?

Work of art or 5 yrs without shaving?

So it turns out (and anybody who watched 20/20 on May 8th already knows this) John Stossel isn’t going to demand a tiger burger at Fuddrucker’s anytime soon. His whole point was if the Chinese were allowed to own tigers and raise them in captivity the chances are very good, perhaps better, they’d survive in the long run. And if the Chinese people just happen to like eating tiger, why shouldn't they be able to get it legally? It's not like they could smoke them... well, actually...

After all, buffalo ranches out West saved those juicy beasts from extinction. And yes, they are delicious.

King Interviews REO Speedwagon, Styx & 38 Special

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Thu, 07 May 2009 07:05:00 +0000

The King is totally psyched! Our line-up is mind-blowing. Tonight’s guests are fantastically incredible performers. REO Speedwagon and Styx have taken a break from their ‘Can’t Stop Rocking’ tour. I guess they’ve stopped rocking just for me. Also, a special appearance by .38 Special… I can finally go to my giant head and retrieve some questions I’ve been sitting on for years, which hasn’t been easy. I must say, as relieved as I am to have my ass back where it belongs I will miss the familiarity of a certain smell.

First let’s bring out a group who is very near and dear to my heart. With like… 1,005 monster radio hits and such classics as Flash Tan Queen, Little Queenie and Keep Pushin’… This band needs no introduction. REO Speedwagon, come out!

What the… Sorry folks. They’re not here. Wait… What’s that? Okay! They’re out in the parking lot and we’re going live right now!

Da-dum da-dum, da-dah! I finally got on with the King! ‘Cause I can’t fight this feeling anymore. Yeah.

The King is not amused! How did you get out of the garage? I thought it was locked…

I’m your genuine REO Speedwagon! Isn’t that what you wanted? C’mon now. Roll with the changes.

Looks like I’m riding the storm out. But… It’s a short one! So if you don’t take it on the run, baby… ‘Cause that’s the way I want it, baby… That’s right! You’re going straight to the auction block.

Awww, why you gotta be like that honey? Fine. Have it your way. It’s time for me to fly.

Damn straight. Get yo ass back home girlfriend! Now let’s get Styx in here and try to forget the last few minutes. Please, just try to forget.

Hey! We’re so happy to be here! We are Styx!

Nooooo, you’re not. You are definitely not Styx.

We nine glow sticks represent the current and former members of the most awesome and wonderful band Styx!

That is sooooo not right. Listen up chumps, that would make ten members altogether. Not nine! Ten!

Well, the Dennis DeYoung glow stick couldn’t make it. He’s in another world right now. A fabulous world filled with bright, hot lights… The briskly tantalizing and glorious sounds of giant synthesizers making sweet, sweet love. Did you know when synthesizers climax…

Where the F*** is he?

… We sticks are reborn and glow another five minutes. Geez… He’s at a Styx concert. Duh!

As long as you’re here and obviously fans, let me ask one thing before I throw you at the mercy of the kidlets. Back in 1997, a cult known as Heaven’s Gate poisoned themselves to join what they believed were aliens traveling in the wake of a comet. Some say your missing glow stick predicted this event with the song Come Sail Away. Dennis DeYoung… Prophet, or trippin’ hardcore nuts on the acid?

Holy fluorescents! What kind of question is that? It’s just screaming insane asylum…

And that’s where you’re going right now. Bye! Have fun with the kiddies! And I assure you they will never, ever be coming back. Why is this happening to the King? I have a face my mommy loves! And now I’m horribly afraid to call out our last guests. But I kind of, must… And why not shovel more worm poo on this rotting corpse of a show? So without further delaying my inevitable doom, .38 Special?

No need to be frightened, King! I’m just a sexy little thing looking for a place to rest my butt for a spell. See how good I look on your pillow? Keep me under here long enough for the brats to make a discovery and play a super-fun game called Wild West. I can’t wait until I’m in the hands of the lucky bastard playing Cowboy!

Well, anything is better than those phony Styx. What do I need to know? Could you make the King even more horrifying to women, children, hairless men and small animals? Would you be easy for the King to handle?

It’s really simple! Just hold on loosely, but don’t let go. If you cling too tightly, you’re gonna lose control.

Where the F*** were you on 9/11?

Twisted News: Pet Airways has Snoopy seeing $$$$$$

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 09:23:00 +0000

When I found this odd story on the wonderful world of web I had some trouble wrapping my mind around it. To me, the whole concept of pets flying on their very own airline seems a bit twisted. Or at least really bad timing. We’re in a recession and the human airline industry has suffered but, what the hell! They must know we’ll give our pets the very best. That’s why when I travel I leave my dogs with a greasy 18-yr-old homebody, hard up for a twenty dollar bill and all the food he can scrape off the bottom of an oven (before he comes over - his parents pay him to leave now).

On July 14th this ‘first of its kind’ airline will make its long awaited debut and begin flying what I assume will be the favorite children of America’s rich and famous. So if it wears tailored clothing it’s welcome. *Here’s where you imagine a poodle in a pink $200 sweater that fits oh-so-nice. Or you could go with Michael Jackson’s chimp in an altered toddler tux and cufflinks. The possibilities are endless.

Prices start at $149 for a one-way ticket. So it looks like my puppy Sarge, nicknamed Shredder, has less than 3 months to get his shit together (his act - he has nothing left to pack). On July 11th he’ll turn 1 yr so it’s not much to ask. This extremely cute Retriever has not behaved in any manner consistent with his handsomeness. He’s cost me hundreds in chewed-up bras, appliance cords, dog house, etc. What’s another $149 bucks? Who wouldn’t want to play a game called Who’s The Next Sucker?

I just want him to stop with the bipolar bit. He’s not fooling me. I know he’s crazy ALL of the time.

Flights on Pet Airways will be available in New York, Denver, L.A., Chicago and Washington, D.C.! Lucky Obama family. When their tootsies get sore from all that chewing they can ship off US Treasury Secretary (who doubles as President of France) Timothy Geithner for a weekend. Their new puppy Bo could accompany him, just to keep a watchful eye.

Washington D.C. - you couldn’t pick a better location. I know whenever I think ‘menagerie’…

If you thought perhaps you could fly with your pet - the good news is, you can’t! So don’t worry. No one will be expecting that of you. The only things allowed for the ride that are remotely close to human beings are the strange creatures they call Pet Attendants. It's a tough job but they know all the pertinent languages like Cat, Dog and Dead Goldfish.

Still interested? Do your pets have their own booster seats at the dinner table? Do you ever push them in a stroller? Then this is what you do. You leave your precious pooches at what the airline calls the Pet Lounge. So tell them to leave their wallets at home or bring their best poker faces. It’s the Pet Lounge. That’ll grow ‘em up in a hurry.

A Pet Attendant takes them to potty a couple hours before boarding, which makes me wonder. How does this work at an airport? What can I say. I live in a world where animals do their business outside. And I haven’t had to use the facilities at a Pet Smart. It was weird enough sidestepping dogs, water bowls on the floor and as I was leaving - hearing a clerk’s answer to my joke question, “Anyone ever bitten?”

“Just once, at least while I’ve been here.”

Pet Smart? Oh-kay.

Dumbfounded, I left with eyebrows slightly raised. Around here when a dog bites it bites the dust. Literally. It doesn’t get that second taste of human flesh. We kill it. But what can you expect from a city that lets a dog attack his neighbor twice? Yep, that city also has a Pet Smart. So that settles it. I’m not going back. At least I’ll never have to find out if their restrooms have sandboxes.

So, back to the news that would have Snoopy and his poodle bitches partying in first class if Charles Schulz were still alive (but he would call them ladies). The attendant, much hairier than your average stewardess, sits with your pet the entire flight and caters to its every need. Well, maybe not every need and I should hope not.

I’m wondering, if it gets too noisy or there are species wars, do they use certain tactics like playing the movie Madagascar 2 (the one where the plane crashes)?

Random Poll: Would you use this airline service for your pets?

A) Yes! What a creative way to (once and for all) lose Spot.

B) The ‘not knowing’ seems dreadful and bullets are much cheaper.

C) Would be too much trouble; my pet’s name is on the watch list.

D) I don’t have any pets. I really like polls and I’m pissed that this isn’t interactive. I like to watch the results appear before my eyes and see how my answer compares to others. WTF is this? You lazy bitch.

The adoption option

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 10:46:00 +0000

Whenever I think on this subject one thing that really gets my blood boiling, especially since half of those ‘special’ people who ‘work for us’ in Washington are ‘gay on the side’… is that in most places in the US a gay couple can’t even adopt. Well, maybe there aren’t any laws banning it unless you’re in Arkansas, or was that Alabama and what’s the difference? Even so, they’d rather place a waiting child into the hands of a 100-yr-old couple who cane youngin’s at will.

This…

…And this could happen to a child near you.

Yes, maybe some do deserve a good caning. 99% probably need one, but try telling that to a social worker. Seriously though, no kid should ever, ever have to change a bedpan…

When using the word ‘gay’ I’m talking about men of course. Gay women can go to a sperm bank so I’m not even acknowledging them here. I just think it’s so totally unfair. Plus, I’m not related to any gay women so call me biased if you want. It doesn’t change the inequality.

Gay people are just like us. Except they’re gay, which a lot of people get hung up on because according to their bibles they’ll burn in hell right alongside everyone who lies, cheats, steals and listens to extremists. I think what that means is when the world ends the entire city of Washington, D.C. will turn into a giant lake of fire and everyone tuned into Rush Limbaugh will suddenly feel their heads explode.

I know it’s up to each state to decide whether or not to allow or ban a gay couple from providing just as much love as a straight one to children who truly need it. So I wish they’d come to their senses and look at it from a logical perspective. Why must the bible always be used as a divisive device when there’s so much we could learn from it? To be more specific, it clearly states in Revelations that in the year 2012 Washington, D.C. will turn into a lake of fire and Rush will reveal to his listeners he is the son of Lucifer himself causing heads to violently explode. Then, according to the mother of one of my daughter’s friends*, Yellowstone National Park will erupt and destroy us all.

*Ask your kids what they’ve heard lately at school but sit down first.

Of course before that happens, President Obama (who was in Hawaii hosting a party for his party) will lead his followers to the new city of Jerusalem where Senator Max Baucus will finally be free to dance in the daisies and put flowers in his hair. But not before letting everyone know he still opposes gay marriage, adding he just doesn’t think it’s fair to ban it.

So Montana Max will still be one of many confusing Democrats, but since he’s taken more pro-Israel PAC money than anyone it gives him a free pass to enter the city of gold. What I mean is, since he’s been such a huge supporter of Israel he’ll breeze right in while Rush burns for all eternity… the fact that Max has received well over $319,000 in his career from those contributions alone is just a side note.

How much to get Maxi out of the closet?

By now you must obviously be wondering how Oct-O-Mom fits into all of this, so I’ll briefly drop the silliness and even the sarcasm. If Nadya Suleman really wanted everyone to leave her alone she’d give up the babies and a few others for adoption. Her kids would be happy, the public would be happy and the media would temporarily melt into a pool of tears. Wouldn’t it be for the best?

The only downside is gays still can’t adopt but if they could just rustle up a shit load of money for the right people or lie on the application… Well, I’ll always be an optimist.

Nadya Suleman sleeps with stuffed animals

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Thu, 26 Feb 2009 10:46:00 +0000

I’m not feeling bitchy or anything, I’m just bored. I originally wrote this a few weeks ago, but I’ve updated it in a couple of places with *asterisks*.

What happened to the good old-fashioned hot and steamy way of making a baby? In case you’re lost (crazy mom who pays for sperm) maybe you should go back to the Build-A-Bear workshop. I’m thinking she wouldn’t understand because her bed is filled with stuffed kitty-cats and assorted inanimate objects.

I’m talking about SEX. I’m talking about a woman getting naked with a man, and the chemistry is so WOW they can think of nothing in the heat of the moment but YOWZA… see, she wouldn’t understand.

If these are true sex fiends in the rawest form (and what’s so wrong with that?) they’ll soon have a tiny little version of themselves demanding constant attention for the next 18 years. Actually it’s more like 35, but who’s counting?

This college grad/fridge artist appreciates his mother’s cooking.

I’m not against sperm banks. It’s just I’d always thought they were for lesbians? Well? I can’t think of any other reason they should exist. But I can remember hearing something possibly 15 years ago about a handful of straight ‘mature’ women who for one reason or another were having trouble rustling up some quality jizz the traditional way. They thought having kids when they were all shagged out was the ultimate way to feel or stay young while making some use of an idle vag.

Idiots! Having kids is as anti-youth as you can get. It speeds up the aging process. You have a kid when you’re 20 and BAM! You’re 30. Just like that. Having a kid is not something to put off until you’re 40 people! But enough about procrastinators. This is about Nadya Suleman.

She makes Angelina Jolie look… nearly harmless?

She has some serious problems I don’t think even Dr. Phil could handle if he were a doctor. Having all 6 plus 8 more of her children with NO SEX is just the tip of the iceberg.

When the story first broke* it didn’t seem nearly as horrible. We couldn’t see her face. And it was reported she worked in the medical field, had a great salary and was living in a home her parents had bought for her. If a couple wants to help their responsible, hard-working daughter who loves kids and can afford to give her a house, then what’s the big deal? I thought not to freak out over some random woman having a shit load of kids at once.

*That story probably came from her PR lady, before she turned piss-yellow and quit recently. I guess she thought doing it pro bono would help drum up business, but in the end maybe she learned PR isn’t about being an outright lying bitch. It’s more like diminishing the negatives and highlighting the positives. Hulk Hogan could do better.

Now the story has taken a dramatic turn. Truth is, she doesn’t have a job at all and has been mooching off of hard-working folks while continuing to breed without the aid of a penis. And, Miss My-Womb-Is-So-Awesome-Men-Hate-Me is living with her parents too? WTF? All 9 family members crammed into a 3 bedroom shanty? So many questions I have! Well, actually just a few…

· When she was a kid, why did her parents insist on having loud, raunchy sex with their bedroom door open? It could’ve happened.

· Depending on the situation, why didn’t her parents either kick her out of their house on child number 3 or prevent her from moving in with them in the first place? So what if the grandkids are disabled. There comes a time when you need to explain to your grown child the concept of being an adult. It means in the very least if you lose your job and can’t support the kids you already have, you should stop having kids.

They could’ve packed her shit up, pointed her into the direction of a homeless shelter and kept the kids as collateral. She probably owed them a fortune at that point. But no, they let her and the 6 offspring live with them… I’m just saying, I think the cuckoo bird might not fly very far from the tree, which houses a entire family of cuckoo birds.

· Where oh where are they planning on putting 8 babies?* I guess the master plan consists of dresser drawers, cardboard boxes and incest.

*The true plan has since been revealed. She has a website (surprise!) and is accepting donations. No one saw that coming! And really no one but she is more deserving of the public’s generosity. It isn’t like the money would be wasted, since the nearest Child Protection Agency shouldn’t be preparing right now to swoop in. Maybe it’s not Texas, but come on now…

*And I hear Sarah Palin is happy she won’t be losing any of her website’s donors over this. But I just have to ask… Would Sarah Palin give you a kidney?

I wish I could be the one to tell her that she has no chance in hell of ever starring in a movie with Brad Pitt and then stealing him away. Sorry Nadya, but you will never make Mrs. Pitt the next Jennifer Aniston.

What if I’m wrong and she wants Angelina Jolie?

Either way, someone better remove her uterus, put her in a straightjacket, THEN explain to her how babies are made. Force her to watch celebrity sex tapes. (*Rather than starring in them - I just read her wiki page at the last minute here, and she’s received a serious offer to make a porno!) It could make Paris Hilton and Pamela Anderson feel like their work was suddenly making a difference. (*Or if she accepts the offer and does porn herself she’d be teaching others, therefore righting all of her wrongs?)

Who is crazier… Nadya Suleman or Sarah Palin?

Two tips for golfers on defeating Tiger Woods

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Wed, 25 Feb 2009 10:51:00 +0000

I usually have no trouble falling asleep. I just pop some DMB into the stereo, climax and then Dave’s soft and soulful voice does the rest. He should really put out a lullaby album. Just think of a stampede of mothers flooding Babies R Us for that CD. And I promise to never throw ‘climax’ and ‘babies’ into the same paragraph ever again, unless I’m telling you what’s wrong with buying sperm.

I wrote something over two weeks ago about the octuplet mom. It’s obnoxiously long so if I’m feeling bitchy soon I’ll post it.

Usually I fall sleep easy, but one of my sons got an amp for his birthday a few weeks back and chose to stay up until midnight playing his guitar. I’m not complaining. I enjoy it since his goal isn’t to wake the neighbors or make the dogs bark. It sounds good and makes me forget my trivial troubles. He has long since stopped playing and fallen asleep, and yet for some reason I can’t wind down. I’ll be fine since moms can run on only a few hours sleep. It all started 17 years ago with cries in the night, and that was me trying to mix formula properly with one eye open… anyway…

When I can’t sleep I read, and I noticed a story on my homepage about Tiger Woods returning to golf after an 8-month hiatus because apparently no one gives a shit about golf unless he is playing. And you know money makes the world go round (sorry kids it’s true). So let me get this straight…

The entire sport of golf as we know it is doomed unless Tiger Woods is involved? Who would’ve thunk? Surely not me, who can’t really name any other golfer off the top of my head other than Leslie Spalding, who will always be famous around these parts. So I came up with two half-assed tips for the others, the unknowns who really love the sport (is it a sport?) and can’t for the life of them get noticed thanks to the living legend who really doesn’t need the money yet keeps reappearing like he is Michael Jordan or something. Sorry Tiger but unless you appear in a movie with Bugs Bunny, have a song written for that movie by a child molester or have women guessing what kind of undies you wear, you are a nobody.

Yeah, who am I kidding? But I might as well finish this anyway.

Tip 1) Watch the movie Happy Gilmore. It is a complete how-to on rattling the star of the golf course. You know the only reason Adam Sandler’s character didn’t give up after being hit by a car was it would’ve entirely killed the ending. And not even Tiger Woods could pull off that dramatic win. You wouldn’t be able to steal his house, but if you bribed a heckler or a mental hospital escapee I’m talking real results. And how can Tiger Woods thinking about midgets save him?

Tip 2) Don’t read my blog. This is a stupid waste of web space. I could be sharing recipes or poetry, and here I am telling people to watch Happy Gilmore. I should be attacked by a mob of angry midgets or the entire cast of Wizard Of Oz right now…

Should we even care about golf? Or should we just zone out in front of the TV watching old movies?

Thank you Grandpa, for everything

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Sat, 24 Jan 2009 06:25:00 +0000

Grandpa’s dead now… Well, since Christmas Eve he’s been dead for two years and I'm just now beginning to accept it. I hope I go out like he did - in my sleep. I know, boring as hell, but if it’s on Christmas Day at least I can haunt my descendants a little (the ones who remember me) on what is supposed to be a happy holiday. Christmas Day, Eve - what’s the difference? He couldn’t have planned it any better than that. In fact, without even knowing it he may have been trying to steal the baby Jesus’ thunder. And how can you knock a guy for inadvertently trying? Of course that’s speculation but it’s true he wasn’t a big fan of the manger, or to be more specific, anything religious or even slightly Catholic-y.

Yes, dying in my sleep in my seventies on Christmas Day is exactly how I want to go. Once you hit 80, how can life be any good? A typical day for me at that age would probably consist of coughing up blood, writing a few crappy lines about the “good ole days” right after swallowing a bunch of pills, cursing out the neighbor kids, inspecting my poop and then sleeping for 16 hours. Whoopee!

Grandpa went out right. It was the right time and the right way. He was getting too old to keep driving, let alone keep kayaking the rapids. All he did was worry me the last six years of his life anyway. When thinking about my own children and grandchildren I think six years of stress would be sufficient.

But really, as great as it seems I wouldn’t have to die on Christmas Day. I’d settle for any holiday just as long as I have a few grandkids around to make my own children feel guilty for not spending enough time with me when I was an old maid. Just because they’ll have their own lives is no excuse for the inevitable neglect. Someone has to call them out, even if it’s in advance. Guilt is what makes a family go round. And if anyone should feel guilty, how is that my fault? We all have our share to carry. Some of us just choose to ignore it.

So as I was saying four paragraphs ago, Grandpa’s dead now, but in an attempt to find some kind of wisdom to pass on to my sons (who are turning 17, 16 and 15 this year) I’ve been looking back at his life. I think it’s my own way of dealing with the fact that I can’t call him up and ask, “So what the heck do I tell these hormonal punks?”

As it turns out, the life he lived is a gold mine of valuable information. Here is a tidbit of what I’ve told my sons: Be careful who you help out. Rescue a dog and you’ll have a faithful friend. Rescue a hooker and she’ll stab you in the back. The beautiful ones you always seem to lose.

Okay, that last line is actually from a Prince song but that doesn’t make it any less true. And this has nothing to do with Grandpa (or Prince) but I’ve also warned, “You’ll need a f**king army or a crazy bitch to stop one. Don’t call me!”

I guess in a few years they’ll already have learned this stuff on their own. Who ever listens to their parents, anyway? Oh... No… They’d better not call me!

Finally, I don’t want to get mushy or anything and you probably can’t read this but I’ll always love and miss you Grandpa. Thanks for everything.

2008 is over but the scandals aren't

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Thu, 01 Jan 2009 03:02:00 +0000

It wasn’t a horrible year as long as I kept myself from watching the news. Well, it’s nice to think back to happier times like the presidential race, especially when it finally ended. Come to think of it, this was one insane year and instead of going away the scandals are intensifying by the day. Everyone has a scandal going down. I predict an even crazier year for 2009. Just wait until Bush and Cheney finish their book. O.J. Simpson’s publisher signed them for a memoir entitled, “If We Did Do Any Cover-Ups, This Is How We’d Do Them.”

I think Illinois has the biggest scandal of the year next to that slut who wants us to believe she’s such a crack whore she lost track of her own kid for an entire month. I guess she didn’t realize her daughter was missing until her period came again, and no one was around to take a beating? Truth is, I was hoping the discovery of the body would prove someone else did it, so I could sit back and watch Nancy Grace’s show get cancelled.

I like to stand on the side of justice, but damn. The woman has been pounding this thing into the ground with the spurs on her boots. It takes the fun right out of channel-surfing. It’s gotten to the point that my 7-yr-old daughter wants to know why this is still news. When a girl who likes watching movies over and over says a TV show is too repetitive, that girl is probably right. Just once I’d like to hear Nancy Graceful say something in a non-accusatory manner that makes absolutely no sense at all. A few drinks before taping a show wouldn’t kill her. In fact, running away from the Anthony case altogether would probably add a few years to her life, or at least take a few off her face. I’m sure before the spackling begins it’s a scary sight. I’ll keep her in my prayers. Some day she’s bound to screw up.

So little time, so much to spew. This was supposed to be about Governor Blagojevich but the story gets richer by the hour. I just can’t keep up. One thing I can tell you is he isn’t hiding out in a cave somewhere in Illinois. I really thought by now, you know…

Even after hearing his name all over the news for weeks I still can’t say it correctly to save my life. I should be on a short bus, but fortunately there’s no room for me. They’re all filled to capacity with those “special” people who are working so hard for America. There’s an army of short buses in Washington. They outnumber the cabs 4 to 1. And one of them went to Minnesota, only to be parked there for nearly 2 months now. The driver is really fatigued. At this point he doesn’t care who is getting on the bus. The meter’s been running so long, all he can think is either Al Franken or Norm Coleman owes him a HUGE stack of quarters. I hope they’ll have enough left over, but after the lawyers take their cut, I don’t know.

What I do know? The short bus always has room for one more politician. They’re all retarded. I’m still waiting for the governor of Montana to make good use of our surplus and send us all a nice fat check for sticking around. That’s right. We should be compensated. All of those traitors who left for higher wages need to be taught a lesson.
Come on, Schweitzer. Doling out the surplus could be one of those heart-warming scandals you rarely hear about. Since we still have no sales tax (and I love you for that) you can’t deny this estimated $295 million dollar surplus was amassed mostly from:

· The thousands of gamblers who frequent their nearest video poker machines on a regular (daily) basis, conveniently located a block away from wherever they reside. They’re everywhere - in bars, gas stations, restaurants, public schools… Well, maybe not the schools yet. It’s really a shame, and a dark cloud hanging over the Native American culture. It’s killing them that they don’t have dibs on the casino cartel like they do in Minnesota. How rotten are we? It’s all dirty money I tell you. And I wouldn’t mind getting back some of what my ex threw away in 1999. In his defense he thought Prince was right and we wouldn’t live to see the year 2000.

· How about those underpaid state employees? Sure, compared to your average wage they’re raking it in. And they’re pretty much the only workers around who get health insurance and paid holidays off. The rest of us slave away for peanuts, and forget about insurance. On second thought they’re getting too much. Let’s cut out their benefits. If I have to date a doctor to get a free exam, so should they. Not that I ever have, but it’s a nice thought and kind of kinky.

· The property taxes are so high, you need to contact NASA to see how much you currently owe. You have to do this twice a year and get the latest satellite image of your bill because the thing keeps moving further and further away. Everyone pays late. Over the summer some rich asshole attempted to pull a friend’s house right out from underneath her. She came up with the money in time but damn, she’s lived in that house her entire life and almost lost it. Unbelievably, she’s a teacher. The lesson: If enough time has passed and you have some extra cash you can take a house away from a poor family. Isn’t that awesome? Well, that and teachers will always be poor.

If the surplus were divided equally among all residents we’d each get $295 dollars. I know. That’s $1,475 bucks I could take from my children. What? They get enough as it is! You should’ve seen Christmas this year. Since we’re inevitably headed for a depression, I wanted to give them some good memories to get them through the hard times at the orphanage.

Oh yeah. Happy New Year!

Merry Xmas from The Hoff and Sharon Osbourne

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Thu, 25 Dec 2008 02:44:00 +0000

Numero Uno, and that means first and forelymost, I ern’t drunk. Mm kay? If you ern’t drunk too, wave your finger in the air. C’mon! I’m doing it! Wave your finger in the air like you don’t… give a rubber duck. That doesn’t rhyme with finger but you know. That’s how you, you party without - erp! Esscuse me… won’t get dizzy. Sharon? Where’s Sharon? Oh, there you… hello. Minnie You. Let’s get somethin straight before we even get gone. Going. I’m the mothafockin Hoff. Man. Ladies. Sexy men who… girls? Here’s the thang. Poppy don’t drink. Poppy for sure don’t pop. Nothin. No time. And why would I do both for that flyin high the kids all… what? Why are we here? Hiccup! Right, and thank you Sharon. Twelve Steps of Xmas. A little ditty I wrote on the back of a bottle of… NO, a napkin one night. It smelled. Maybe me, NO. But… butt… ba-wa-ha-ha-ha-ha! Silence. I was thinking. No, pondering… the pain and suffering. In this… my own backyard. I like to call it’s a place I… to get deep. Call it… why candy stripe it, man? You know? It’s the world. My backyard. I’m… yawning. Sharon Osbourne, sing. Rest your shoulder under my head.

Ha-ha-ha! I mean, Ho-ho-ho! I’ve got shoulder pads on tonight so Honey we are set! Hoff, you look sooo delicious. I could lick Cool Whip off places without wearing a blindfold. Ooh! So edible! Studmuffin, I can’t sing like my babies. No one’s hung over, but I brought a choir. They’re going to sing the song the little elves in your head told you to write. I know all about those little buggers. I went through this at home just last week. Noo! It wasn’t me! Rest your head on my chair while they sing, Sweetie Pie. I’m off to find some Cool Whip. Tee-hee-hee! Come on, Minnie Me! Of course! Mommy knows how to share. Yes! You’ll get some licks in too!

The Twelve Steps of Xmas, written by The Hoff one night in a dry bar right after he watched The Santa Clause and didn’t hide anything in his pants that may have resembled a bottle.

In the first step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
The power to admit, my life is total shit.
In the second step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
Belief that the powers, will make me smell flowers
And admitting my life is still some shit.
In the third step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
The will to give myself, to Santa and his elf
Believing in his powers, looking for the flowers
And admitting life is some rotten shit.
In the fourth step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
The strength to search within, not the house for gin
The will to give myself, to Clause and his elf
Belief in the powers, still looking for the flowers
And admitting my life is hard core shit.
In the fifth step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
Orders to confess sin,

To Santa…

And to Tim
The strength to search within, not for tonic and gin
The urge to give myself, to Clause and that elf
Believing in my powers, to find pretty flowers
And admitting life is dumb stinky shit.
In the sixth step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
Elves with knives on top-a-me, doing a lobotomy
Confessing all my sin, to Santa and Tim
The will to look inside me, not to burp up whiskey
The sense to give myself, to Santy and that elf
Believing in my power, to pluck every flower
And acknowledging that life is shit.
In the seventh step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
I think it was some humbling, or maybe he was bumbling
Crazy elves on top-a-me, doing that lobotomy
Confessing my sins, to Santas and Tims
Sense to search inside, for the booze I never hide
Hiding myself, from that dirty little elf
Gathering my powers, plucking pretty flowers
And believing that life is f**king shit.
In the eighth step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
An obnoxiously long list, of everyone I dissed
Santa started mumbling, all the while still bumbling
After the lobotomy, elves were still on top-a-me
Talkin bout my sinnin, to anyone who’ll listen
Searchin for my G-spot, dreamin of booze I ain’t got
Running like hell, from evil little elves
Feeling up my powers, boozing up the flowers
And thinking life is total f**king shit.
In the ninth step of Xmas my Santa gave to me…
A chance to make amends, with all my rotten friends
Using that really long list, of everyone I dissed
Santa kept on bumbling, so we started rumbling
Wicked elves on top-a-me, trying hard to stop-a-me
Lost all track of my sins, started eating shark fins
Then bought a log cabin, to put my whiskey lab in
Welcoming my powers, f**king all the flowers
And believing life is the f**king shit.
In the tenth step of Xmas that Old Man gave to me…
SinBooks software that tracks, all of my sinful acts
So I can make amends, with all my asshat friends
And keep a running list, of every one I diss
We went back to rumbling, then we started tumbling
The elves couldn’t stop-a-me, and Santa was on top-a-me
Soon the elves got crushed, and then Santa was hushed
I went to the funeral, Santa had run outta Yule
He sued me for a million, now I’m back on the gin
Now I know life is nothing but shit.

In the eleventh step of Xmas that Asshole gave to me…
Twelve feet of snow, a lover who won’t blow
How did I write this song, it’s way too f**king long
I am done repeating, I’d rather puke while eating
All I know is life is f**king shit.
In the twelfth step of Xmas, Satan Claws gave me…
I can’t even remember, ern’t drunk rest of December
And I really have to take a shit.

How to deal with A-Holes and have a Happy Thanksgiving

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Thu, 27 Nov 2008 11:46:00 +0000

Whether your own family likes to give you hell or you’re bravely facing the in-laws, YOU are what really matters on this special day of stuffing face. And in a perfect world, we ALL have an absolutely wonderful holiday with everyone we love and nothing goes wrong and we all shit rainbows. Well, get over it! Last time I checked, my shit wasn’t multi-colored (it’s been a while). So if your heart fills with dread this time of year and you’re forced to deal with assholes, you have options. Depending on your personality there are a few ways you can go about this without technically killing anyone.

Option 1: Be the happy-go-lucky one.

This means you put your happy face on, no matter what kind of mine field you’re walking into. Use humor, silliness or stupidity to your advantage. No matter how awful your jokes are, as long as you’re smiling at least one person is guaranteed to not want to kill you. Befriend them! Unless they’re super self-absorbed or a total basket case they’ll defend you when the piranhas attack, even if your partner pretends you don’t exist. And you will be completely invisible to your partner at a family gathering at least once during your relationship, so it’s important to have some comrades around. You know, for when you offend those people without a sense of humor, or those who think they’re better than everyone else… Or the elderly. And you won’t walk out of there without offending someone, you goofy clown.

Option 2: Play deaf and dumb.

Maybe you can’t smile because the sun didn’t come out, someone is dragging you out by your heels, or you like to torture happy people. If you’re not feeling good vibes that’s perfectly OK. When the assholes come ‘round, play dumb. Block out anything that doesn’t bring you comfort or joy. And most importantly, keep your mouth shut! If you can’t resist interaction, do like the chimps do and make obvious gestures. When you are asked a question, shrug. When you’ve had enough and are on the verge of walking out, throw your hand up as if to say, Step off, bitch! There’s also a finger that works for that. On second thought, just stick to the deaf and dumb routine. And it works in any situation where you don’t want confrontation, you spineless mute.

Option 3: Be the biggest asshole.

Why take shit from any turkey? You’ve been a pushover far too long now. You’re sick of the headaches brought on every year by certain ass hats you wish you didn’t have to see, hear, touch or smell. And worst of all, you’ve been holding back. Well it’s time, my friend. It is finally your time. Use this gathering as an opportunity to tell everyone exactly how you feel about them. Hold back no more! Summon your inner-beast. Give them what they’re asking for. But take heed - to be successful you must be strong and loving toward yourself. In a pinch, a strong and loving companion will do. When the dust settles, you’ll be feared. You’ll be hated. Someone will want to kill you. But you are made of steel. Now, proudly and boldly go where the few who aren’t premenstrual dare. You can do this, you coldhearted asshole.

Oh yeah, I almost forgot… Happy Thanksgiving!

People are strange, and my celebrity twin

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Sat, 22 Nov 2008 09:30:00 +0000

About a week ago I learned something in a crowded room full of (mostly) strangers. People tended to be drawn to those who looked or seemed most like themselves. The few blondes in the room always sat together. The guys in plaid with baseball caps stopped talking whenever a man wearing a tie sat near them, or a female. Leather jacket people (unfortunately not the biker kind) had their own little group, and so on. I mostly sat next to Pat since I knew him, and there wasn’t time for idle chatter so it worked out. Talking to Pat is like talking to a rock.

He just can't do it.

When we took breaks the strange behavior continued as people congregated in the hallway, lounge and outside. For the most part people were polite. No one I spoke to ever snubbed me, except for one of the blondes. It was like I was invisible. In that moment I felt… so… black. Damn cracker.

Now here is the list of brave people who initiated conversation with me:

· The only Native American woman there, who sat next to me and sought me out on breaks. I was the only one she talked to and her bff that week. I’ll just say I know more about her family than I ever will about Pat’s. I don’t think he even has one.

· A red headed woman who thought I was funny, but then again, it could’ve been gas. You never know.

· When I was a few minutes late one morning a really spiffy and happy man said, “Hi! There’s an empty seat right here. Sit.”

Damn, I didn’t get his name or number.

· Pat said, “How about Perkins?” and “Let’s go to KFC,” and so on. He was definitely the bravest.

I’m a tough one to figure out thanks to my dark hair and peachy/pasty skin. Whenever someone meets me for the first time and tries to label me or guess my ethnicity they are usually wrong. The upside is being able to blend in just about anywhere. The downside is… Well, there really is no downside. When they are wrong I find it amusing. One time I’ll never forget was back when I was married and living in my husband’s home town. I’d just started making chicken-fried steak (which is the only thing I can cook well) and we were almost out of cooking oil so my husband went to the store. He returned with an old friend he had seen walking along the road carrying a 12 pack. I hadn’t even met this guy yet but here he was, at our dining room table waiting for dinner and drowning himself in his beer. They called me out of the kitchen. Right after we were introduced he blurted out, “You look like a Jew!”

I smiled and said nothing.

He turned to my husband. “She’s not Jewish?”

My husband just smiled and shook his head. Then his friend turned back to me, “You really look like you’re from Israel or sumthin’!”

To this day I’m still not sure if he was racist, ignorant or just thought I looked like Anne Frank.

Anne

Me

She's definitely my celebrity twin. Now if anyone needs me I’ll be hiding out in a house full of white kids.

The Shit List: Downtown Chain Restaurants

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Wed, 19 Nov 2008 08:52:00 +0000

I wanted to reserve this list for groups of people I really dislike, but bad management IS people and the root of the problem. And I’ve heard it’s not good to “stuff” your feelings. I never have a good bottle of booze handy anyway. I spent last week attending lectures so by Friday I was numb enough as it was. And all that sitting! I hate it when my butt cheeks fall asleep. It really wasn’t the place to stand up and shake it. The first day I was surprised to see some one I knew. Pat is extremely boring one-on-one and I was in physical pain trying to have a conversation with him, but he is a nice guy and no one likes to dine in public alone. Well, we don’t. We didn’t want to risk getting back late so after factoring in everything (traffic, parking, wait time, etc.) we had to have lunch downtown. Our places of choice were scattered around the outer edges of the city and we were stuck in the center. Math is never fun and was working against us.

When I’m in the largest city in the state I normally try to avoid downtown. Traffic stinks and the only place to catch a bite without messing with a meter is a chain restaurant, which you can find elsewhere. But now I have even more reasons. Pat didn’t know what to expect either so I can’t pin any of this on him. Hence the shit list. We went to a different place each day and they all sucked. These were the two worst.

We started off the week at Perkins. When our waitress came over I immediately recognized her. I used to work with her somewhere else and she looked exactly the same as she did ten years ago, from her hairstyle right down to her pregnant belly. Talk about deja vu. But wait, there’s more. She still has this cold and pissed off look like she will either pull out a gun or start balling if you ask how her day’s going. Don’t think this just comes with being a waitress and packing a fetus. She’s always had a way of making people uncomfortable, prego or not. Well, everyone has their skills. She also hates conversation unless it involves her complaining, so I was glad she stuck to her job. I was hungry so I ordered the ‘Everything Omelet’, which was a ten dollar omelet. Ten dollars! Everything Omelet! So I’m thinking I’ll be in omelet heaven. Was I wrong to assume that? Umm… After getting my omelet I couldn’t help but wonder where the rest of it was. Seriously, it looked like something a model would not only inhale but actually leave in her stomach. I was already put off, then I noticed the cheese on top wasn’t melted. The last time I got my food like that (A&W summer 2006) the entire thing was cold. Well, it was actually much worse. My chili dog was partially frozen. So was I wrong to assume my omelet would be a little coldish? Since it didn’t look frozen I dove right into it. I burned my tongue.

I had it coming. And I’m always this scary.

As you can see I’m wrong a lot of the majority of the time. And when I’m wrong I’m very, very wrong. And as if all that weren’t bad enough, while I was pretending not to be in pain I noticed another tight-lipped, snobby snot waitress who worked with me that same year. It wasn’t weird enough to see just one of these old sour puss co-workers, so here were two of them in the same damn place. And yet, after thinking it over I left a nice tip for the walking time bomb. Some day some one might get hurt.

The next day Pat was craving some kind of KFC bowl that had mashed potatoes, gravy, chicken and cheese all mixed together. I still don’t know what it’s called. For one, they didn’t have it up on the board. Two, he couldn’t remember the name. We stood there for a while as he looked for it, until an anorexic looking young woman with greasy hair and a depressed demeanor slowly came out of the darkness (maybe some bulbs had burned out). And the place was dark too. To be more specific, this girl looked like an emo 8th grader but was Addams Family creepy. The bad lighting didn’t help any. No, scratch that. If the lighting was any good we would’ve seen more creepy.

They always start with dolls

Pat described what he wanted and she rang it up. Although it sounded grotesque, like what a one-year-old does with his food right before he throws it on the floor, I knew Pat had some taste so I told the Addams girl I’d try it. Then she said we’d have to wait while they made the chicken. It was lunchtime at KFChicken and they weren’t ready for 2 measly orders? Great. It got worse though. We sauntered off to find a table and there were plenty of them. There were only 3 other people in the place which I thought was odd, at first. Then we went from table to table. We couldn’t find one that was clean. Not one! Every single table was dirty. Magnificent. Pat went from disgusted to determined to make it better somehow. He chose a small table with only a few crumbs and used a napkin to wipe it off. He was really hell bent on this chicken potpourri so I thought it had to be good. When it was ready we had to go back to the counter. Perkins prices but no waitresses in sight? Yes, I was pissed the bowl thing cost ten bucks. I know it’s all about location, but we weren’t in a frigging mall. Okay, I’ll admit the chicken/potato gumbowl was very tasty, but it shouldn’t take a Taser to get your employees to wipe tables or show some courtesy. And they should at least look like they might not be carving out the hearts of live chickens by candlelight in a back room. Oddly enough the rest room was clean, so if I’m ever in the neighborhood and need to pee or drop something off...

Barack isn't just Biden his time

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 13:35:00 +0000

It’s hard to believe it’s finally over. And I was surprised we had a clear winner on election night. No hanging cads, lawsuits, or turning to relatives who just happen to be governing a contested state. Jeb who? Exactly.

In fact, right after Obama won I had mentally prepared myself for the Republicans to come back with a big, “Oh no you didn’t!”

Thank God that didn’t happen. Everyone hates it when the rich try to act ghetto.

It was an exciting night, and refreshing to see so many happy faces on TV. Well, except for Oprah.

And Sarah Palin. For some reason I expected her to grab the mike after John McCain’s thoughtful speech and say, “It’s not over yet America. We haven’t even made it to the swimsuit competition!”

Maybe it was the tears in her eyes, I don’t know.

Now that we have a new President working in the wings and giving the world hope, I couldn’t help but notice this past week the minorities have been out and about. It’s cool that they’ve come out of hiding.

There is only one Asian guy in my town. Just one. Sad but true. Welcome to Central Montana. He is a friendly and nice guy and everyone likes him but he’s very soft spoken. So I couldn’t believe what I witnessed in the grocery store the other day. He was standing at the meat counter, literally yelling his order to the butcher, “Yes! Three pounds! Ground beef! Thank you very much!”

It’s heartwarming to see such confidence. I assume this is taking place all over America and Kenya. It’s too bad we can’t bottle up this morale, put a big bow on it, and give it to Bush as a going away present.

We could change Election Day to a month earlier

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 09:18:00 +0000

You’ll see what I mean by end of this post. But first a little background to my dad’s worst Halloween ever, which was just last Friday. He has a shed in his back yard that (except for a few days a year) is stuffed full of Halloween crap. But for years all he had in there was a dummy wearing a hockey mask in an electrocution chair (death row style) that’s rigged to look pretty awesome when it’s plugged in. After construction he and his friends nicknamed it “Sparky” for obvious reasons. When Dad was still in his “single and hating most women because of my mother” years, he and his friends took Sparky over to a family member’s house. And others would contribute, making it the most kickassingest Halloween display on that side of town. Then Dad got remarried, and his wife turned out to be the kind of one-woman-show who puts many to shame when it comes to making holidays spectacular. Well, almost everyone.

So she says.

And from that Halloween on, Dad and my step mom teamed up to make their property really freaky. Their house and yard became the most happenin’ place in the neighborhood. But this year they were more than slightly annoyed with some of the ghouls who stopped by. And after hearing all about it, here's what I now believe are the worst types of visitors (from least horrible to most horrific)…

The super obnoxious teenaged thief

This was not your average obnoxious 13-yr-old male teen who, for example, might tell you he’s taking your daughter to his grandmother’s for cookies when they plan on watching a movie together at his house. No, this is the super obnoxious bastard who tells you exactly where they are going while he’s got his arm around her (and she’s wearing a mini-skirt and giggling way too much). The ‘thief’ part is obvious. He’s going to steal her virginity. In this case Dad would’ve done the honorable thing and send him packing with his underwear hanging out of his pants, then tell his daughter to, “Put some damn clothes on.”

Anyway, this super obnoxious jerk arrived as you might expect, with all manners out the window. He didn’t even say “Trick or treat” before slamming his entire hand into the candy bowl in an attempt to take all he could. Well that wasn’t going to fly. Dad grabbed his hand and forced the punk to drop it all. My hope is this spoiled piece of butt waste will remember this and learn something, but I have an odd feeling he’ll be in kiddy jail soon. I wonder if that’s anything like the adult-jail variety? No? Damn.

The future gold digger

This was a 16-yr-old girl who was not only NOT dressed up as anything but a slut (like those weren’t her normal clothes) but she was also hauling two large gunny sacks like she had just robbed the nearest bank. One was already full of candy, the other half-full. To witness greed of this magnitude blew my dad’s mind, and under the special circumstances he was at a loss for what to do. You see, there’s a rule most men follow called the ‘girl rule’, which means whether they know it or not (usually not) they automatically treat females differently than males. This is always to the female’s advantage. My dad belongs to the group of men who follow the rule without realizing it. It’s why for years my brothers secretly hated us (but mostly our other two sisters).

As you can imagine, the future gold-digging bitch with her sacks full of candy took from the bowl with no shame, and got away without reprimand. Her punishment will come in a few years when she’s forced to pick up Viagra at the pharmacy for her 80-year-old husband and then (as if that weren’t bad enough) it dawns on her he is expecting some action. Either that or finds out after his death she was never mentioned in the will. I personally hope it’s the latter. And that it comes after ten years of picking up Viagra and suffering through the trauma that follows while waiting for him to bite the dust.

The political fanatics

These are the absolute worst kind of Halloween House crashers. At least with the drunks you can make up an address a mile or two away and tell them there’s lots of booze and ‘easy young booty’ there and get rid of them quickly. When I say ‘political fanatics’ I’m not talking about your typical supporters just leaving a few words to mull over before moving on to the next house. I’m talking about the nuts who see the most popular house in the neighborhood as the one to haunt. They stick around and become grade A repellent. When the decent people come along and hear them arguing they run away and make a mental note not to drop by this crazy place ever again. And this story was the one that surprised me. You’d think people would take a break from their political views and enjoy visiting their neighbor’s awesomely decorated yard? Doesn’t that sound better than wasting time trying to shove your ideals (and all sides have them) down another guy’s throat and pissing off everyone in the vicinity (including the host)?

Dad didn’t want to be rude as these were adults and not kids who might actually be taught a lesson. But he sure thought it was rude how these grown idiots decided to make his yard the place to debate. This was his yard, dammit! He eventually said, “Fock it,” and figured it was much less depressing giving candy to the greedy and impolite goblins and witches.

My holiday was just fine since I do very little decorating. Last year I made fun of the teens who came by trick-or-treating. I asked them if they liked being out with all of the little kids, and mentioned it was so sad they didn’t have a date for the Halloween dance. Needless to say, I didn't see them this year. Hillary Clinton once said, “It takes a village to kick a kid’s ass.” So true.

When I fill up I won't be thinking about Kucinich

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Mon, 03 Nov 2008 07:30:00 +0000

Dennis Kucinich came to me in a dream and said, “Look at these gas prices! Don’t you think it’s odd - the closer we get to Election Day the lower they go? Don’t you see what’s going on here?”

Then three gigantic men in shades, suit jackets and Speedos came out of nowhere and grabbed him. They slapped duct tape over his mouth, forced him into a straightjacket, threw him into the back of a van and took off so fast I could actually taste gravel. Yum. Then I awoke to my 3-month-old puppy licking my face and mouth. Needless to say, I felt like I got gypped. I was always under the impression, if a dog sucks your face while sleeping aren’t you supposed to dream it’s someone hot and horny, and not dirt hitting your face? Stupid dog. You sleep alone tonight.

The guys who hauled Kucinich off were wearing candy-striped Speedos, so does that make them gay or me gay (for having the dream)?

Isn't watching this after my daughters have left the room somehow okay?

It makes me a dimwit (and there are many layers here). I’m thinking no one in the gay community would be caught dead in candy stripes. Something tells me they’ve been trying to take out Richard Simmons for years, but he’s a sniper’s worst nightmare. (Stand still, dammit!)

This whole candy-striped thing has me in a tizzy. It really killed the sharp-dressed image my subconscious was trying to achieve with their suit jackets and dark sunglasses. So I think I should throw out the Disney movies and tell the girls the puppy chewed them into oblivion. Better yet, I’ll just put one in his food dish every day and call it redemption for loosening up my shoelaces (they always seem to unravel when I’m at work and on the stairs). Well, that and the chewed up internet cords (do they taste better than other cords?), making me scrub the carpet, and I can’t forget the unwanted face bath. I don’t know what’s worse - the fact that I’ve spent hundreds of dollars on Disney movies since my kids could see, or that my puppy chews on shoes and licks his balls before kissing me.

So that was one crazy dream/nightmare/make-out-session-with-my-dog. But concerning recent gas prices, I’d be the last one on earth to complain. They’ve been falling like they can’t get up. We went from $4.10/gal to $2.45 in what seemed like just a month. In fact, I’m getting excited right now wondering how low the price might possibly drop by Friday. I’m stuck with a gas hog at the moment, so for me, checking out the latest smoking hot price on the gas station sign has been just like a hot stud talking dirty to me.

Each time I drive by I wonder, Is today the day I’ll finally stop and let loose? I’ve still got enough to last another week, but I’m telling you, it’s taking all of my willpower to keep from hittin’ that. When I do prime the pump I want to make it worthwhile, so I’ll be filling up until it can’t take no more. And when I do give in to my desire, will I grab the pump slowly and savor the moment? Or will I rush right into it - stuff it in and squeal in delight with each gallon that enters my tank?

We’ll see. For now I’ll be holding out as long as possible. Nothing like letting the excitement build. But when I do it, I’m hoping everyone at the station will be inside the building or fighting in their trucks. I’d like a little privacy.

It's so hard to find a good doctor these days

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Thu, 30 Oct 2008 06:27:00 +0000

I went to the doctor and said, “At night I’m having trouble falling asleep, and stay awake long after the kids have gone to bed.”

“No problem. I can prescribe you some good sleeping pills,” he said.

“But there’s more,” I continued. “When I finally do fall asleep, I don’t want to wake up.”

The doctor interrupted a second time. “Sounds like depression, and if that’s the case, no worries. Nothing a good prescription won’t fix.”

“Wait, there’s more. When I get home from work and my sweet, darling children talk to me I feel a strong urge to grab a beer and take a long swig every time they say, ‘Mom’ or ‘Can you…’. If I actually followed through, in a couple of hours I’d be drunker than Amy Winehouse at a Sunday brunch.”

I sometimes wonder if it’s just her name. Maybe if she changed it to ‘Amy Straighthouse’ or ‘Amy Soberhouse’ it would help her image? Maybe at least help keep her from always looking totally trashed?

Nah.

He winced. “Sounds like you might have the drinking disease. Any alcoholism in your family?”

“No. None. Having lots of kids is the only thing that runs in my family.”

While he scratched his head, I continued describing my symptoms. “When we’re at the grocery store, I want to throw all of the frozen foods into my cart and totally empty out the freezer case.”

“Hunger?”

“No. ‘Cause then it would be easier to stuff my kids into the freezer case.”

“Oh.”

“Just until they begged for mercy,” I added.

He frowned. “It sounds like you’re having early symptoms of a disease called KCJB - Kidamage Caustrating Jellocious Braindeadeous.”

I let out a puzzled, “Hmm?”

He continued, “In plain English - Kids Causing Jellied Brain. It’s very real, and you should be very afraid. The more kids you have, the worse it will be for you in the end. And you’ve got like - let me see your chart - holy kidlets. Five. You should be crapping your pants. Right now. I wish I could tell you there’s a cure. But what I can tell you is, there’s no cure.”

I let out a stunned, “Huh?”

“Luckily, you do have some time left to enjoy life. Mainly in those precious hours you spend away from your children. But eventually your entire brain is going to turn to jelly. One big blob of jam that will be totally useless. If I had to guess, based on everything you’ve told me, I’d say it could happen in about five years. That’s not so bad. You’ll be 40 then, so your life will basically be over anyway.”

I let out a - nothing. Just dropped my jaw into my lap.

He continued, “I admire your gaping mouth. So I’ve been thinking. You know what? I can’t lie to you and say this disease is entirely incurable. There’s nothing wrong with being proactive, now that you know what fate lies ahead. So I’ll let you know - and this needs to be kept just between you and me - I’ll totally cover you, if you want to pull a Yates.”

“If I pull a what?!”

He continued, “Shh! Not so loud. I’m trying to help you here. Surely you’ve heard of that mother who drowned her five kids?”

“Um yeah, the psycho-mama. I don’t want to drown anyone. No offense.”

He put a finger to his chin and thought for a minute. “Well, seriously? You’re going to shoot that one down without any consideration? ‘Cause although you’d be in a hospital for the rest of your life, it would be a long life without jam for a brain. You’d retain your sanity. No one will know. You plead insanity, I’ll back you. I’ve got a doctor pal working with a certain defense lawyer, and my friend owes me some favors. Think about it.”

“No.”

“Oh well. I got it! How about an accident? Here’s a good one. It’s simple. Take the kids on a hunting trip. ‘Accidentally’ make them your target.”

“HELL no.”

“Um, alright. Too violent. Okay. I got it! Take them on a long drive into the mountains. ‘Accidentally’ lose them in the middle of nowhere. The wolves and bears should take good care of them. Worst case scenario: one makes it out alive. Two tops.”

I stood up to leave. “Thanks Doc, but I think the only real solution is to send the kids to live with their grandparents. After everything I’ve learned about KCJB today, I’m thinking it’s a good idea. It’s become pretty clear - Mom and Dad are already a couple of jam heads.”

The doctor’s eyes lit up.

“Great Scott! Now why didn’t I think of that?”

Hmm. He looks awfully familiar.

Twisted News: Obama's endorsements defy laws of nature

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Mon, 27 Oct 2008 03:04:00 +0000

It all started when Hillary Clinton, after fighting like mad for the Democratic nomination, came out at the convention with just as much fervor to concede and throw her weight behind Barack. When asked why she was so willing to discard her pride and step up for this shocking display of unity, she replied, “Any night I can piss off my husband is a good night.”

That same night Bill Clinton was overheard saying, “I love the guy. Why else would I be so supportive? I don’t need my wife to get a piece. Consider that when you’re in the voting booth.”

Another shocker was just last week when General Colin Powell, a Republican, came out of the closet on NBC’s ‘Meet The Press’ to endorse Barack. While speaking to Tom Brokaw off-camera, he said, “Back when I was for the war I was really against it, but it was the most popular mind-set. Do I regret it? Of course. After eight years of Bush in the White House, am I ashamed to call myself a Republican? Naturally. I just went out and a bought a blue hybrid, a blue beach house in the Bahamas, and a great set of books for my young grandchild based on the TV show, ‘Blue’s Clues’. I’ve even got bluebirds and a donkey in my backyard now.”

Then Tom said, “You’ve been privately supporting Barack for months now. Why wait so long to make it public?”

Powell replied, “Isn’t it obvious? It’s pretty clear he’s the most popular candidate.”

Fast forward to this weekend. The Anchorage Daily News is the state of Alaska’s largest newspaper. Unbelievably, it was reported on CNN and internet news sites that the newspaper has publicly endorsed Barack Obama. When asked why they weren’t supporting a McCain/Palin White House, they came out with this statement…

“We are grateful for everything our sweetheart, Governor Sarah Palin, has done for Alaska and its citizens. We would love nothing more than to support a ticket with a VP candidate who governs our great state, but…

Seriously? For real? You’re kidding, right?”

And the last we will report on (but not the least) is the man who came out to shock the world as one of Barack’s strongest supporters, Joe Biden. It was leaked he will be chosen as People Magazine’s next Sexiest Man Alive. The editors have fallen hard for him, and stated the following reasons for their choice.

“He swallowed his pride when he accepted Barack’s offering to become the VP candidate. In the past he’s ran for President not once, but twice. That is some ‘heart-melting humility’.”

“He survived a near-death experience when an angry McCain supporter broke into his house and clubbed him in the head with a baseball bat. That is some tough. And not long after that, America’s favorite gaff machine was back to display his ‘irresistible sense of humor’.”

“He is a ‘rock solid family man’ which makes him very appealing to the ladies. Any old white guy who can make a young black woman throw her panties with abandon is incredibly sexy.”

Twisted News: Palin's first news conference

noreply@blogger.com (Alicia Billings) — Thu, 23 Oct 2008 07:48:00 +0000

Sarah Palin may be leery of the media in general, but she was eager to take questions from many students in an elementary school gymnasium during what she thought would be a private session. This transcript is based on an audio recording, so there are no pictures. Aw, shucks.

Sarah: Hi, kids! Do you know who I am?

Girl: That lady from Saturday Night Live!? Can I please have your autograph?!

Sarah: I’m actually Sarah Palin, Governor of the great state of Alaska, as you’ve probably seen in The Simpsons Movie. I’m running for Vice President alongside John McCain. I’ll be signing autographs when we’re done here and you’ll be the very first to get one!

Girl: Uh, no thanks.

Boy: You were in The Simpsons Movie?

Sarah: Almost, but not quite. What I meant was Alaska is the state Homer Simpson ran to when his family was in hiding. Did you see me wink just now?

Girl: Why did you come to our school? We’re just kids.

Sarah: Well you may just be children, but I believe you are our future, so if we teach you well- oh wait, you’ll probably recognize those lines from School of Rock. Truth is - I needed a little break from being around grown-ups, and I was in the neighborhood, and your principal is a republican. So I’m here today, just to talk to you all and give you a sense of who I am, and hopefully you’ll go home and tell your parents about the nice lady running for Vice President. Does that sound cool, or what?

Cricket: Chirp-chirp.

Sarah: John McCain will become our next president if we are so blessed, and I hope you’ll think of us as the angels we are. We’re here to protect you from all of the evils out there and fight them while we reign supreme in the justice and liberties of which shall be determined should be held sacred, and other good and safe things like that. I even brought flag tattoos for all of you, which I recommend wearing proudly on your foreheads. Does staying safe sound good to you kids?

(Could be a) Boy or girl: My mom already taught me about ‘stranger danger’. Will we get candy if you win?

Sarah: Of course, and I’m glad you asked that question. Part of our economic plan includes distributing candy to every family in America. But it will have to be fair, so the rich families will get more candy than the poor ones. You see kids, poor families will be happy with whatever they get!

Boy or girl: Mom said not to take candy from strangers. Now I’m scared.

Sarah: Um, next question?

Girl: Who is Joe the Plumber? And Joe Six-Pack? Are they the same guy?

Sarah: I see some one here has been paying attention to my speeches!

Girl: Actually, I heard my grandma (who has Alzheimer’s) telling my mom that you talk about them a lot but it’s just a gimmick. Is that true? ‘Cause my grandma is kind of nuts.

Sarah: Hmm. Well let me tell you, Joe the Plumber is just as important as Bob the Builder. Can he fix it? Yes he can! Can he plumb it? You betcha! Joe Six-Pack is better than Joe Camel. And a Nobama is better than an Obama. No gimmicks here kids, just the facts. And I’m so sorry about your grandma. Under John McCain’s health care plan your family can put that money to good use, ensuring your grandma is always kept far away from you. Seedy caretakers are better than none, Hon!

Boy: Can you really see Russia from your house? My big sister pretends to be you when she says it, but then she laughs, so I’m confused.

Sarah: Well here’s a little secret. If I go way up on the roof of my mansion and use a really high-powered telescope, then yes I can see Russia. Yes I can! So you tell your sister that, and you can also tell her she’s not getting any candy.

Girl: I saw you on TV with Katie Couric. Did you watch yourself?

Sarah: Now I’m curious, Sweetie. Why would you ask that?

Girl: ‘Cause if I ever got on TV I would want to watch myself, so I just wanted to know if you watched yourself. Why else?

Sarah: Well, the answer to that is a firm NO. First of all, I’d much rather stick to my line- er, talking points than veer off course and talk to any mean gotch-ya journalists out there. And to tell ya the truth, I knew when it was over it would just be a side note in our campaign. I have more important things to do than watch myself on TV, like focus on winning by saying whatever I can about our opponent on the campaign trail, and making sure my good name is kept good back home in Alaska. And I will continue in this fashion to keep things relevant because I love my America.

(Another) Boy or girl: What are gotch-ya journ-lists?

Sarah: I’m glad you asked! Gotch-ya journalists are reporters who ask trick questions to get you to say something they can pick apart and say mean things about. You know what bullies are, right? Well that’s what they are. Mean school yard bullies with a lust for the taste of blood. Sometimes they give you something funny to drink before you even get started. Well, I’ll just come right out and say it ‘cause I like to talk straight. Kids, the media and news people out there are evil. Well, all of them except Rush Limbaugh. They don’t like me because I’m angelic and good. That not only makes me better than them, but also secures my place in heaven as they sink to the depths of hell. And some day, they’ll beg for mercy as I file my nails and watch reruns of Walker: Texas Ranger with John McCain in The Situation Room. So you kids need not worry. We know how to keep you safe.

Boy: Are you saying Barack Obama can’t keep us safe?

Sarah: You’d have to ask him that question yourself, but I really don’t think he’s coming here! And I won’t say you should fear him, but I’d better let you know - if you look anything like Osama Bin Laden, he’ll shoot you dead.

Boy: Didn’t you say he is pals with terrorists?

Sarah: No, I said he pals around with terrorists. There’s a difference. So when you go to sleep at night, imagine John McCain and I floating over your house. We’re just a couple of angels sent here to reprogram your thoughts in goodness to protect you from harm, is all. But now it’s time to wrap this up. I’ve got to get back to the pumpin’, stumpin’ and tub thumpin’. Just one more question.

Girl: Do you have any advice for us girls when we grow up?

Sarah: Girls, this is important. I want you all to be winners, so you’ll have to trust me on this one. You just can’t go wrong if you find a rich, old man.