Don't Forget to Water Your Vegetables!

A judge has finally said that, on March 18, the feeding tube can be removed from Terri Schiavo's mouth.

If you're not familiar with this story, there was this woman who, 15 years ago, collapsed and had her heart stop beating as a side effect of an eating disorder that she had. Her parents and her husband have had an ongoing fued--like the Hatfields and the McCoys except with a lot more creepy blank stares and a lot less straw hats--over whether or not they should keep this woman alive in her vegetable-like state. The husband says that she wouldn't want that and the parents say that she would love to be kept alive unaware of everything that's going on around her, unable to speak or do anything except lie in bed.

Father really does know best.

They decided on the date, March 18, because Terri loved St. Patrick's Day and they couldn't let her miss it. To celebrate, they're going to inject green applesauce into her feeding tube then kill her 15 years late because her parents are selfish bastards. It's going to be the most uplifting St. Patrick's Day ever!

Interesting thought of the day:
John Travolta is the Grand Wizard of the Scientologists. They all have to refer to him as "Your Royal Highness in the plastic bubble."

Minority Report!

A witness in a plot to kill President Bush has been confirmed as being dead for 17 months. This was shocking news to White House Secret Service who also recently discovered that Bush was assassinated 18 months ago. In even worse news, a secretary at the White House leaked word that Bruce Willis was DEAD THE WHOLE TIME!

On the topic of children seeing things they shouldn't, Michael Jackson's jury was picked today. If you're unfamiliar with Michael Jackson, he's the missing link on the left. I think it was smart of him to get the nose with the reservoir tip.

It's a jury of eight women, four men, every late-night talk show host, blogger, and human on the planet. I think he's got a chance!

And, in news that god really does do some good, he has broken up the music group Korn. It turns out that one of the guitarists, Brian 'Head' Welch, found Jesus and Jesus told him to stop making shitty rap-rock music and start making shitty Christian music. It pleases me to no end to know that millions of fucking poseurs around the world are mad at god because of this.

Interesting thought of the day:
Tea is the one drink named after a letter that people should enjoy. Pee is the one that only German people and the molested enjoy.

The Hunter Becomes the Prey!

In the minds of pretentious bastards everywhere, Hunter S. Thompson just became a God.

This motherfucker, who is most famous for writing Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, shot himself in the face to death "as a metaphor for how society is shooting itself in the face with all of its hypocrisy and LIES" or something. See, you can't be deified unless you kill yourself; those are the rules of deification.

"Dude, he fucking did it. That guy's my hero, man. Show those bureaucratic pigs!"

If he would have died of cancer or been trampled by an elephant, people wouldn't care as much. Now, though, he's like the Kurt Cobain of writing (which is something I'd always hoped to be what with us sharing the first name and the penchant for dating pasty crackwhores). If you hear anybody ever comment on what a genius he was (especially if they use the term "misunderstood genius"--I fucking hate that) then it is your duty--nay, obligation--to grab their ballsack or labia with the claw end of a hammer and pull like they stole your lunch money.

On a completely different note, I was watching Hannity and Colmes tonight on Fox News because I firmly believe that Sean Hannity is the Bizarro me, and I was happily greeted by a huge bag of irony that I thought I'd share. They were talking about the mentality of suicide bombers and why they do it. Hannity says something like, "Do they actually believe that they're going to get the 72 virgins in Heaven? We all know that's not going to happen." That's right. There's no way that that could happen, but it's completely plausible that, instead, they'll be going to a place where they'll be burned by some guy with cloven hooves and a tail for all of eternity. Then, after you die, you'll be going to a place in the clouds where everybody who was ever good in life will be to greet you and you'll live there forever and be completely happy eating all the Twinkies you want and never getting fat with JFK, Jesus, and Christopher Reeve.

Now that it's in front of me, he's right, that 72 virgins thing just sounds ridiculous.

Interesting thought of the day:
Moped, the noun, is much more exciting than moped, the past-tense verb, even though it's a small, very gay motorcycle.

"Dude. I Was So Wasted..."

I went to a Barbecue yesterday with a lot of people I didn't know. It was fine; the food was good, there was a kid in a wheelchair. Whatever. But in each group of people, there's always at least one guy who annoys the hell out of me who just so happens to love to talk to me. There are a few different types of this guy that exist. The guy yesterday wasn't the epitome of what I hate, so life wasn't all that bad.

This guy was the kind of guy that, once he sees that you're looking at him when he's talking, it's over. He is stuck with you the rest of the party while he talks to you about how funny it is that he got caught drinking when he was in the Army. He's also the kind of guy that made it a point to tell me how much he made in a year doing construction and, as he says, "all without a college degree." It's worse when I would get up and leave and I'd be free for a few minutes, then he'd peek his head into the room, and I know what he's scanning for: me. When he sees me, he perks up and walks into the room standing next to me. "Hey. Thought you were coming back."

"I kind of got caught up out here."

Before I even finish lying because, regardless of what you see here, I'm not a huge douche in real life, he's already talking again.

"Anyway, so I cracked the sternum of this little Mexican kid that works for me..."

Oh how I wanted to be that Mexican kid. A hospital room. An adobe hut. A fucking Tijuana Prison. Anything would have been better than being with that tool. And I don't know what it is about me, but I try so desperately to not be the guy that morons and idiots want to talk to at a party, but, for some reason, I'm like a magnet for these dickbags.

Little did I know that, earlier at the Barbecue, before he latched onto me like that goddamn leech on Gordy's penis in Stand By Me, I was laughing out loud at his child.

This was the first time I really felt like an old-ass bastard because there were about ten kids there and I didn't want to fuck them all. No. I mean because all these people who were almost my contemporaries had kids. But I digress.

His kid, which I should have known was his kid upon first glance because of what he was wearing, was such a spaz. He was probably about ten years old and he was sporting a Batman outfit that was too big for him. It was awesome in that way where it makes me feel proud to have seen it because there's no way I can do it justice. The Batman logo was almost all worn out except for about a fourth of it that included the tops of the ears and part of the left wing. The majority of it was gray except for the part that was "where the bathing suit covers." This part was black, but it was either all stretched out from too many peepee dances, or taken from his dad's own Batman costume. Like I said, this description in no way does it justice, but trust me; it was horrible. I wanted to beat the kid up on principal just so he would know what was going to be on its way for the next ten years of his life until he stopped wearing a goddamn Batman costume in the middle of February. But I couldn't do that because, if I did, I probably would have torn my Thor cape.

Interesting thought of the day:
Hot dogs are made partially from ground-up Unicorn. Other ingredients include: rain boots; Sandy Duncan's old glass eyes; and recycled World War II battleships.

Finally! Peace in the Middle East!

Condoleeza Rice has done it! I may be a crazy left-winger, but I have to give the lady her due. She has managed to do, in two days, what people have been trying for years to do. I guess all it took was a little classical piano, an adorable overbite, and some ice skating to show those grumpy guys the right way. It's a good thing she was appointed. I don't see this going wrong in any way at all.

To celebrate the peace, Israelis and Palestinians strapped on their favorite explosives and blew the fuck out of one another.

Speaking of blowing the fuck out of one another, Michael Jackson is in the news as always. His trial has been delayed because of a death in the family of lead defense attorney, Thomas Mesereau. When asked who died, Mesereau replied, "Thomas Mesereau, lead defense attorney, of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head--tomorrow morning."

Finally, the Pope, who was recently ailing with a crippling Genital Herpes outbreak, will miss Ash Wednesday services for the first time in his 26 years as Pontiff. I may not know much about religion, but I do know that it's a long-ass trip back from Mardi Gras in New Orleans and not even the Pope, with his magic Jesus powers, can recover from that. You know what I'm talking about.

Interesting thought of the day:
Surprisingly, it is not against the law to wrestle, naked, Greco-Roman style, with a Butterball turkey in the frozen food aisle of the supermarket. Even more surprising is the news that it is illegal to do this with a baby one may procure from any number of unattended shopping carts--even if the baby is already dead and dressed up exactly like a Butterball turkey.

Purging the Unused Notes!

As a few of you may know, I write notes on my desk on the back of a Far Side comic-a-day calendar from 1999. Well, they've piled up again, so it's time to get rid of them with little to no explanation for each item.

• They should add my fart scent to Carbon Monoxide.
• Smells like somebody took a dump in a wet pumpkin.
• Call the butthole the "5-hole."
• Hole punch to the cervix.
• Bruce Buffer, Michael Buffer's brother. Think Mike is pissed?
• As sincere as a Valentine's Card for a fat girl.
• ...and that's what Dr. King was talking about.
• Girls don't like to hear, "Well aren't you weird looking?"
• Frostbite is funny.
• Chesna
• I cut open my hemmorrhoids and drain it on stamps.
• "There She Goes" is a tampon theme song. What song from today will be the new bloody vagina anthem in six years?
• It's like a vagina made of lightning.
• You never see a homeless guy on his first day.
• My urine smelled like Funyons today.

Then I had a list of notes about the State of the Union that I was going to write about, but I think AIDS babies took precedence. So here are those ideas without any explanation as to what they mean.

• Do people practice applause breaks during the day of the State of the Union?
• 34 minutes in and he winks at somebody in the audience.
• "Ethanol" He smiles like he just won a bet after saying it because he pronounced it correctly.
• Bush saying "They hate our freedom" is just like Steve Martin in The Jerk saying that the sniper is shooting the oil cans at the gas station.
• Recently an Iraqi interpreter told a reporter, "Tell America not to abandon us." It's good to know that America's foreign policy is being decided by a guy who may have gotten the word for "help" mixed up with the word for "abandon."

Interesting thought of the day:
All walruses are bulletproof. But it's amazing the amount of damage one can do with a raging erection, strong hips, and keys to a walrus tank.

The Fonzie of Urination!

This entry is mostly for guys--or girls who pee while standing up.

Have you ever had the distinct pleasure of urinating in a toilet with a mirror behind it so that you can watch yourself pee? This is interesting to me because it makes me think, So this is what I look like when I'm peeing on somebody. But then I start to wonder if it's actually what I look like or if it's my cool peeing stance that I do subconsciously because I know a mirror is there.

If this keeps up, though, I'm going to have to have a mirror with me whenever I pee because I couldn't stand the fact that I don't look fucking bad-ass when I'm taking a leak anywhere. I really do look cool. I might as well have a leather jacket on my cock and Pinky Tuscadero by my side as I piss.

I wonder if this works the same for girls. Most times the mirror won't be low enough, or it will be behind them, but I challenge all you ladies who read this. I want you all to watch yourself go to the bathroom and see if you look cool. My guess is that you won't because you'll be too busy trying to maintain your balance as you squat backward on the toilet. Maybe you should just stand straight up and get the little thing that catches the fat on the George Foreman Grill and put that underneath your pee spigot and let it flow off into the toilet. That would probably look wicked awesome.

A little something for the ladies:
If an OBGYN licks his forceps when he's done, don't get grossed out; it's a sign of respect that they learn in Medical School.