"The Most Spectacular Veto of All Time!"

"Dere will be none of those boy-on-boy touchings while I'm da governa!"

I'm just imagining, but I'll bet Schwarzenegger said something along those lines before he used the giant stamp marked veto on the Gay Marriage Bill presented to him. At least I'm assuming that's how vetoing works--that there's a big stamp marked 'Veto' that he applies to bills (here I'm assuming that a bill is like a packet of papers stapled together, perhaps with a nice header like "THIS ONE LETS THE 'MOS GET MARRIED").

I'd also venture to guess that, if such a stamp does exist, Arnold has probably stamped his assistant with it on the forehead in front of a crowd of people and laughed at how funny he is.

"It's almost as funny as Junior what I did. When I did da stamping on his head. From dis day forward I am no longer called da governator, now I am da funnernator!"

"You are vetoed! And you are vetoed! And you are vetoed! And my arm is vetoed. This lady's puppy is vetoed. My wife's skeletal body frame is vetoed. And all da gays in all da whole world are vetoed!"By the way, my internet Arnold Schwarzenneger impression is the cat's pajamas.

"Dis veto ting is da most fantastic power I've ever had. Even greater dan da time I could come out of da movie screen like in Last Action Hero or even greater dan da time I could turn anybody I wanted into ice as Mr. Freeze on one of da greatest blockbuster movies of all time, Batman & Robin."

"If you guys didn't know, all dat was done with movie magic. But dis veto, dis veto is not movie magic. It's real magic. By pressing it on a piece of paper and wishing very hard, I made all of da girly men into manly men."

"Forget da funnernator, I am da de-gayinator."

He's hilarious!

Pop Quiz of the Day:
Teddy Roosevelt is one of only two presidents to always sit down when he peed. Can you guess the other one?

Best Of: Me!

Well, this isn't exactly a "Best Of," I just re-recorded my "Girlfriend" song so the quality is much better now. Only 13 months later!

For those that don't know, I posture a lot on this website about what a hard ass I am, but, deep down, I'm just a sentimental guy. I decided that, with what limited musical ability I possess, I should write my girlfriend a love song and shout it out to anybody who would listen. And, as an anniversary present, I promised her that I would re-release it. I may be hitting the studio with the Neptunes to record a remix as well.

Very little has changed in the actual song aside from an intro and two lines in a later verse. It's still me singing and performing it, so it definitely has that going against it, but at least it doesn't sound like I'm performing it beneath high voltage lines anymore.

Enjoy, ladies.


My Girlfriend (re-record)

Interesting thought of the day:
I'll definitely be getting some tonight!

Cindy Sheehan Arrested, Freedom Safe Once Again!

Cindy Sheehan, the woman who has been protesting the Iraq war by showing up to all the places George W. Bush is--like a crazy ex-girlfriend, was arrested the other day at the White House along with 370 other Hippies.This picture is a sad testament to what George W. Bush has ordered be done to Ms. Sheehan. The officer on the left was told to reach into her vagina and crush whatever may be left of her embryos so that she may never have hopes of conceiving another child.

As Michelle Tanner would say, "How wude!"

Interesting thought of the day:
Thanks to Paxil, Crazy Glue will now simply be known as Creepy Glue.

Ladies and Gentlemen, It's Creepy Man-Boy!

A friend of mine that I've known since before hair was on my balls (our balls), recently sent me a few pictures from when we were younger. Upon seeing the pictures, I realized the reason it was rare for girls my age to find me anything but "adorable," but the Girl Scout Troop in the Star Tours line at Disneyland was in love with me: I never look as old as I am.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about it anymore. But, when you're younger and you want to convince a girl your age that, though you look like you're nine years old, you're actually her age and she should totally let you make out with her, it's pretty tough. I was kind of like Lucas.

Here is photographic evidence:Before you ask, the people in the picture with me (two of whom read this blog, one of whom is the guy who sent me the picture) actually do look like that. It's an offshoot of that disease that makes little kids look like old people.

But that's me in the middle. You know, the one that looks kind of like a modern day hobbit. Yes, I know how awesome my hair is. How old would you think I was in this picture? Ten? Wait, I said that I look younger than I appear, so I was probably 12. Nope, that would be wrong as well. I was 15. That's right. I was less than a year from being eligible to drive a car, but I could still get in to movies for the child's price.

To give you a frame of reference, that picture was about 12 years ago and I look much older now.Yep, I'm 27 and this is what I look like. Not too long ago I was carded for a rated-R movie. In about ten years, I'll be able to score some legal chicks when I finally look their age, but my penis will no longer work*.

Maybe, if you folks are lucky, I'll post some of the most embarrasing pictures of my formative years. As the guy who sent me this picture put it, with my "thin, rapist mustache."

*It has never worked. In fact, it's a weird gray color.

Interesting thought of the day:
Why is it that, even when nobody is around, when I switch out the paper towel tube in the kitchen, on the way to the trash can I have to do the "Sanford & Son" theme song into the tube?

Keep Your Cock And/Or Labia In Your Panties!

Sorry, I was lazy over the weekend. I'll be writing a post today before 3 PST. When I say PST, I'm not trying to tell you a secret, it means Pacific Standard Time. For instance, if you're in California, when your clock says 3:00 and the sun is out, that's which 3 I'm talking about. If you're on the East Coast, that's probably around the time you're eating dinner. Now, I know I have people that read this in other countries like London or Asia or Hawaii, but I have no idea what the time difference is, so, my best advice is to call California (just dial (714) then whatever seven digits you want) and ask if Oprah is on. If they say "Yes" or "It's already over, honey child," then you're clear to check my weblog. If they say "Not yet, but I can't wait to see what her and that crazy Steadman do today," then you should call back later.

I'm sorry to give you such an arbitrary temporal reference, but the way I keep time is in direct correlation to when Oprah is or has been on.

I wrote this post 14 hours, 54 minutes before Oprah was on on Monday, September 26, 2005.

Interesting thought of the day:
Everybody gets a car!

Pope Does Away With Priests!

In a shocking move, Pope Benedict XVI (I'm not sure how you pronounce XVI; I think it's German), has apparently decided that Catholicism needs no leaders other than himself because he banned gay dudes from becoming Priests.

Granted, he didn't use my exact phrasing as "dudes" is probably not in the Papal lexicon, but you get the gist. Immediately following this announcement, he hopped on his slave's back and shouted, "To yon water's edge so that I may shout out my new decree to the end of the earth! You know, where there be dragons!"

The only reason that Priests exist is because gay guys need a place to go when their Catholic guilt about their homosexuality overwhelms them so much at an early age that, instead of a life of "sin," they decide to devote their life to celibacy. That's why some of them "get their freak on" (surprisingly, IN the Papal lexicon) with young boys; they just can't hold it in anymore.

In the article, Mike Sullivan, of Catholics UNited for faiTh (or CUNT), said that allowing homosexuals in the priesthood is like putting an alcoholic in a bar. What a fucking idiot. So, because they like boys more than a friend, this overpowers their love for their god? Cock is so delicious! It tastes better than Jesus!

Priests have existed for centuries as has homosexuality (which was invented by the Atilla the Hun) and the two have coexisted and coincided for just as long. Even if Popey McBackwards says he doesn't want same-sames becoming priests, it's still going to happen. Altar boys are there as fuck-puppets; it says so in Ecclesiastes.

Interesting thought of the day:
Mortal Kombat was invented by the Mormons.

The Vegas!

I finally got that cable for my phone so I could transfer pictures to my computer and, it turns out, I don't really have that many pictures that apply to anything that happened.

On the airplane, a theme popped up that would pop up again later on: pictures that kind of look like somebody's getting a Bo Jackson.Sure, this one is forcible sodomy with a child, but who here hasn't drawn pictures of this at some point in their life? Oh. You all have your hands raised. Me neither. Gross.

We got to Vegas early Friday morning and after finally getting settled into our room at Bally's, the elevator ride back down to the casino was kind of eventful. A Korean Elvis impersonator got on. One of the guys I was with (Jimbo the Angry Clown to those of you that read the comments) simply said, "Uhh, no." To which the rest of the elevator silently agreed. But, talk commenced and somebody asked whether or not a Michael Jackson impersonator was getting on and I, continuing my awesome streak of elevator hijinx started in my jury duty post, said, "No. They're staying at Treasure Island." Everybody in the elevator reveled in my razor-sharp wit and lightning-fast comedic reflexes and one man even started giving me a Howard Johnson to show his appreciation. I don't know how I do it, people. I just do.

We spent the majority of that night at Imperial Palace where a few interesting things happened. First, there was this dealer, Ashton--I'm such a homo for remembering his name--who kept telling the girls at the table to show their boobs when they got a blackjack because, at IP, when somebody gets a blackjack, they get Mardi Gras beads (except these are above water--too soon?). Anyway, this fresh-faced girl who just turned 21 sits down at the table with absolutely no idea what Las Vegas is all about. She got a blackjack about one hand into it and he was goading her to show her boobs and she looked uncomfortable. Awesome. Then, within the next few minutes, other women got blackjacks with the same teasing and the 21-year-old was, apparently, bubbling over with internal fury. She got another blackjack and the dealer asked for her baby-feeders to be shown and she spewed forth, "You need to be more respectful to women," grabbed her chips and left the table. It's Vegas. Nobody has or gets any sort of respect. I let a Cher impersonator take a dump on me so I could get my photo in the Vegas magazine that they put in every hotel room.

No pictures of that one. Sorry.

On the way walking back to Bally's that night, I was behind a couple that was holding hands. It was just a chubby guy with longish hair and his chubby girlfriend. Well, at least for five minutes it was, until the chubby guy turned his head and I saw his face. He was a chick. Lesbians! Awesome. No. Wait. These aren't the good kind. Oh well. That didn't stop me from doing my patented move that has gotten me into hundreds of threesomes. I tapped them on the shoulder and, when they turned around, I pointed at my crotch, lifted my eyebrows and said, "Ladies?" Lesbians punch harder than regular women.I just kind of liked that picture of the Mirage; it has no significance to anything that happened. Well, except for the exciting story about how I walked by the Mirage.Here I was trying to see if the 1/4 scale Statue of Liberty in front of New York New York had "everything" at 1/4 scale. In an odd design choice, the Vagina of Liberty is 1/2 scale; it goes all the way up to her throat.

The aforementioned theme of pictures that should make a 13-year-old laugh and not a 27-year-old came up again and, unfortunately, I don't remember where exactly this was.I kind of lost the narrative as to what happened over the weekend so, instead, I'll just get rid of the rest of the pictures and talk quickly about them. They almost all have to do with cab rides.

Well, not this one. This picture is just me in the safety of my favorite Vegas environment: the big-ass handicapped stalls. If any of you have been reading this for a long time, you'll know that I can't use urinals, so I'm always seeking the sanctuary that is provided by stalls, especially handicapped stalls.The toilet in the background is six miles away. It's fucking huge. I actually had to climb inside and swim in it in order to pee. By the way, my shirt says "Dodgeball Champion" and it's better than you.This cab driver was weird. He was this Asian guy who said absolutely nothing, but the best part is, if you can see it, he's wearing gloves. They aren't even old school driving gloves or anything. That would be kind of cool. But these are just like wool gloves that you'd wear so you wouldn't have to touch grandma's lesion-y back when you hug her in her too-revealing nightgown.I had to take this picture as he was driving away, but this guy was amazing. I have no doubt in my mind that he was a registered sex offender in at least three states, but not Nevada. The first half of the ride was normal, quiet. But something happened that sent this guy off on the weirdest tyrade. He told us a story about how, earlier that night, he got two young girls in his cab and they started talking about sex. I'm sure that it was this perverted driver that brought it up. But then it got even weirder. He started to talk about, in graphic detail, how he liked to go down on women. Yet he had the gayest voice. Now, I realize that not all gay men have the "gay voice," but all gay voices do belong to gay men. The dichotomy presented to my cerebral cortex was too great and I blacked out.The only thing that was able to bring me to was how loud the goddamn floor was at The Orleans. Or, as I like to call it, the floorleans.

There are tons of things I'm forgetting to write about, but I've been working on this too long and I'm done. I'll leave you with another picture from my phone that has nothing to do with Vegas because it was taken in January, but it's of my younger brother and it's one of my favorite pictures I've taken.Interesting thought of the day:
Tassles are like fireworks for nipples.

America "Can't Wait for Next Disaster!"

"Did you see what Kanye West said on that benefit show? Now, not that I agree that George Bush hates black people, but to see him say that on national TV was so refreshing!"

America, relatively quiet since the tsunami that hit some Asian country a while ago (they can't really remember which one it was, but it was very sad), finds itself hoping for another catastrophe "like the hurricane in scope, but not the exact same thing--maybe an earthquake" so that it can, once again, see some real emotion on television.

"Regular TV shows lasted a while, but then reality TV came and those people were so...real. Well, now those all seem too rehearsed and contrived, so it's time for something like disaster coverage that's even more real. Realer." When informed that 'realer' isn't actually a word, America gave it to the rap community. Fo shizzle.

"Maybe I'm bad for it, but I just feel like, you know what, shove a camera in some grieving mother's face one more time please. Look at her crying. Boy I'm glad that's not me, but, you know what, when I see her cry, it makes me cry and I like that. It lets me know I'm not some robot or terrorist. Or worse yet, a robot terrorist."

"All this sadness kind of gives America a boner." At this point, America started to talk in the third person and I knew that things were only going to get more weird. Weirder. "America gave money at the office. America is starting to believe that George W. Bush just might really hate black people. America has started comfort eating again. America had a friend who knew somebody in New Orleans so it means more to America than other people because they're kind of affected by it all. America will drive a metal stake through a robot terrorist's heart if it has to."

"You're the red, white, and blue. Oh, the funny things you do. America. America. This is you."

When America started to sing the theme song to America's Funniest Home Videos and spank itself on the ass, it was obvious that my editor was right. America was in a mental institution for a reason, and it was best not to disturb her.

Additional reporting by Canada

Interesting thought of the day:
Nobody has ever referred to a Samoan girl as pretty and meant it.

World's Filthiest Baby Born!

On September 14th, for the first time, a baby was born drinking a 40 in a paper bag. Britney Spears and her husband had a boy, Preston Michael Spears (Federline). PMS, that's good planning; I'd expect no less from these two.

How it all happened
The baby was conceived on the hood of a Trans-Am while both were smoking cigarettes and Britney screamed out, "Oh my God, y'all! I think you put a baby in me!" Kevin immediately high-fived his friend who was sitting behind the steering wheel.

The next nine months saw nothing but the best diet for Mrs. Spears and her baby. She learned about four months in that smoking while pregnant was bad, so, to make sure her child would be healthy, she, instead, ate a pack of cigarettes a day. Britney, wanting to make sure that her child started eating baby food early, would stand on her head every morning and have husband, Kevin, empty out an entire jar of strained carrots into her vagina.

The birth was a sight for doctors. First, they were surprised to find the baby's arm already hanging out. "I thought it was kind of weird," Britney said, "but I just sort of figured that it was like when a baby bird is ready to be born and it starts pecking its way out." When asked about another anomaly, Britney replied, "Oh, the tattoo on it was Kevin's idea. Isn't it cute, y'all? It says 'Brit + Kev 4Eva.'"

After only a couple minutes of contractions, all of the womb juice came spilling out. This was the first time it was scientifically documented that someone's embryonic fluid consisted of 95% chewing tobacco spit (the other 5% was strained carrots).

The baby released an official statement minutes later on his official website claiming to be a virgin and to confirm rumors that, yes, he was dating Christina Aguilera.

Interesting thought of the day:
Never eat at an Italian restaurant called Fellatio. The food is good, but the way they make you pay is weird.

Fall TV Preview (Cunt.)!

I've always wondered why they abbreviated continued like that. Anyway.

Wednesday
The Apprentice: Martha Stewart is for people who like the regular Apprentice, but wish Donald Trump had a vagina that was neatly trimmed and filled with potpourri.

Wednesday wouldn't be complete without something that every other day of the week has: a lawyer show! This one is different, though. This one is about two lawyers (Adam Goldberg and Chris O'Donnell) who start their own firm yet they both have strange, contrasting personality traits. Chris O'Donnell's character has a penchant for public masturbation while reciting court decisions in Latin and Adam Goldberg's character is a quirky "rehabilitated" pedophile. Let the comedy-mitzvah begin!

And, finally, Wednesday night sees the show that I've only seen in my head for the past five years finally come to fruition. That's right, ABC's Freddie is about the black hole of charisma, charm, and talent, Freddie Prinze Jr., as a guy who lives in a house with his family. Sound hilarious? Wait. Making his triumphant return to television is Brian Austin Green. He must have been waiting for the right script, so I have to trust that this show is going to knock it out of the park.

Thursday
There aren't a lot of new shows coming on Thursday, but that's because they're all afraid they're going to get destroyed by the comedy supernova that is Joey. He has managed to lose all but one-fourth the audience of Friends all within a one year timespan. Those are Freddie Prinze Jr. numbers, baby!

Friday
You know how much you love Jennifer Love Hewitt's boobs? Well, at least The Ghost Whisperer has that going for it. Yep, it's actually called The Ghost Whisperer. Because, you see, much like the similarly titled book about horses, Jennifer Love Hewitt tames wild ghosts by talking softly to them and giving them huge boners. It's exactly the same as Highway to Heaven. I know Michael Landon gave me a full-on robot chubby.

Interesting thought of the day:
No matter how heartfelt, girls hate poems you write for them where you rhyme "rabies" and "scabies."

Fall TV Preview!

Oh, Fall. You glorious mistress. You come every year promising a television lineup that will knock my socks off, and, every year, my socks stay on--hard.

This year I came wearing those socks that old men wear that have those straps connected to their knees to hold them up. But I won't be needing those.

Sunday
Sunday night on Fox, right after the Simpsons, comes The War at Home. It stars uber-wigger Michael Rapaport as a dad who says inappropriate things and sometimes doesn't get along with his wife and kids. Fox: Where originality gets raped during Prime Time.

Not to be outdone, The WB has decided to do some damage of its own on Jesus Day with Blue Collar TV. This show was on last year on Friday nights and was replayed on Comedy Central more often than PCU. If The War at Home is the rape of originality, Blue Collar TV is the bloody, steel-toed boot-induced abortion of humor. If you could take chewing tobacco spit and somehow make it into a TV show, this would be the result.

Monday
Since apparently doctors and lawyers are the most exciting professions in existence and can never have enough shows about them, Monday gives you two more to watch and realize you'll never actually be one.

Just Legal is Doogie Howser in a court house. But, the good thing about this show is that it also stars Crockett as a fat lawyer who takes Doogie Lawyer under his fat wing. Also, his hair is kind of feathered, so watch it for that.

Then there's Out of Practice which is about what would happen if Rizzo and Fonzie got married, had kids who became doctors, and then got divorced. But, it doesn't look like it holds true to their characters because, from what I've seen, there are zero leather jackets and Pinky Tuscadero doesn't even make an appearance in the first season; to me that's a given.

Tuesday
Commander In Chief is ABC's spin on what would happen if a woman ran the White House. This is reminiscent of the fantasy-themed television shows of the late Sixties like I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched because we all know that this will never actually happen. As the Presidentress of the United States, Geena Davis has to try to not cry because she's feeling fat or because Iraq is being mean to her. I, for one, hope she goes all Cutthroat Island on their asses.

And, the show with the too-ironic-for-its-own-good title, The Biggest Loser, is back. It's kind of like The Swan except this show doesn't consume your soul if you watch it.

Also, one of the best shows (aside from my favorite, Arrested Development) that nobody watches, The Office, is back much to my surprise and excitement. It's not as good as the British version of the show with the same name, but it's still remarkably funny and well written. It's the exact opposite of this weblog.

Part 2 Coming Soon!

Interesting thought of the day:
Clowns ejaculate confetti.

You Asked For It!

While I did receive a last-minute comment 10 minutes before midnight on my ultimatum post, it was from a friend of mine who was making a sarcastic remark about something I may have believed he told me when we were younger and, thus upset me.

Therefore, from this day forward, I will only be posting on my new weblog: The House of Spanks!

The first post is an introductory one familiarizing all my new readers with my kitten, Mr. Spanks! I'm very excited about the new direction that this is going.

Maybe I'll keep posting here, but only if something happens to Mr. Spanks, and I don't see that happening.

My new weblog!

Eight Hours, Bitches!

I'm back from Vegas, but I just bought a USB cable online for my phone so I can transfer the pictures to my computer before I write about it.

However, I'm eight hours from going emo on all your asses (though some of you appear to want that, so maybe I'll just start writing a "kitten blog" instead).

Today Mr. Spanks did the cutest thing. I was eating a piece of pizza and he started to claw at my pantleg. So I picked him up and put him on my lap. Then, I set the pizza down on the plate and he jumped up and stole a pepperoni! Oh, Mr. Spanks, you're so precocious!

His full name, in case you all didn't know, is Reginald T. Spanks Esquire. And, yes, T. is his middle name and isn't short for anything. Isn't that adorable?

I should have the Vegas thing up whenever that cable gets here.

By the way, there are some good suggestions. I especially like the one about reviewing upcoming shows, so that'll probably be in the pipeline this week as well. Thank you for those.

Interesting thought of the day:
Contrary to what the movies may lead you to believe, if you hold something at the same time as somebody else you're arguing with, and say the same thing at the same time (i.e. "I wish I was you!") you do not actually switch places with them. You do, however, turn into Fred Savage or Judge Reinhold.

Spring Break '98! Wooooo!

Since I'm going to be away from my computer in Vegas, I want you guys to do the work this weekend. When I come back, I want no less than 12 comments with topics for me to write about (or pose myself taking pictures with, or draw, whatever--I just want some homework assignments). There can be multiple posts from the same person (which I imagine it will be), but the ideas represented in each have to be different.

This works two-fold: 1) I come back with a bunch of things to write and 2) I get to use the word two-fold.

I'll try to do as many suggestions as I can. If I use yours, maybe I'll take a picture of me with my shirt off and your name written on my chest in cat blood.

If there aren't at least 12 comments by Monday at 11:59 p.m., I'll completely switch the direction of this blog and turn into an emo kid. That's right. Here's a sample of what you'll be seeing:

god--my dad is so lame--he is sitting on the cowch watching Giligans Iland--and he's laughing--how can he laff rite now?--its like he doesnt no how much it sucks 2b alive espeshially in this house--i have to eat dinner with my mom tomorrow nite--she probably wants 2 go 2 some stupid place like Olive Garden or something--god--i hope she has to work late and cancel so I can just sit in my room listening to my music in the dark--oh yeah--i cut myself again today--cutting is the only thing that makes me feel real--you know?--its so good when my own blood starts to trickel from my arm--thats the only way i know im alive--not like anybody reads this anyway--whatever

Current mood: Melancholy
Listening to: My brain consume itself from all the monotony

That's right, bitches.

Get to work.

Interesting thought of the day:
If practice makes perfect, what does malpractice make? Families sad when their dad dies!

Excuse Me, America!

I'm still dead!

Pat Robertson Finally Denied Request By God!

Since having his second wish granted (the death of Supreme Court Justice William Rehnquist), well-known televangelist Pat Robertson was denied his final wish of "a million more wishes."

The "million more" request was first attempted almost 2000 years ago when god's own son, who wasted his first two wishes trying to impress some people with parlor tricks involving water (both the transformation of and walking on), wished for more wishes. Since then, it has been strictly forbidden and, in fact, is what got Hitler killed.

Upon hearing this news, Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez, has locked himself in a room wearing one of those grizzly bear-proof suits.

Sorry about all of the current event stuff lately. There's just been so much good stuff going on and it's fun to write. Plus, I like to prove to people that, contrary to having thoughts about wanting to see one robot rape another one (something I've never actually verbalized until now), that I actually have some semblance of a normal human psyche and am capable of putting together mildly intelligent satire.

I'm going to Vegas this weekend, though, so hopefully I come back with more stories about midgets telling the casino, "Fuck you guys!"

Interesting thought of the day:
Bouncers don't care about losing tickle fights.

Bush Promoting New Plan of Attack!

Many people have been upset at his administration and their lack of a presence in response to the Hurricane Katrina disaster, but the reason he has been AWOL was announced at a press conference on Saturday.

"The War on Moisture is the newest effort by my administration in the struggle against global extremism. And, I don't mean to toot my own horn, but, beep beep, America. I have been busy since Hurricane Katrina working around the clock, with no help, developing the strategy that we will be employing."

"Some said, 'It can't be done.' Others said, 'It shouldn't be done.' But, America, I say, 'It will be done.' We cannot sit idly by and just let the clouds steal our water from our own oceans and lakes and use it against us. That is why, from this day forward, any nation supporting water in any way, shape, or form, will be considered an enemy and a part of the Axis of Evil."

"It is with this in mind that I will withdraw all troops from Iraq immediately and turn them toward our new enemy: Michigan. After a little bit of research and speaking with some experts, I have strong evidence that Michigan has Water of Mass Destruction."
"Also, in an effort to help every American fight the War on Moisture, the U.S. Government will be sending each and every person in the country--even the black people--a packet of Silica Gel. For those of you who may not know what Silica Gel is, it's those little packets that come inside a new pair of shoes when you buy them. Those fight the moisture; bet you didn't know that. And, believe me, it says 'Do not eat' on there for a reason. The first time I saw it, I thought it was a fancy type of Jell-O. Wrong move, GW. Wrong move. Everything tasted like stamps for a week."

"I have created a new office much like I did after September Eleventh and the Department of Homeland Security. And, the new head of the Department of The Accu-Weather Forecast is Al Roker. Each morning, he will let America know the status of the possibility of a moisture attack through the use of a very simple and easy-to-read chart.""I designed it myself. The one near the top doesn't have a cloud because I was so excited about drawing the rain--since blue is my favorite color--that I started too close to the top and I couldn't fit the cloud in there."

"In closing, America, fear moisture no longer. You are in good hands. And, remember, people in Louisiana. I don't hate you because you're black, like some people are saying. I hate you because you're poor."

Shortly after Bush's press conference, a video was released on the Al-Jazeera website of Osama bin Laden's first Lieutenant, Ayman al-Zawahiri, in which he attributes credit for Hurricane Katrina to al Qaeda.

The Show Must Go On!

In an extraordinary display of resilience, the Iraqi people have shown that they may have been down, but they are not out. To demonstrate this fighting spirit, the Iraqis got their execution on for the first time since Saddam Hussein's removal.

They didn't even ease into it, either. They killed three bastards at once! I believe that this is their way of paying homage to their new leader, George W. Bush. One of the guys was even retarded--his favorite!

I read somewhere completely fictional that the executions indicate that they are close to finally getting their long overdue constitution ready for approval. It's kind of like how the Catholics let people know that they had elected a new Pope, except a little more Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves and a little less Back to the Future 3.

I received an early copy of the Constitution and, contrary to what a lot of naysayers may try to have you believe, it is not completely unfair toward women. It clearly states that women get a warning before they are beheaded for showing eyebrow in public. See? Nothing to worry about.

Interesting thought of the day:
Rhombuses are the Amish of the geometry world.