On Your Mark...Get Set...READ!

Okay, nerds. The big day is almost upon you. At midnight tonight, the new Harry Potter book goes on sale.

That's right. "Harry Potter and the Pegasus-flavored Otter Pop," or, "Harry Potter and the Pillow Hump of Destiny," or "Harry Potter and the Strange Feelings Toward that Red-haired Boy," makes its debut tonight.

Some people, not realizing that it's a book and not the Childlike Empress from The Neverending Story, decided that it was important enough to send armed guards and GPS tracking with the books so that nothing can happen to them on the way to their destination. I think that the dead chick in Aruba's parents should learn a lesson from this: If you love your child enough, you will treat her like a book about wizards and first boners.

All the hoopla is hilarious to me, though. First, because it's called hoopla which, many people don't know, is a Scandanavian dish made from lamb and strawberry jelly. But, secondly, because it's a goddamn book filled with make-believe. I haven't seen anybody this excited for something that didn't actually exist since I took off the dress I was wearing for that guy I met at that club, "The Secret Handshake." It was his first time there.

Do you think that when the Bible came out, people were this excited? Or, was the Bible released in installments just like the Harry Potter books? If that's the case, I can see people getting all antsy for The Book of Job. Especially because, when they bought it at Best Buy, they got a free audio CD of Christopher Walken reading it.

"I can't wait to get "Luke." I hear that Lot's wife comes back and ruins everybody's soup by putting too much of herself in it!"

Interesting thought of the day:
Putting temporary tattoos on your baby is funny. Even funnier? Putting permanent ones on somebody else's.

I Broke My Hymen!

I went to the gym for the first time in my entire life the other day. The stuff there is so heavy.

I am such a little girl that I'm so sore that I'm taking ibuprofen for the pain two days later. That's right. I worked out for probably 45 minutes and now it hurts when I breathe too deep.

As punishment for being such a pussy, I'm going to pee sitting down for the next month.

And I swear I'm not being sarcastic, but it actually hurts to type. Once I get the sand out of my vagina, at least I'll be able to sit more comfortably.

Anyway.

A woman got arrested for giving birth while she was drunk. Maybe she thought it would be best to bookend her conception and birth while she was in the same state. But, this time, she didn't have a blindfolded Swedish midget urinating in her mouth while she sung "It's Raining Men."

Interesting thought of the day:
If I ever have a child, I'm going to make it wear a monocle and a top hat all of the time.

Al-Qaeda? More Like Al-Qaedon't!

I don't even think that means anything.

See, I fucking hate Al-Qaeda. Yeah. I'm going out on that limb. You may not want to come with me; the branch is pretty flimsy.

What I mean, though, is that, they're kind of saying that they're responsible for the bombings in England. Well, at least "The Secret Organization of Al-Qaeda" is taking credit for it.

First, if the name of your organization has the word "secret" in it, and then, after you commit a crime, you immediately claim responsiblity, Karl Rove must be your fucking publicist.

Second, Al-Qaeda calling itself secret is like Tom Cruise calling himself straight or sane or a good actor.

But, the reason I hate Al-Qaeda the most is because they kill 3000 Americans and, to show the British that they mean business, they kill 40 of them. 3000 Americans and 40 Brits. I know that their economy is a little stronger than ours right now, but god damn, that exchange rate is fucking harsh.

Don't get me wrong, 40 dead British people sucks, but, according to GWB, god watches over America and we got 3000 people killed. I hate to say it, because I'm such a staunch supporter of both religion and, especially, George W. Bush, but I think that god cares more about England than America. Maybe we should go to war with them now, too.

In all seriousness, I wish more British people would have gotten killed so I felt like Al-Qaeda hated them as much as they hate us. But, as it stands, I think this was a half-hearted attempt at best and was probably organized as a side project by some Al-Qaeda interns and all they're getting is some college credit and an extra 2 virgins in heaven.

Fuck you, Al-Qaeda. If you're going to hate and murder, hate and murder equally.

Interesting thought of the day:
The Hamburger Helper mascot only has four fingers because, when he was a kid, his dad (Thing from Addams Family fame) caught him masturbating in a bucket of ground beef.

Jesus: The Cliff's Notes

I went to Disneyland yesterday--you know, The Happiest Place on Earth. Well, while I was there, I was walking toward a bathroom and some old man handed me something. There's a weird response that humans have when somebody is handing them something: they take it.

Since I'm mostly human being (and part all-night sex robot), I, too, react this same way.

So I accept the flier that the old man is handing me. I'm not sure what the hell I thought it would be. I mean, it's not like he's advertising a rave at Rolling Hills Retirement Community. But, since it was already in my hand, I figured I'd look at it.I'm kind of an idiot, so I thought that, maybe, this wasn't a pamphlet about God, but, instead, maybe he was advertising a brothel or the mail-order child labor enslavement ring he disguises as a summer camp.

"Life begins at...The Battered Kitty! Come to Anaheim's only Gentleman's Club where it pays to both be a gentleman and bring a club because these ladies love physical abuse! One club to the cheekbone sends Mandi reeling with ecstacy! Watch as Sapphire bleeds from her eyes as only the ladies at The Shaved Kitty can! Wednesday nights don't miss our Vagina-stapling show. It sounds like exactly what it is--only hotter!"

Or

"Life begins at...Camp Sorethumbs! Hey, kids! Like soccer? Like sewing? How about combining two things that you like to do into one awesome new activity? I sure hope so, because that's all you'll be doing here! At Camp Sorethumbs, we sew soccerballs from the time the bugle wakes you up at 3:30 in the morning until it's "lights out" only a little over 23 and a half hours later at 2:45 AM. Non-stop sewing means non-stop fun!"

But, like I said, when I opened it up, I was sorely disappointed."When will you have an exciting, pleasant, satisfying life?"
I like the part where it says, "ASK THE ELDERLY PERSON, and he will answer, "When...when..."

I think the reason I like it is because it's implying a few things:

1. Old people are mentally incompetent.
2. Old people have nothing to live for.
   
3. Old people will burn in hell if they don't find Jesus.

But, it took a turn for the worse when it got all Jesus-y. Don't get me wrong, it's still hilarious.

ASK THE CHRISTIAN, and he will answer, "For me to LIVE is Christ and to DIE is gain. My present is glorious because God is working through me. And my future is so certain that I can hardly wait!"

So, they're certain that there's a heaven and they really want to hurry up and get there? The Heaven's Gate people were certain that there was a flying saucer behind that comet and they did something about it. I'm not saying to kill yourselves, crazy-ass Christians, but, I am. Take some initiative, pussies!

On the next page it says, "LIFE BEGINS WHEN YOU CAN SAY:" and it lists a bunch of crazy Jesus-speak. Apparently, my life hasn't begun because there's no way I can say "...that whosoever believeth in him..." In fact, maybe people would have a lot easier time digesting this completely ridiculous nonsense if every verse wasn't written like a goddamn Harry Potter spell. I read one of the verses aloud and now one of my balls is haunted by Abraham Lincoln.

I don't care if you're religious, but, for the love of whatever completely imaginary entity you believe in, keep it out of the hallowed halls of Disneyland--especially when I'm trying to spit game at the 6-year-old holding her mommy's hand in line for Mr. Toad's Wild Ride.

Interesting thought of the day:
Surprisingly, you can't get crabs from having sex with one. Even more surprising? You can get pregnant.

Wimbledon: The Cinematic Experience!

The other day, because I'm unemployed and have every movie channel available, I watched the Major Motion Picture Wimbledon.

If it was up to me, I wouldn't have watched it, but my vagina had the remote.

Anyway, there were two things that struck me as so awesome, that I had to remark on them. The first is that, during the end credits, the first title card of any sort to come on the screen is a dedication to a guy who had obviously died. Now, if you were a member of the dead guy's family, would you be sort of pissed that such a shitty-ass movie was dedicated to him? Do you think it would be rude to ask them to not dedicate it to him? I know that if the last piece of work I ever did was on the movie Wimbledon, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, or Kate & Leopold, I would haunt the motherfuckers who dedicated that shit to me. In fact, as a hugely ironic twist, if I do happen to die (probably from fatal anal bleeding brought on by my penchant for doing naked jumping jacks over traffic cones on a Slip N Slide covered in vegetable oil), I would hope that somebody would try to dedicate the shittiest movie ever to me.

The thing that bothered me most, but also made me laugh out loud hysterically, was one of those goddamn stereotypical, cliche moments from romantic comedies. The man and the woman are arguing over something that, in the long run, doesn't really matter. It's easiest to demonstrate it with fake dialogue:

Woman: I can't believe you did that. Who on earth would do something like that?

Man: I would. That's who. It's not like you even...

Woman: Well, that's just great. Why would you do something like that?

Man: I don't know. Maybe it's because I love you or because I hate the way that Indian people smell.

Woman (caught offguard): What did you say?

Man: I said that I hate the way that Indian people smell.

Woman: No. Before that.

Man: I love you?

Woman: I love you, too.

They kiss and I ruin yet another TV by flipping it on its back and shitting on the screen.

If you're not somebody who finds this kind of thing absolutely hilarious, then you're probably the same somebody who bought Sweet Home Alabama the day it came out on DVD. If this is the case, then you're somebody who really needs to up your daily regimen of cyanide.

Interesting thought of the day:
Every time a little girl is molested, Heaven gains a stripper.