Highlighting a golddigger who is brainless to boot

So many fine candidates for this one...the Worlds Ugliest Trophy Wives (aka the Kardashians...wow, talk about some mirror crackers!), the Worlds Most Vacuous Hotel Heiress (Aka French City Hilton...take that how you like), Congress, etc.


But ultimately we come to a person who may have a point...to start with...but quickly degenerates into someone who makes Octomom look like a raging intellectual on par with Albert Einstein.

I speak, of course, of Curtis's female progenitor.

Short version: she alleges her child was slapped by a teacher.

If true...and there is not much debate of the validity...but if true, this is the sort of unacceptable behavior that should be dealt with swiftly with no mincing words. Slapping is not discipline, nor is it within the realm of being justifiable, particularly in a teacher-student relationship.

Teacher-boyfriend role play may be a different story...again, I leave that to you, gentle reader, in the privacy of your home.

But in a teacher-pupil relationship...an absolute and total no-no.

Unfortunately, the demands the mother then sets forth strain the bands of credulity. Check out the letter here.


I love some of them...the 21 day all expenses, 5-star hotel tour of Africa. The concert tickets, new car of her choice, orchestra and lessons for each, having all her utilities paid for the next 9 years, job consulting for 15K a month...for those of you with poor math skills, 180,000/year...

Later, it turns out for anyone to talk to her about it requires a 3k/half hour "appearance fee" for her, and the same for her husband, who must be present...and this fee, PLUS 1K/page apply for written correspondence.

No, I did not type that with a straight face.

Not only that, her trademarked son's name, her name, and her fathers name require a fee to be used in court documents.

By page 28 she is openly demonstrating her own racism that combines with her greed to create one of the most hilarious and simultaneously pathetic documents in recent history.

But page 31 might have the kicker:

"No H.A.A.R.P signal towards KMCO school district neighborhoods and schools to make us confused, crazy, stupid or otherwise alter our brainwaves - ever."

Uh, open memo to the author of that letter...too late.

Things like this put me in a quandary. There are entirely too many people creating racism out of nothing. Like LeBron James claiming the reason people dislike him leaving the Cavaliers for the Heat is because he is not white.

Open memo to LeBron; the reason some of us hate the move is because A) Cleveland has suffered a long time and it would be nice to see a winner, B) you are on tape swearing to bring a Championship to Cleveland before you left, C) the self-centered drivel that was your "The Decision" prime time special was clueless, classless, and dirty, and D) the WAY you left Cleveland, hanging them out to dry, announcing it to everyone else before them...classless and dirty.

William Rhoden, even the TITLE of your book, Forty Million Dollar Slaves, is offensive.

Jesse Jackson has become a punch line because of how out there he has gotten.

Oh, and lest we forget...Barry Bonds, the reason some people dislike you having the home run record has nothing to do with the quantity of melanin your body contains and a lot to do with your antisocial behavior and cheating.

So the female elder of Curtis managed to do something I did not think possible...appreciate the intelligence of Paris Hilton, Jessica Simpson, Britney Spears, the Kardashians, Tila Tequila, Bret Michaels, Al Franken, Palin, Biden, Bush, Jesse Ventura, and a host of others I have long considered the epitome of bad jokes.

Thanks for nothing.

Behold the power of cheese

We have all been there, so do not sit there acting all superior. This could have been you.

A fine meal at the restaurant. One can only assume much cheese was consumed, as cheese is wont to be at the dining of seafood.*

The problem is...no matter how good the food,Carolee Bildsten simply did not wish to pay. So she departed Joe's Crab Shack without exchanging representations of value for goods and services received.

This is sometimes known as the dine and dash or, by those of us with integrity, as being the south end of a north bound mule. Also known as theft.

There is not a lot to do in Gurnee, Illinois, so Joe's Crab Shack called the police who went to consult with the wayward Bildsten regarding procuring legal tender for the experience experienced in her recent past.

And here is where all of us must identify with Bildsten, who simply did what any reasonable person would do when requested to pay for a seafood meal devoid of cheese-like offerings. Why, if rumor has it, there was not even any cheese-whiz!

When asked to complete the transaction entered when she requested specific items from the menu, Bildsten responded as I am sure most of us would...by assaulting the officer with "a rigid feminine pleasure device."


And you thought Joes CRAB Shack was merely the name of the restaurant, not an advertisement of what could be found within...

*Really? I eat a fair amount of seafood and can pretty much count on zero fingers the number of foods in that department that have had cheese in them. But it is your post...you tell us.

Parking Lot Genius Patrol

having decided I am too healthy, I headed off to the McArches to get some McFood of dubious (prior word applies to next several) origin, consistency, nutritional value and quality...but food I McEnjoy nonetheless.

As I sat there at the drive through window, I was able to watch a comedy of epic proportions.

They have about 8 parking spots pretty close to the front door. One guy had scored the second closest space and decided to open his door wide while he fiddled around with something in the passenger seat, thus preventing anyone from using the empty space next to him.

(Genius number one. Also a jerk, a selfish, oblivious nincompoop of Congressional proportions.)

Along comes some middle age woman in a Mercedes. Never mind why someone in an expensive auto such as that would select the McArches when there are numerous other, more nutritional, healthier choices...mamacita wanted her grease.

Well, two spots further from the door was an empty spot. But that was too far to walk. After all, walking the space of 2 car hoods is what...8 steps? So she pulled ahead and waited for Genius number 1 to realize she was there.

Genius number two...a self-important, pretentious, and let us not forget lazy, middle age woman.

So Genius number two sits there glaring bullets at oblivious genius one for...I don't know, 45 seconds? while he continued sitting there with his door as open as it could possibly be.

After quite some time...long enough for her to have parked in the first open spot she came to and made her way all the way into the store, by the way...he realizes with a start she is there.

He starts to shut the door, she starts to pull in...and he realizes his leg is still outside the car. She has to jamb on the brakes.

Yes...in a parking lot where she has been at a dead stop for the better part of a minute, where the max speed she could reach if she drove a Ferrari and stomped on the gas might reach 8 mph in that space...she has to jamb on the brakes.

I am laughing so hard I cannot even reach up to take my bag of empty calories from the window server.

She looks up to see what I am laughing at and has to duck her head back inside so they do not see her laughing. I, not constrained by workplace responsibilities, make no secret of my mirth at their genius ways.

So the guy yanks his leg in, backs out as quick as he can, nearly clocking a bypassing car, and speeds off.

Genius number 2, obviously shaken by the experience, pulls in at such an odd angle that her rear tire is on one yellow line, her front tire on the other yellow line.

As she gets out, I am thinking the only way this could get any better is if she forgets something in the car and has to retrace her steps, thus losing every bit of ground she gained by waiting for the 'closer" parking space.

I am wrong. It gets better. Without her going back.

This woman, ostensibly late 50s or early 60s, climbs out of her Mercedes. And I bury my head in the steering wheel with great, shaking heaves of laughter.

She is wearing jeans with...what do you call it, pegged jeans? Where instead of getting pants that fit, you get them too long and so roll them up?

No offense to those of you who wear these...but that is a complete tool move.

Well, okay...some offense, but then again, I am offended looking at them. Grow up.

Of course, that would be bad enough...just wearing more make-up than Jezebel, too lazy too walk 8 extra steps, going all Mario Andretti in a parking lot from 6 feet away, and being a matron wearing a teen-age bad taste fashion.


But the reason I almost had to turn off my car in the drive-thru of McNutrition was HOW she pegged them.

To about 2" below the knees. Oh, how I wish I had my camera with me!

I need a volunteer

You see, there is a real problem developing.

An event I have planned for nearly a year is here.

I have planned my strategy. Adjusted it. Altered it, tweaked it, perfected it.

I know the moves to make, the order to make them in. the plan is perfect.

I shall blow well past the efforts of last year and the year before.

The problem is...my partner in crime is in Washington DC with no current plans to return in time to partake.

Whatever will I do? The world will be a much inferior place if I cannot top last years 10 plate shrimp feast... so who is up for shrimpfest 2010?

Aaaahhhh....must be true love

Many people feel the need to "spice up" their intimate moments. There seem to be many ways to do this, but Amy Ricks may have found the best one.

She put a blindfold on her husband. Okay, with you so far...anticipation, suspense, these can be useful tools.

She promised him a surprise. That is also good. Surprises, freshness, and continuing the theme of building anticipation.


And there is little doubt she was accurate in promising him a surprise. Who knows what he expected. It could be many things from gently scented candle aromas wafting through the room to...well, other things.

And she did deliver a surprise.

Which makes you wonder why she plead guilty to a second degree felony? Since when is it illegal to use circumstances like that to hit your husband in the head with a hammer a few times?

Genius for hire...a few states away

Cesar Lopez is probably an all right guy I suppose. Not the sharpest tool in the shed, of course, but a nice enough guy. He just did not realize what game they were playing.

Remember that card game where you put a card on your head so everyone but you can see it, and then everyone...each of the others doing the same thing...guesses who has the highest ranked card?

THAT is the game Lopez thought they were playing. But he lost his, uh...card. Took off his ball cap, looking for it. Worried.

Of course, if he lived in Denver, he need not have worried. He might have had a job writing about the quality of his card. Who knows?

The point is, if you lose your card...and a cop sees it stuck to your forehead...and you do not have a license for that baggie of marijuana stuck to your forehead...you might get in trouble, just like Lopez.

The sad part? Denver is looking for someone to review the stuff...

(By the way, kind of makes you rethink the brilliance of my "HIGHEST ranked card crack, eh?)

"And he advised others not to try the same thing"

Young people are sometimes...well..stupid. They do and say things they might regret at a later time.

This is one reason I always thought the inquisition of William Clinton was churlish and pointless. Did he partake of marijuana while a college student at a time when significant portions of the population were doing the same?

Much like "And?" is the correct answer to accusations of politicians doing wrong, the correct answer was not, "I did not inhale" but rather, "I did many things in my youth that age and wisdom have led me to a point where I would not repeat those actions."

For example, what if you were the guy who mooned a train, got your pants stuck, got dragged 200 feet, arrested, charged, and will face fines and lawsuits for coin of the realm far beyond what you are likely to possess..what would you do?

"...he advised others not to try the same thing..."



Really? That is shocking advice...





Oh, speaking of advice....if you go to that link, watch your eyes.

Guess I should have told you sooner...

Sometimes I do not even know where to start

Squirrels are fun. Apart from being a nice sub-plot in Up they also give great fun by luring Bella out barking into the yard even though they know she has no chance of catching them...she probably knows, too, but it is a great chance to run full speed and do lots of barking, so...yeah, that will probably continue.

Now, I am no squirrel expert. I do know squirrely because I see it about every day. I know squirreling away because I try that every paycheck.

But when I see a squirrel, that is pretty much what I see. A squirrel. Furry, bushy tailed, fast, agile, and not afraid to cross streets on electric wires.

Some people, however, see other things.

If your neck is red enough, you might see dinner or a nice dessert.

If you are a driver, you might see road pizza.

And if you are Welsh, you might see something that needs a birth control pill...but only if it is grey.

See, the Welsh have a thing for Red Squirrels. So in a ruthless act of Squirrel Cleansing, they removed all the greys from Anglesey. Only Reds need apply.

If you are grey, we don't want you here. We don't want you taking our nuts and sending them back home. We don't want you living in our trees and bringing down their values. We just..don't...want you.

So all the greys got deported.

But those sneaky, dastardly greys snuck back on the island.

And people are up in arms over the illegal immigrants, even though they are returning to what was once their home.

So people are trying to come up with ways to keep those nasty greys out.

Suggestions have included 24 hour guards...


and forcing the greys to take pills that will render them infertile.

Yes, forced squirrelicide through genetic programs.

For squirrels.

I cannot tell you how badly I wish I was making this up.

Sorry about the long delay...

Had no Internet for a week or so and been slowly catching up. And what better way to catch up than with a totally pointless, meandering bit of drivel? So here goes...

At work tonight...scratch that, this morning...went in to clean up. My arm were filthy with dirt from end to end. My entire right fore-arm was dusty brown...except for a tiny football shaped scar on the wrist that is the root for this tangent.

See, I got that scar at my first job. I won't tell you where it was because I don't want to reveal that I once worked at Burgerville. 

Well, the pride and joy of the nameless organization was their "never frozen" beef so we got almost daily shipments so the food was always fresh. (Note I did not say "good". Despite what we hear, fresh does not equal good. Don't believe me? Try some fresh head cheese. Oh, wait...cheese, by definition, cannot be fresh. Lets try again. Try some yogur....oh, never mind. Just take my word for it, fresh does not of itself equal good.

Anyway, I have never been technically proficient. It is possible this is because I never bother to use the proper tools. Case in point, I had a box knife with a dull blade and was trying to cut open a box of fresh, albeit not particularly tasty beef. 

Now, rule #1 of box knife use is NEVER, under any circumstances, cut towards yourself. The second rule is similar; if you think you have a reason to cut towards yourself with a box knife, refer to rule #1.

Well, I was young and not brilliant so thought I was talented enough to use a dull knife by cutting away. Oh, not away from me...away from the direction I needed to be cutting. 

And sure enough, the knife was catching on the box. So I prudently gave it a good jerk...towards me. And what do you know, my mighty biceps and the knife proved too mighty for the hapless cardboard box. Also too mighty for my skin...

So yeah, I sliced into my arm. Now, as luck would have it, the small town to remain nameless of St. Helens had our own hospital. 

It is hard to argue that was a good thing. I take as my text the incident where Dad experienced some chest pain. They properly diagnosed it as a painful but not serious condition...and then gave him some medication that would have caused a heart attack had he ingested it. Idiots. Glad that dump shut down.

But before they could, they put stitches in my arm. 

Not correctly, but they put them in.

And sure enough, their botched stitch-job left me with a scar on my wrist.

It should serve as a reminder of two things; 

First, NEVER cut towards yourself with a knife. No matter what justification you have, just don't do it.

Second, use the correct tool for the job. Have I learned that lesson? Well, I am about to put a light fixture in the wall. Without a screwdriver or the correct screws. And within a half hour I will be stalking outside to give forth a primal scream of rage and frustration when it doesn't work. 

So yeah, it is safe to say I have learned my lesson.

Well what did you EXPECT them to be thinking about?

James Hines is no longer with us. I mean, he might be with us in spirit, but that is about it. Unfortunately for his health, he overturned the receptacle (you might know the phrase better as "kicked the bucket") back in 2004.

Now, there are some things you should know about James. For starters, he kind of looked like David Carradine if Carradine had been a hippie rocker, dropping tunes on his steel guitar with hideous 70s style suits.

Second, he was really tall, like 6'7".

When I say "was", I mean it literally. Police finally got around to investigating the situation  and determined that yes, mortician Michael Cave did find a way to fit him into a coffin that was too short for him...by cutting off his feet and tossing them in the coffin.

Now, one might wonder why this came up 5 years later. Or why it was important enough to dig him up and prosecute Cave.

You clearly don't have enough time on your hands if those questions occurred to you.

I have been to lots of funerals and I can assure you, the first question in my mind every time has been, "Is the casket appropriately sized for the deceased". It saddens me you do not think the same way.

There is yet another joke here, but I think I have been tasteless enough already, so I am just going to...wait for it...let it die.

A divorce would be cheaper. Just sayin'

Ahmed Boyer wanted some money. Needed might be a better word. So he did what any other desperate guy would do. He robbed a bank. 

The problem is, the money did not last very long. When I say "not very long", the time frame I have in mind is somewhat less than 24 hours. 

Should he press his luck or reduce his expenses?

Press his luck. So Boyer went on and robbed a second bank. 

Oops, not enough money.

So he robbed a third bank. 

It wasn't enough money, but it was going well. So he went for a fourth bank.

One might assume he used my handy crime-planning services for the first three since he had not been caught. But on the fourth one, he was caught. Somehow, his super-clever plans went awry and he was caught. Not by a sting operation. Not by great detective work. No, an off-duty cop ended his crime spree.

So now you are wondering why, Ahmed, why? Why rob four banks? What possible reason? Did you have a loved one who needed an operation you could not afford? Did you need money to save a flagging business? Did he need a lot of money because his fiance was getting out of control with wedding planning?

Of course you know that was it. 

"The wedding was costing a lot of money and I realised I would never be able to pay for it," he told the court.

Wonder if his marriage now will be to a different gender than the one he anticipated. 

How to rob a bank

The plan was simple; rob the bank, split up in four different directions, and figure at least some of you would escape. Of course, as it turns out, all 4 of you were caught, more the pity. 

Or is the pity the fact that the police knew about the robbery...actually, more accurately, the police PLANNED the robbery. And hired the robbers. 

You see, it wasn't REALLY a robbery. I mean, sure, it might have felt like one to the bank tellers, security guards, and customers who were not informed of the drill.

Yes, you read that correctly. Police hired actors to rob a bank as a training exercise and never informed any of the people to be robbed that it was not, in fact, a real robbery. The problem? Only two people in the entire police department, bank, or customer system knew it was a training exercise. Everyone else thought it was real.

I just don't see how that could go wrong...a security guard shooting an actor, a policeman unaware of the drill using deadly violence. No, it seems like a brilliant plan to me... *sigh* good thing these stooges are protecting us because there are a lot more than three of them.

Here is an idea...don't take that pic in the first place!

So let's go over the sequence of events.

Wife takes nude photos of self. On a phone.

Forwards them. Electronically. 

Husband leaves phone in fast-food restaurant.

Spouses think nothing bad will happen here.

Idiots.

If they win their law-suit, I think we should all sue them for teaching our kids that engaging in stupid, reckless, risky behavior and then getting "embarrassed" about it means they should sue someone else. Stupidity should not be rewarded. And others should not be blamed.

Open memo to all you texters/phone photo sharers, myspace pic posters, etc.:

When you make and distribute electronically things that you do not want random strangers to see, you are just fooling yourself into thinking they aren't seeing them. 

It all seems so simple...

"Then one day I suddenly thought, since I spent most of my time in the taxi, why not install a karaoke machine in the cab?"

Fan says the passengers' singing doesn't distract him from driving, since he already knows all the songs and it's just like listening to the radio."

I think it is safe to say he is deaf. I mean, the average karaoke singer sounds like the radio about as much as Metallica sounds like well-harmonized, talented music. Which is to say...not at all. 

I guess the karaoke singers kind of look at it as payback. "You terrorize me with your maniacal driving, I will scar you for life with my horrific voice."

Great idea, Fan. Let's hope it catches on. Maybe it can be the next hit "reality" show. A contest between cab drivers and karaoke singers to make the other quit first. If the passenger quits singing from fear, tiredness, or whatever, the cab driver wins. If the cab driver stops the cab or orders them to stop singing, the "singer" wins. 

I better patent that idea. Can't be any worse than Nanny 911 or Wife Swap. 

My only question is...how much do you have to pay her?

Sometimes there are things that are such great ideas you just have to take advantage of them. Why, just yesterday I mentioned the possibility of some young Romeo proposing to his Juliet while sitting on the toilet. Hopefully not to, uh, musical accompaniment, but I guess that is a risk he will just have to take. I suspect there will be a reason for the Montague's and Capulet's to hate each other.

Or the even better idea of getting the name of a whore house inked on you so you can get free admission.

Or the even more awesome idea of advertising your Garden Gnome making business by using Plastic Prostitutes.

Right. How does one go about propositioning a plastic paramour? How does one negotiate pricing and what activities are included or precluded? 

And wouldn't plastic hurt? 

Just sayin'. 

I am not sure that in plastic prostitutes we have an idea whose time has come.

Favorite things to do on the toilet

"A new survey of Britons' favourite toilet activities reveal that we enjoy reading, chatting and texting on the loo."

"The study also suggested people mostly thought about food while on the toilet, and that men were more likely to look around for a distraction than women."

Maybe it is just me, but my favorite thing to do on the toilet is a bit simpler than reading, chatting...

Chatting? Please tell me that is not your preferred location to engage in conversation...

or texting. No, my favorite activity while on the toilet is surprisingly more civil than those above. I like to poop. Or pee. But maybe that is just me.

Maybe I am behind the times. Maybe that is the new location for social activities. Coming soon to a toilet stall near you; Someone proposing. You know it is going to happen. I just hope it doesn't happen to you.

So, uh...new ink on your arm?

It must be a common conversation.

"Got a new tattoo, eh?"

"Yup."

"Is that...is that the name of...excuse me, I don't wish to be rude, but is that the name of a, uh...a house of ill repute?"

"Come again?"

"Your new tat. Is that the name of a whore house?"
"Well I never...that is very impolite."

"Sorry."

"You should be. It is the name of a brothel."

*** silence ***

"Uhm...not that I am curious...but why would you have the name of a cat hou...err, brothel...tattooed on your arm?"

"Because it gets me free entry for life...to the club, not the girls, mind you...and discounts on lap dances and, uh, other services."

"Oh, well in that case, sign me up."

Well that is a tragic oversight!

2 weeks can be a long time. If you are imprisoned for some reason...that is a long time. If you are about to retire...that is a long time. If you are trying to set the world record for most conkers collected...okay, not so long.

But...after amassing a massive collection, causing a conker shortage...who knew...in just two weeks, they then were crushed by the news. 

Guinness World Records spokesman Damian Field said there was currently no category for 'largest conker collection.'

This is a travesty! This is an outrage! I demand something be done about this at once. I mean, if there are categories for most people wearing a bikini on a beach, most people running a race in stilettos, most people bouncing on bouncy balls while dressed as smurfs...all things I have documented here among many other ridiculous, pointless "accomplishments", then surely they have space in their book for the largest conker collection record. 

And if not, we the people must do something about it. For example, we could set a world record for most signatures collected demanding a slot in the Guinness Book of World Records for the Largest Collection of Conkers. Now THAT would be a great record.

I am thinking of changing my name

Much like Homer Simpson in the classic episode where he changes his name to "Max Power", I am thinking of changing my name.

In his case, he got it off a vaccuum cleaner and it was the only one he spelled correctly. In my case, I simply want to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for having either the coolest name in history or the longest.

Unfortunately, my first two choices are already taken.

The former George Garrett snapped up Captain Fantastic Faster Than Superman Spiderman Batman Wolverine Hulk And The Flash Combined mere hours before I was able to and my preferred name was taken back in 1984. You remember Texan Rhoshandiatellyneshiaunneveshenk Koyaanisquatsiuth Williams don't you?

Oh, quit monkeying around

Ha ha ha, that is hilarious! What a great idea! How could I not have thought of it?

When Adrian Radolescu  heard a fellow priest was going to the Hospital for tests, he knew it was the perfect opportunity to pull a practical joke. I mean, think of the possibilities:

- Hiring a "naughty nurse" to dress in costume and perform a "test" that involved a strip tease...

- When the priest got one of those backless, pointless gowns, he could steal the priest's clothes so he had to walk home like that.

But wait...better yet...what about...calling in, to the hospital, where lots of patients have heart problems, are dealing with strokes, etc...why not call in a bomb threat? 

Wow, that is sheer genius. I mean, who WOULDN'T think that was a good idea in the post 9-11 world? For that matter, who would not think it was hilarious PRIOR to 9-11? Well done, Adrian. I wonder why you decided to become a priest instead of a stand-up comedian?