If you want to write a comedy these days, it’s a good idea to use four guys and make sure at least one of them is fat. We love fat guys. I don’t need to explain much more. Just look at these pics.

Okay, Grownups has five guys. But Chris Rock is actually the wife in his marriage. So, whatever.

Oh, I left one out. King of the Hill.

In this case, The Man Who Would Be King of Capitol Hill.

Everybody knows that the only one worth voting for is Newt Gingrich, but everyone is afraid to say it. Which means that Guy Smiley is going to be the nominee. Which means that I’m writing in Phil McKootchee, if I vote. Or Buster Heiman, if I’m drunk.

Topic; words, friends, games, puzzles, puzzle games, word games, gamey friends, wordy friends and puzzling friends. Games, puzzles, friends, words, sports, muscle cars, smart phones and 50% all of consumer products purchased since 1970 exist for one singular purpose, showing off. There is only one conceivable reason for a male human to don spiked shoes, tight pants and plastic headgear specifically designed to prevent his brain matter from bouncing off the interior walls of a thickened calcium-based bowl, then exuberantly participate in an activity which will quite likely cause him to bounce his brain matter off the walls of said thickened calcium-based bowl. The reason: it could possibly impress a female human. There are examples of the finer sex engaging in potentially harmful activities for the same purpose but they are beyond my simple comprehension, so I’ll invoke silence.

The point? No point, just words.

For obvious reasons never say “I think not.”
Why would somebody named Richard want to be called Dick? Everyone wants to be Rich, who wants to be a Dick?
Why is Charlie short for Charles it’s the same number of letters and syllables?
The phrase “World Wide Web” has three syllables yet “www” has nine, weird.
I keep trying to create new words but they are all very very dirty L
Punctuation marks are the smirks, winks and middle fingers of the written word.
The semicolon is the Chuck Norris of punctuation marks.
Less groceries and fewer items, get it right idiots at Price Chopper.
You’ll further your physical fitness if you run farther get it right idiots at Nike.
New Balance rules!
If this is lame, I’m writing it ironically.
There are advantages to being invisible to 26 year old women, you can stare at them for a really long time before they notice.
76% of all statistics are made up on the spot, just like this one.

Three of those were, wholly or in part, stolen. If you can figure out which ones, pat your self on the back because I won’t.

HOOT

As a Roman Catholic, I am mortally offended that my Blue Cross policy covers breast reconstruction in the event that Jesus takes one or both of my breasts with cancer. This sexist, over-reaching policy is repressive to my religious belief that my breasts are naughty. The next president had better stop this assault on my religious beliefs and on my boobies.

President Obama has been getting his hands inside my shirt and my panties for too long. Pretty soon, I’m going to start to get a little tired of it.

My panties! Yes! The president’s new health care law requires that health insurance has to cover birth control which is against my belief, too. Birth control is associated with the same area as my panties, in case you didn’t know. The president is repressing my beliefs by inserting his massive, over-reaching law into my panties.

I’m trying to be open-minded, here. I know that contraception makes people healthier and makes health insurance less expensive. And I don’t know where I’m supposed to find insurance that DOESN’T cover contraception. Maybe Iran. I’ll look into it.

But I’m still being repressed.

I’m an open-minded person. I think. I know that I don’t have to take contraceptives just because my insurance policy makes them available. But that doesn’t matter.

I still feel terribly violated.

And repressed.

I ought to be kicked right square in the onions for going so political these days. It’s too easy. I promise someday I will get back to real humor.

Today’s video was intended to be just a snapshot with speech ballons, but it took only a couple of hours to voice and animate this. And it’s actually kind of funny this way. I was going to have the president offer Governor Brewer a bottle of Midol, but Tessa said that was sexist. She said that a burrito would be better.

I go, “Yeah, racism works better there. Obviously.”

I don’t know what I’d do without her.

On another note. I haven’t forgotten about making the audio fiction library available. I have uploaded my recording of The Catcher in the Rye, but so far WordPress doesn’t like serving it. I’m looking into players that will do the job.

But I’m not looking very hard because the weather is so nice in Kansas that I’m actually getting the garden and vineyard ready for spring.

Between the story problems in Sean’s algebra homework this week and the South Carolina primary yesterday, I ended up having the following dream last night:

Mitt Romney’s weight is a three-digit number, the sum of whose digits equals nine. The second digit is three times the third digit, and the third digit is twice the first digit. (This isn’t a joke, yet. This is still just a math problem.) This three-digit number is 99 less than the three-digit number it makes with its digits reversed. The reverse of the digits of Mitt Romney’s weight yields a three-digit number that equals Newt Gingrich’s weight. Write a system of equations that represents these two three-digit numbers. HINT: The middle digit is the same (that’s kind of a joke).

SOLUTION:

A possible system of equations might look like this.

x + y + z = 9

100x + 10y + z + 99 = 100Z + 10y + x

z = 2x

y = 3z

But you don’t really need all that bullshit (kind of like a campaign speech). You can guess that Mitt Romney’s weight probably starts with a 1, so let x=1. If z is twice x, then z=2. If y is three times z, then y=6

Mitt’s weight: 162

Add 99

Newt’s weight: 261

This isn’t the correct mathematical approach, but who cares? After all, this is The Rest of the Story Problem.

EXTRA CREDIT BONUS QUESTION:

If Newt Gingrich had an open marriage and still won the Republican nomination and Mitt Romney remained faithful to his wife and lost the nomination, how many wives will Mitt Romney get in Mormon heaven as a consolation prize?

A. 40 (because it sounds scriptural)
B. All of Newt’s exes.
C. None, stupid. Mormons don’t go to heaven.
D. None. Mormons get cookies and punch in heaven. Don’t you watch “South Park”?

I stole that line from Jenny, my adopted blogging godmother even though I’m older than she. I’m actually rebelling against her because she says that online piracy is not sexy.

I’m just proving her wrong like any male child would do. I still love her unconditionally even though she didn’t ask me to be her bodyguard while she’s in New York this week. I wasn’t available, but it would have been nice to be asked.

As for evidence to support my title for today’s column. Here it is:

It’s just my Sarah Palin video from back in October where she’s singing the heavy metal song “17″ by Winger. It’s one of my first animation jobs, and it isn’t very good. If you’ve seen it, don’t bother. If you haven’t seen it, it’s very sexy.

When I first posted it, YouTube had a shit fit saying that they were going to put ads on it without my permission because I didn’t own the song. I’m like, “Cool!” Frankly, I don’t give a naked nun if they put up ads. I’m flattered they even noticed.

That should be the answer to online piracy. You use something somebody else owns, they get rights to your work. That’s why, when I post a video, I make sure my website name is in there in a way that is very difficult to remove. Steal away.

Seriously, I know this isn’t the final word on the issue. I haven’t given it much thought. I’m too busy trying to think up my own stuff.

Now, we say “limited cognitive functioning.” I’m not going to say “intellectual disability.” You don’t get Aristotle and Aquinas jammed down your throat as much as we did and let someone get away with “intellectual disability.” Not without a fight.

Still. Might as well face it. I’m fucking retarded.

I’m watching Captain America. Got no idea what the fuck is going on. It’s like half over, and I still got no idea what’s going on.

I go to the kitchen to pour me a coffee. I pour half a cup right on my dick. Swear to God. I’m not fit to live.

I concentrate on the movie.

He’s like a super soldier. I get that.

It’s almost over. I think he’s still alive. He looks like all the others. Except for that stupid shield.

These Nazis keep chomping on cyanide in this movie. Where the hell do they get that stuff?

I hate being retarded.

I love Grover. You know what I mean. When Grover sees Kermit and says, “Hey, Froggy, Baby!” and comes running up and slugs the nuclear shit out of Kermit right on the back. I like that.

I can relate to that. Crap! I just used the word relate when I meant “understand.” I should be beaten with something made of iron.

I’m going to bed. But I’m going to pray first. Please, Lord, don’t let me wake up. Please let the dogs eat me in my sleep.

I love you so much. Amen.

This is not a fiction blog. I don’t even consider myself a fiction writer, even though I’ve written four novels. Maybe five. Depends on what you call a novel. If a novel is a book that makes people cry, then I know I’ve written one. It’s titled Who Made You?. Stole the title from an AC/DC song, but it’s not about heavy metal or anything. It’s about incest and war and fucking and babies. It’s my second favorite.

My fiction is all true. Even the incest. I know it’s true because I’m in every book. I’m a doctor addicted to Demerol in one. In another, I’m a black man in prison. A long time ago, I was a gay cop who gets caught by his wife while getting fucked by another guy. It’s a nice, clean gay sex scene. Nothing disgusting and no foodstuffs involved. Just plain man-to-man sex, the way God intended.

My sex scenes are usually short because sex is a stupid thing to write about. You want to read extended sex scenes, read Keats. Endymion is a forty-page wet dream. But it’s about ideal love. Not real love. So, it’s not really fiction.

I feel stupid when I write about sex, so I keep it short. The best way to keep a sex scene short is to make it realistic. This is easy if it’s two guys. It’s harder if there’s a woman involved. The women in fictional sex always make it take forever. You can stop this by making the Christmas tree fall on them or something. That always abbreviates sex.

Don’t worry. I’m not going to try to publish my goddamn books here or try to sell them. Unless a publisher thinks they’re worth selling, I’m not putting anything out there.

The reason I’m writing this is that I intend to start another mp3 library on this site. It’s going to contain real fiction. Good fiction. And it’s going to be read by me. I do this sometimes. Years ago, I recorded The Catcher in the Rye. I’m just going to put that up there. I suppose Salinger’s estate owns the copyright or something, but I’m going to do it anyway. Let them sue me. I’m also going to put up Poe’s “The Raven”. Then I’ll do Of Mice and Men.

Another project is Uncle Tom’s Cabin. The ignorance about that book floored me. Blacks were calling other blacks “Uncle Tom”s a few years back. It was intended to accuse someone of sucking up to whites. Jeezus-apeshit-Christ! Uncle Tom was beaten to death for refusing to follow an order. The order was to beat his fellow slave. There! I just ruined the fucking book for you. If you ever hear some miserable prick call someone an “Uncle Tom”, just tell him that. Anyway, I’ll put UTC up there, eventually, too.

These mp3s will be downloadable and free. I just want to share my favorites with all of you. I won’t be putting up any Shakespeare. I can’t do it. And it’s all available pretty cheap anyway and done by real actors.

If your friends need you, and you haven’t posted your scheduled article for the day, please screw the article. You’re the boss. That’s what we did yesterday. A friend was under the weather, so we went over there and Tessa offered comfort while I did housework.

Absolutely, totally worth it.

I was animating a cartoon which I was never going to finish by yesterday anyway. There’s a point toward the end of an animation production where it’s all just manual labor. I was at that point yesterday, and needed only a few hours to finish it. It will almost finish itself at that point, so I knew it could wait a day.

As promised, Sunny’s eyes blink on this feature. AND (I love this part) I actually recruited a real female woman of the opposite sex to voice Sarah Palin this time. Yes, it’s Tessa, and this whole bit was pretty much her idea.

By the way, because of the miracle of audio editing, this really does not sound much like Tessa at all. She wanted me to emphasize that point because she sounds like such a goober. And Tessa’s lung capacity is less than a fourth of normal. In order to do Sarah, Tessa is actually screaming at the top of her lungs here. I also lowered the pitch and took out a hundred or more pauses for breath.

For the record, Tessa is a Democrat, and I’m a Republican. We are quite seriously involved in Kansas politics and have been so for several years. However, in this household, presidential politics are sheer comedic entertainment. We wish for all our fellow countrymen to experience this same perennial enjoyment that we have.

One more thing. These remarks by Sarah are not hyperbole. Not entirely. I’m going to embed the video that Tessa was watching when she got this idea. If you care to watch, you will notice that much of our cartoon is either directly quoting or very closely paraphrasing everything she said.

I just can’t believe Sarah is still this damn funny.

.

Charlie has been chewing up iPod ear buds at the rate of about three pair per week. Tessa has ordered a new six-pack of ear buds that is being delivered by a lame panda from south China, so they haven’t arrived yet. That is why Charlie had to attack my awesome JVC headphones that I always hung lovingly in a special place at my work station.

These were special headphones. They preserved our home and saved our relationship. Much of my day involves sound editing. I have been editing sound for years. Music is bad enough, but the cartoons lately would have made Tessa run over me. If you view one of my cartoons, be assured that I have heard it in two-second increments at least a hundred times before you view it.

So, when we came back from the drugstore yesterday and saw my beloved headphones reduced to plastic gravel on the dog bed, I surged with mortal rage. My fingers were just closing around Charlie’s neck when I heard DJ’s voice.

I had used those very headphones to edit five albums for a recording artist here in Topeka named Dennis “DJ” Jackson. DJ was a great dog lover. His greatest song was about his service dogs Aubie and Satin. And, of course, Jesus. He even made you think about Jesus when he covered a Rod Stewart song or something.

Those were, in fact, the very headphones that DJ wore when he laid down the tracks for his greatest song. When you listen to the song, all the parts are done by DJ– the guitar, the bass, the vocals, the harmony. I heard DJ’s voice telling me, “Look, pal. Those phones are replaceable.”

“But they were so awesome,” I’m thinking.

“Fuck you,” he would say. “Tessa loves that fucking dog.”

Oh, and another thing. DJ had Tourettes. He was a nurse by profession, but a stroke in 1990 had left him with Tourettes and minimal ability to walk. His shows were never more than an hour because the ticks would kick in, and he was done. But he could play and sing beautifully. About God or cars or just about anything.

DJ got his time in in May 2010. He was a civil rights advocate for disability issues and for the Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual,and Transgender community. When you click the blue button and listen to his song, you will think he must have been a giant of a man. Actually, he was five-foot-four and weighed about a buck and a quarter soaking wet. He was born with many birth defects that left his sex up to a coin toss. His parents decided to make him a boy, so his testicles stayed and lowered his voice. Yet, he lived as a woman with his back-up singer Donna in his final years– still singing with a male voice.

That’s another thing I will be contemplating as we hear from presidential wannabes who speak of homosexuality and transexuals as sinful. I wish they could hear DJ’s music. I’ve never known a person with a more intact relationship with the same God his condemnors worship.

• Click this space to hear DJ singing “Jesus, Aubie, Satin, and Me”.

Here are the lyrics to the recording. The title is “Jesus, Aubie, Satin, and Me.” But DJ’s fans referred to this song as “One Good Day.” (If you can’t play it in your browser, it should be available at the iTunes podcast in the right sidebar within a few hours of this posting. If it’s not there right away, give it time.)

Woke up this mornin’ to a sunshine day.
Got up and got ready, headed on my way.
Grabbed my dog and my wheel chair.
Then I stopped and prayed.
Said, “Lord, please, Lord, won’t You gimme just one good day.”

Just one good day. That’s all I need.
One good day for eternity.
Walkin’ with my Savior
Runnin’ wild and free.
If You really wanna gimme what I want, gimme one good day.

Sometimes I feel like I just can’t win,
And I’m never gonna leave this body I’m in.
Yeah, but I believe in Jesus.
He understands my pain.
Yeah, someday soon, He’s gonna give me just one good day.

Some day, some mornin’, gonna wake and find
That I don’t need this wheel chair
And that I have a sane mind.
I’ll be jammin’ with Jesus
We’ll make those guitars ring.
Hey, then Jesus, Aubie, Satin, and me
Will have a real good day.