I am now blogging exclusively on Salon.com. Posts are daily (except weekends) so there's more variety. Recent topics include: "I'm a Hooker Magnet and I Don't Know Why," "We Already Have Death Panels," Surviving Your Daughter's First Date," "New Tech Stocks,: "Excerpts from Famous Diaries," "Happy Birthday Calvin Coolidge," "Nowadays You May Have to Judge a Book by its Cover," and others. This link should get you there:
http://tinyurl.com/noox4z
If, for some reason, that link doesn't work, let me know. I'd appreciate all comments and ratings. Tell a friend.
Thanks for your loyalty and interest.
John
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Why Daughters Rule
Except for me, all the living things in my household have been decidedly female. In addition to a female wife and two female daughters, the brood used to include a neurotic female dog; a perpetually annoyed Siamese cat; two oversized brown goldfish who I suspect were actually small carp masquerading as goldfish: three gerbils who were supposed to be males, but somehow immacutely-conceived babies, most of whom they ate. All of them are or were females. And, as an added treat for me, they all seemed to get PMS on the same day.
But that’s fine. I don’t recall having any preference where the pets were concerned – except for the gerbils -- but I distinctly wanted daughters. Daughters, they say, are more civilized than boys at a much earlier age, and don’t throw serious tantrums until after they are married. When you diaper them, you stand less of a chance of getting sprayed in the face by urine. And here’s the best part -- daughters, they say, love their daddies more than anybody else in the whole wide world. The only downside to that is that they go out and marry some putz who they think is just like Daddy but isn’t. They may not have noticed that Daddy doesn’t have a tattoo and a nose ring and speaks English grammatically, but I can live with that. Maybe I just don’t like the competition. Now only half their hearts belong to Daddy. In that respect, hubbie is an intruder and a thief.
Another reason I wanted daughters is because I like females a lot. My mother was a female, as are my wife and my sister, so I have some firsthand experience in the field. Boys are okay, but they eventually become grown men and you can’t hold their hands anymore when you cross the street or kiss them on the cheek at the bus station, especially if they’re wearing the uniform of the United States Marine Corps. Statistically, boys drive too fast, drink too much alcohol, get arrested more and have more car accidents than girls. And they have the innate ability and primal need to fashion a weapon out of almost anything. Then of course there’s always the oedipal thing.
But what is it about daughters? Perhaps I like to play tea party more than I like to play cowboys and Indians. I prefer opera to wrestling, sopranos to baritones, Barbie to Ken. Cap pistols, Erector Sets, electric trains, skateboards, toy soldiers, video games and dinosaurs all bore me to tears. I have no particular interest in sports or power tools and I’ve inherited my father’s ancestral ineptitude at doing anything more mechanically complicated than changing the toilet paper roll. And I’ve never been overly fond of children who find it sidesplitting to imitate the various trumpet nuances of flatulence, although I confess to having blown more than a few thunderous raspberries on my forearm in my youth. After all, I was a boy once. I admit it.
But truthfully, these reasons, although perfectly legitimate, describe only part of the allure. In a nutshell, here’s what clinches it for me: nothing can break a father’s heart faster or more thoroughly than a little girl’s pout. You know the look. Shirley Temple had it down to a science. The little heart-shaped lips push out like a blowfish and turn down at the corners, the eyes fill up with tears, dimples disappear and you will do anything, ANYTHING to make that look go away. I am a huge sucker for those pouts. I instantly transmogrify into mush. Those pouts can get me out of a deep slumber at three o’clock in the morning to read the same insipid story about talking rabbits fifty or sixty times. Those pouts can get me to stand at the end of long serpentine line in the sweltering heat of an August afternoon so that I may sit with her in a rotating teacup for the tenth time in a row. And, of course, those little girl pouts have the magical ability to make my wallet fly out of my pocket and empty its contents into that cute little outstretched palm.
Yes indeed, a daughter does have a special relationship with her father. In some ways, it’s not unlike the relationship a lobbyist might have with the House Appropriations Committee.
But that’s fine. That’s what money is for -– to transform a little girl’s pout into an incandescent, albeit orthodontically-enhanced smile that will turn you to Jell-O. That cute little smile has cost me a bundle too –- on top of the new Mercedes I single-handedly financed for the orthodontist’s second wife, it’s five bucks to the Tooth Fairy for every bicuspid and incisor they lose, seven if it’s a molar. When I was growing up, I got a lousy nickel. Now it’s five dollars. Five dollars! The Tooth Fairy must have an impressive stock portfolio, though a mere trifle compared to the orthodontist’s.
But there are hundreds of areas where having daughters instead of sons can save you a whole truckload of money. Not needing to hire a mohel to perform a circumcision is, unfortunately, the only one that immediately leaps to mind.
But that’s fine. I don’t recall having any preference where the pets were concerned – except for the gerbils -- but I distinctly wanted daughters. Daughters, they say, are more civilized than boys at a much earlier age, and don’t throw serious tantrums until after they are married. When you diaper them, you stand less of a chance of getting sprayed in the face by urine. And here’s the best part -- daughters, they say, love their daddies more than anybody else in the whole wide world. The only downside to that is that they go out and marry some putz who they think is just like Daddy but isn’t. They may not have noticed that Daddy doesn’t have a tattoo and a nose ring and speaks English grammatically, but I can live with that. Maybe I just don’t like the competition. Now only half their hearts belong to Daddy. In that respect, hubbie is an intruder and a thief.
Another reason I wanted daughters is because I like females a lot. My mother was a female, as are my wife and my sister, so I have some firsthand experience in the field. Boys are okay, but they eventually become grown men and you can’t hold their hands anymore when you cross the street or kiss them on the cheek at the bus station, especially if they’re wearing the uniform of the United States Marine Corps. Statistically, boys drive too fast, drink too much alcohol, get arrested more and have more car accidents than girls. And they have the innate ability and primal need to fashion a weapon out of almost anything. Then of course there’s always the oedipal thing.
But what is it about daughters? Perhaps I like to play tea party more than I like to play cowboys and Indians. I prefer opera to wrestling, sopranos to baritones, Barbie to Ken. Cap pistols, Erector Sets, electric trains, skateboards, toy soldiers, video games and dinosaurs all bore me to tears. I have no particular interest in sports or power tools and I’ve inherited my father’s ancestral ineptitude at doing anything more mechanically complicated than changing the toilet paper roll. And I’ve never been overly fond of children who find it sidesplitting to imitate the various trumpet nuances of flatulence, although I confess to having blown more than a few thunderous raspberries on my forearm in my youth. After all, I was a boy once. I admit it.
But truthfully, these reasons, although perfectly legitimate, describe only part of the allure. In a nutshell, here’s what clinches it for me: nothing can break a father’s heart faster or more thoroughly than a little girl’s pout. You know the look. Shirley Temple had it down to a science. The little heart-shaped lips push out like a blowfish and turn down at the corners, the eyes fill up with tears, dimples disappear and you will do anything, ANYTHING to make that look go away. I am a huge sucker for those pouts. I instantly transmogrify into mush. Those pouts can get me out of a deep slumber at three o’clock in the morning to read the same insipid story about talking rabbits fifty or sixty times. Those pouts can get me to stand at the end of long serpentine line in the sweltering heat of an August afternoon so that I may sit with her in a rotating teacup for the tenth time in a row. And, of course, those little girl pouts have the magical ability to make my wallet fly out of my pocket and empty its contents into that cute little outstretched palm.
Yes indeed, a daughter does have a special relationship with her father. In some ways, it’s not unlike the relationship a lobbyist might have with the House Appropriations Committee.
But that’s fine. That’s what money is for -– to transform a little girl’s pout into an incandescent, albeit orthodontically-enhanced smile that will turn you to Jell-O. That cute little smile has cost me a bundle too –- on top of the new Mercedes I single-handedly financed for the orthodontist’s second wife, it’s five bucks to the Tooth Fairy for every bicuspid and incisor they lose, seven if it’s a molar. When I was growing up, I got a lousy nickel. Now it’s five dollars. Five dollars! The Tooth Fairy must have an impressive stock portfolio, though a mere trifle compared to the orthodontist’s.
But there are hundreds of areas where having daughters instead of sons can save you a whole truckload of money. Not needing to hire a mohel to perform a circumcision is, unfortunately, the only one that immediately leaps to mind.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
How to Pass Healthcare Reform in a Week
Until they vote to pass healthcare reform, all Senators and Congresspersons will have their free coverage revoked and be required to buy overpriced HMO policies from private sector insurance companies that reject all legitimate claims on a regular basis. This will not require a long search.
All of which is irrelevant because most Senators and Congresspersons who lose their tax-funded insurance, will be denied insurance at private companies due to pre-existing conditions such as early cases of athlete’s foot, sneezing, hangnails, splinters etc.
Blue Dog Democrats will lose their tax-funded healthcare and be required to buy canine insurance for which they will be treated exclusively by veterinarians.
Any officer of any bailed-out bank who receives a bonus will pay ten times that amount to Medicare, after which he will be required to cross the San Diego Freeway blindfolded.
Hospitals will be required to offer discount deals to patients. These will include two tests for the price of one, buy-two-get-one-free offers and generous discount coupons.
All anti-reform lobbyists, employees of the Lewin Group, and insurance company CEOS who have catastrophic diseases will be encouraged to die. This goes for Sen. Jim DeMint as well.
Healthy insurance company executives making over $100,000 a year will be required to purchase their own HMO policies from a competing insurance company. Whenever they become ill, their new insurance company will deny their claims.
All pharmaceutical executives will be required to buy only non-generic drugs which will not be covered by their insurance.
All members of the legislative branch of the federal government who vote against healthcare reform will be denied coverage by every insurance company, except for those located in Darfur.
Anybody who is unemployed or earns less than $30,000 a year will be immediately covered under Medicare until their situation improves to a level that allows them to purchase their own, government subsidized insurance policies. Anyone who fakes it will be required to build shelf units for caves in Afghanistan.
All healthcare company employees who are paid bonuses to find reasons to deny claims will pay a 99.9% tax on their “incentive pay,”
and thereafter be required to turn down only their own claims.
Any doctor who prescribes medical tests deemed unnecessary by an impartial panel will have to pay for them himself, and undergo unnecessary genital surgery without anesthetic.
All active military personnel will be automatically covered by Medicare. This will paid for by garnishing the salaries of Blackwater contractors.
A Medicare Jr. Plan will be established to cover all children, except for those whose parents can afford to insure them on their own without having to sell all their belongings on eBay.
Doctors and dentists will be required to treat each other for free. Surgeons will be encouraged to operate on themselves.
Any insurance company that insures Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Bill O’Reilly and Glenn Beck will pay the government $100,000 per claim.
Dick Cheney will be denied insurance coverage forever, including any medical bills he incurs from 180 mandatory waterboardings. If he dies, his life insurance will not pay because waterboarding is considered by him to be harmless.
All of which is irrelevant because most Senators and Congresspersons who lose their tax-funded insurance, will be denied insurance at private companies due to pre-existing conditions such as early cases of athlete’s foot, sneezing, hangnails, splinters etc.
Blue Dog Democrats will lose their tax-funded healthcare and be required to buy canine insurance for which they will be treated exclusively by veterinarians.
Any officer of any bailed-out bank who receives a bonus will pay ten times that amount to Medicare, after which he will be required to cross the San Diego Freeway blindfolded.
Hospitals will be required to offer discount deals to patients. These will include two tests for the price of one, buy-two-get-one-free offers and generous discount coupons.
All anti-reform lobbyists, employees of the Lewin Group, and insurance company CEOS who have catastrophic diseases will be encouraged to die. This goes for Sen. Jim DeMint as well.
Healthy insurance company executives making over $100,000 a year will be required to purchase their own HMO policies from a competing insurance company. Whenever they become ill, their new insurance company will deny their claims.
All pharmaceutical executives will be required to buy only non-generic drugs which will not be covered by their insurance.
All members of the legislative branch of the federal government who vote against healthcare reform will be denied coverage by every insurance company, except for those located in Darfur.
Anybody who is unemployed or earns less than $30,000 a year will be immediately covered under Medicare until their situation improves to a level that allows them to purchase their own, government subsidized insurance policies. Anyone who fakes it will be required to build shelf units for caves in Afghanistan.
All healthcare company employees who are paid bonuses to find reasons to deny claims will pay a 99.9% tax on their “incentive pay,”
and thereafter be required to turn down only their own claims.
Any doctor who prescribes medical tests deemed unnecessary by an impartial panel will have to pay for them himself, and undergo unnecessary genital surgery without anesthetic.
All active military personnel will be automatically covered by Medicare. This will paid for by garnishing the salaries of Blackwater contractors.
A Medicare Jr. Plan will be established to cover all children, except for those whose parents can afford to insure them on their own without having to sell all their belongings on eBay.
Doctors and dentists will be required to treat each other for free. Surgeons will be encouraged to operate on themselves.
Any insurance company that insures Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Bill O’Reilly and Glenn Beck will pay the government $100,000 per claim.
Dick Cheney will be denied insurance coverage forever, including any medical bills he incurs from 180 mandatory waterboardings. If he dies, his life insurance will not pay because waterboarding is considered by him to be harmless.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Political Questions
HOW CAN MIKE HUCKABEE DISPUTE EVOLUTION WHEN HE WAS ELECTED BY NEANDERTHALS?...And other political queries.
When will somebody put Ambien in Joe Lieberman’s matzoh ball soup?
Why weren’t more people encouraging when Gov. Rick Perry suggested Texas secede from the Union?
When did Rep. John Boehner decide to add the “e” and the “h” to his last name?
When did Todd Palin realize he'd married a dominatrix?
Why doesn’t Sarah Palin wear contacts? Does she think glasses make her look smarter? It’s not working.
Do Blue Dog Democrats eat Alpo or Purina?
How many times does Barack Obama gargle after he smokes a cigarette?
Would there be a foreign policy crisis if Hillary Clinton wore a dress?
Does Clarence Thomas still check his soda cans for pubic hair?
Did the Limbaughs name their son “Rush,” because they took one look at him and decided to leave in a hurry?
Why is Thomas Jefferson on a $2 bill, while Alexander Hamilton is on a $10 bill? Nobody ever sees $2 bills and Hamilton wasn’t even a President. And why is William McKinley on a $500 bill, Grover Cleveland on a $1000 bill, and Salmon P. Chase on a $10,000 bill?
Has Cindy McCain had more facelifts than Joan Rivers?
Does everybody in the nation have to get shot before members of the NRA grow up?
Do John Edwards, John Roberts and Mitt Romney go to the same hairdresser?
When will John Boehner be asked to join the Black Caucus?
Does Gov. Mark Sanford read romance novels?
Will Joe Biden ever get somebody to trim the hair that sticks out on the back of his head?
Does Sen. Larry Craig wear thongs?
Why is the CIA keeping it secret that Osama bin Laden was breast fed through a burka?
Does Dick Armey realize that his name is a pretty accurate description of the Republican Party?
Why is Keith Olbermann’s fashion consultant so in love with stripes?
When will our elected representatives stop with the red tie, blue tie crap? We get it.
If everybody in Alabama is sad does that make it a blue state?
Did Dick Cheney have his hand on a disguised copy of The Exorcist when he was sworn in?
Do teabaggers even drink tea? Wasn’t that kind of the point of the Boston Tea Party?
When will Bill Clinton notice that his nose is starting to resemble the bulbous proboscis of W.C. Fields?
Was Ron Paul in Lord of the Rings?
Why haven’t James Carville and Mary Matalan killed each other yet?
When will somebody put Ambien in Joe Lieberman’s matzoh ball soup?
Why weren’t more people encouraging when Gov. Rick Perry suggested Texas secede from the Union?
When did Rep. John Boehner decide to add the “e” and the “h” to his last name?
When did Todd Palin realize he'd married a dominatrix?
Why doesn’t Sarah Palin wear contacts? Does she think glasses make her look smarter? It’s not working.
Do Blue Dog Democrats eat Alpo or Purina?
How many times does Barack Obama gargle after he smokes a cigarette?
Would there be a foreign policy crisis if Hillary Clinton wore a dress?
Does Clarence Thomas still check his soda cans for pubic hair?
Did the Limbaughs name their son “Rush,” because they took one look at him and decided to leave in a hurry?
Why is Thomas Jefferson on a $2 bill, while Alexander Hamilton is on a $10 bill? Nobody ever sees $2 bills and Hamilton wasn’t even a President. And why is William McKinley on a $500 bill, Grover Cleveland on a $1000 bill, and Salmon P. Chase on a $10,000 bill?
Has Cindy McCain had more facelifts than Joan Rivers?
Does everybody in the nation have to get shot before members of the NRA grow up?
Do John Edwards, John Roberts and Mitt Romney go to the same hairdresser?
When will John Boehner be asked to join the Black Caucus?
Does Gov. Mark Sanford read romance novels?
Will Joe Biden ever get somebody to trim the hair that sticks out on the back of his head?
Does Sen. Larry Craig wear thongs?
Why is the CIA keeping it secret that Osama bin Laden was breast fed through a burka?
Does Dick Armey realize that his name is a pretty accurate description of the Republican Party?
Why is Keith Olbermann’s fashion consultant so in love with stripes?
When will our elected representatives stop with the red tie, blue tie crap? We get it.
If everybody in Alabama is sad does that make it a blue state?
Did Dick Cheney have his hand on a disguised copy of The Exorcist when he was sworn in?
Do teabaggers even drink tea? Wasn’t that kind of the point of the Boston Tea Party?
When will Bill Clinton notice that his nose is starting to resemble the bulbous proboscis of W.C. Fields?
Was Ron Paul in Lord of the Rings?
Why haven’t James Carville and Mary Matalan killed each other yet?
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Idiotic Concepts #2
POLITICAL CORRECTNESS
What idiot came up with this dimwitted concept? PC was never part of civilized society, and then suddenly—like a nasty pimple—it just sprang up out of nowhere. Kind of like Dr. Phil.
I know, I know, it started in the Sixties. But what do you expect from a generation that thought Nehru jackets were cool? Even Nehru hated them.
For starters, where did “ess” go? Why are actresses now actors? Why are hostesses now hosts? Or are they? Why did they overlook “mistresses”? And why do I now have to call a stewardess a “flight attendant,” and a waitress a “server?” What the hell does “flight attendant” even mean? They’re goddamn sky waitresses with attitude.
Another example: Did anybody ask Native Americans if they liked being called Native Americans? Whose idea was it? Probably not theirs. If it was part of a treaty, why haven’t we violated it yet?
As for the misnomer “Indians,” you can blame that on Columbus because he was the only explorer of his day with absolutely no sense of direction. The fact that this putz actually got venture capital is astounding.
Now that Native Americans aren’t supposed to be known as Indians anymore, they shouldn’t be pissed off when sports teams call themselves Indians or some derivation thereof. But if you’re an East Indian-American, you have every right to be annoyed and should insist that stadium concession stands be required to sell Vindaloo, Chicken Tikka and Naan instead of hot dogs.
Here’s one: What am I supposed to call a guy with a complicated ancestry, let’s say an English-Japanese-Liberian-American? Screw the lineage. I’d rather just call him ancestrally conflicted.
And what about German Jews? They were born there, they spoke the language, they wore lederhosen and they ate schnitzel. But we all know what happened to them, so why would the survivors want to be called German-Americans? In this case, being politically correct is actually in bad taste.
Okay, is Ms. really that much better than Miss or Missus? For one thing, it’s hard to pronounce the word “Ms.” When you hail your waitress (excuse me “server”) or need help in a store, do you shout out “Miss” or “Ms.?” Nobody shouts out “Ms.” Does that mean that certain businesses get special dispensation from the PC police?
Face it: If you’re not married, you’re a Miss; if you’re married you’re a Missus. Why is that derogatory? Because Miss Gloria Steinem said so? And if you’re an elderly single lady, then you’re an old maid or a spinster. That may sound pejorative, but what am I supposed to call an 85 year-old spinster? “Romantically challenged?”
And what’s up with calling a deaf person “hearing challenged” or a blind person “sight challenged”? Deaf people can’t hear and blind people can’t see, so what’s the challenge here? Challenged implies that they could hear or see if they just tried a little harder.
Go tell that to Helen Keller.
What idiot came up with this dimwitted concept? PC was never part of civilized society, and then suddenly—like a nasty pimple—it just sprang up out of nowhere. Kind of like Dr. Phil.
I know, I know, it started in the Sixties. But what do you expect from a generation that thought Nehru jackets were cool? Even Nehru hated them.
For starters, where did “ess” go? Why are actresses now actors? Why are hostesses now hosts? Or are they? Why did they overlook “mistresses”? And why do I now have to call a stewardess a “flight attendant,” and a waitress a “server?” What the hell does “flight attendant” even mean? They’re goddamn sky waitresses with attitude.
Another example: Did anybody ask Native Americans if they liked being called Native Americans? Whose idea was it? Probably not theirs. If it was part of a treaty, why haven’t we violated it yet?
As for the misnomer “Indians,” you can blame that on Columbus because he was the only explorer of his day with absolutely no sense of direction. The fact that this putz actually got venture capital is astounding.
Now that Native Americans aren’t supposed to be known as Indians anymore, they shouldn’t be pissed off when sports teams call themselves Indians or some derivation thereof. But if you’re an East Indian-American, you have every right to be annoyed and should insist that stadium concession stands be required to sell Vindaloo, Chicken Tikka and Naan instead of hot dogs.
Here’s one: What am I supposed to call a guy with a complicated ancestry, let’s say an English-Japanese-Liberian-American? Screw the lineage. I’d rather just call him ancestrally conflicted.
And what about German Jews? They were born there, they spoke the language, they wore lederhosen and they ate schnitzel. But we all know what happened to them, so why would the survivors want to be called German-Americans? In this case, being politically correct is actually in bad taste.
Okay, is Ms. really that much better than Miss or Missus? For one thing, it’s hard to pronounce the word “Ms.” When you hail your waitress (excuse me “server”) or need help in a store, do you shout out “Miss” or “Ms.?” Nobody shouts out “Ms.” Does that mean that certain businesses get special dispensation from the PC police?
Face it: If you’re not married, you’re a Miss; if you’re married you’re a Missus. Why is that derogatory? Because Miss Gloria Steinem said so? And if you’re an elderly single lady, then you’re an old maid or a spinster. That may sound pejorative, but what am I supposed to call an 85 year-old spinster? “Romantically challenged?”
And what’s up with calling a deaf person “hearing challenged” or a blind person “sight challenged”? Deaf people can’t hear and blind people can’t see, so what’s the challenge here? Challenged implies that they could hear or see if they just tried a little harder.
Go tell that to Helen Keller.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Royal Idiots
QUEEN ELIZABETH
Okay, I know it’s a no-brainer to lampoon British royalty, but I actually feel sorry for Queen Elizabeth. Deep down—beneath the stiff royal bearing, inane traditions, idiotic protocols and overall medieval nonsense—she seems like a nice enough person, maybe a little stuffy, but who wouldn’t be if they had to go through their golden years with a hairdo that looks like George Washington’s wig?
Brilliant.
The figurehead business has to be a miserable job. Basically, the Queen is a tourist attraction, like Donald Duck at Disneyland or the wax sculpture of Michael Jackson at Madame Tussaud’s. Sure some of the monarchical perks are cool –- the pay is terrific, the bogus supplication is probably fun to watch and you don’t have to worry about accidentally leaving your debit card in the ATM machine --- but the position itself must be slightly frustrating, because no one really takes you that seriously. That includes your Prime Minister, your Parliament, at least half of your subjects (the ones with brains anyway) and practically everybody else in the world except idiotic foreign tourists, usually the goofy ones who wear socks with sandals and take too many photos of each other standing in front of random buildings and insignificant shrubbery.
Brilliant.
Another part of the Queen’s job is to travel to poor foreign countries and spread good will, although the starving recipients of her magnanimity would probably prefer to have several megatons of food, but not English food, which is revolting even for starving English people.
Brilliant.
If that weren’t bad enough, Queen Elizabeth has to put up with Prince Charles, who’s next in line to inherit the throne, which means that he goes through his entire adult life wishing she were dead. That’s got to be tough for a parent. I doubt that Charles even gives her a Mother’s Day gift, but if he does, it’s probably something sharp.
Brilliant.
Quite a few Brits think Prince Charles would make a lousy king, but how can anyone botch a job with no power to do anything more politically controversial than putting beanbag chairs in the drawing room at Buckingham Palace?
Okay, I know it’s a no-brainer to lampoon British royalty, but I actually feel sorry for Queen Elizabeth. Deep down—beneath the stiff royal bearing, inane traditions, idiotic protocols and overall medieval nonsense—she seems like a nice enough person, maybe a little stuffy, but who wouldn’t be if they had to go through their golden years with a hairdo that looks like George Washington’s wig?
Brilliant.
The figurehead business has to be a miserable job. Basically, the Queen is a tourist attraction, like Donald Duck at Disneyland or the wax sculpture of Michael Jackson at Madame Tussaud’s. Sure some of the monarchical perks are cool –- the pay is terrific, the bogus supplication is probably fun to watch and you don’t have to worry about accidentally leaving your debit card in the ATM machine --- but the position itself must be slightly frustrating, because no one really takes you that seriously. That includes your Prime Minister, your Parliament, at least half of your subjects (the ones with brains anyway) and practically everybody else in the world except idiotic foreign tourists, usually the goofy ones who wear socks with sandals and take too many photos of each other standing in front of random buildings and insignificant shrubbery.
Brilliant.
Another part of the Queen’s job is to travel to poor foreign countries and spread good will, although the starving recipients of her magnanimity would probably prefer to have several megatons of food, but not English food, which is revolting even for starving English people.
Brilliant.
If that weren’t bad enough, Queen Elizabeth has to put up with Prince Charles, who’s next in line to inherit the throne, which means that he goes through his entire adult life wishing she were dead. That’s got to be tough for a parent. I doubt that Charles even gives her a Mother’s Day gift, but if he does, it’s probably something sharp.
Brilliant.
Quite a few Brits think Prince Charles would make a lousy king, but how can anyone botch a job with no power to do anything more politically controversial than putting beanbag chairs in the drawing room at Buckingham Palace?
Brilliant.
Of course, there are other, more serious drawbacks: In order to inherit the crown, monarchs have to be part of a long family line with a thoroughly polluted gene pool that repeatedly produces idiot offspring. This explains a lot about certain eras of English history.
Brilliant.
In spite of the outlandish salary, there are a lot of idiotic rules for kings and queens. Queens are not allowed to wear leather pants, spaghetti straps or stiletto heels in public. Neither are kings. Not that anybody in their right mind would want to see Queen Elizabeth in an outfit like that. Monarchs can’t swear in public either. They can’t say “shite” if they drop a crown or a scepter on their toes, although I’m fairly certain Queen Elizabeth has privately called Prince Charles a fucking twit more than once.
Brilliant.
In days of yore, if you were a member of court, you had to be extra careful not to say anything that could be misconstrued as heretical or treasonous, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to be caught ogling the king’s wife, because the monarch could snap his royal fingers and have a fat guy in a black mask and an odd hat, chop your head off.
Of course, there are other, more serious drawbacks: In order to inherit the crown, monarchs have to be part of a long family line with a thoroughly polluted gene pool that repeatedly produces idiot offspring. This explains a lot about certain eras of English history.
Brilliant.
In spite of the outlandish salary, there are a lot of idiotic rules for kings and queens. Queens are not allowed to wear leather pants, spaghetti straps or stiletto heels in public. Neither are kings. Not that anybody in their right mind would want to see Queen Elizabeth in an outfit like that. Monarchs can’t swear in public either. They can’t say “shite” if they drop a crown or a scepter on their toes, although I’m fairly certain Queen Elizabeth has privately called Prince Charles a fucking twit more than once.
Brilliant.
In days of yore, if you were a member of court, you had to be extra careful not to say anything that could be misconstrued as heretical or treasonous, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to be caught ogling the king’s wife, because the monarch could snap his royal fingers and have a fat guy in a black mask and an odd hat, chop your head off.
Brilliant.
It’s a shame that modern-day monarchs don’t do that anymore since, among other things, it would make a great reality show. As for Henry the Eighth, experts say he had his wives executed because he had brain damage from syphilis, but I think he did it because it was easier than breaking up.
Brilliant.
If you’re horrified by the image of your parents doing the horizontal mambo -– and who wouldn’t be? –- picturing the Queen doing it has to be even more ghastly, but we know she has because there are offspring. I’ve always wondered –- and Wikipedia is no help here --whether there’s some kind of ancient decree that specifies royal sex parameters, which the Queen and her dour statue of a husband, Prince Philip, have to consult when they have carnal relations, or can they do anything they want? Is bondage okay? Whips? Leather? Chocolate sauce? I would guess that some of the more complex sex toys are not part of the royal toy chest, but you can get everything online now, so who knows? People do weird things in the privacy of their bedrooms, especially if they’re doing it in the same bed Henry the Eighth over-utilized to fool around in. I’m assuming they’re not using the same linen.
Brilliant.
It’s a shame that modern-day monarchs don’t do that anymore since, among other things, it would make a great reality show. As for Henry the Eighth, experts say he had his wives executed because he had brain damage from syphilis, but I think he did it because it was easier than breaking up.
Brilliant.
If you’re horrified by the image of your parents doing the horizontal mambo -– and who wouldn’t be? –- picturing the Queen doing it has to be even more ghastly, but we know she has because there are offspring. I’ve always wondered –- and Wikipedia is no help here --whether there’s some kind of ancient decree that specifies royal sex parameters, which the Queen and her dour statue of a husband, Prince Philip, have to consult when they have carnal relations, or can they do anything they want? Is bondage okay? Whips? Leather? Chocolate sauce? I would guess that some of the more complex sex toys are not part of the royal toy chest, but you can get everything online now, so who knows? People do weird things in the privacy of their bedrooms, especially if they’re doing it in the same bed Henry the Eighth over-utilized to fool around in. I’m assuming they’re not using the same linen.
Brilliant.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Idiotic Concepts
"The Sanctity of Marriage"
People who are irrationally terrified by homosexual marriage usually invoke this idiotic phrase to justify their case because, in their learned opinion, gay marriage will lead to moral decay since it says so in the Bible, which it doesn’t. Men, these morons say, were meant to marry women. Period. It’s God’s will. Fact is, in Biblical times, if there weren’t any women handy at the oasis, you flirted with the closest attractive goat. Or maybe even the nearest cute guy in a robe. It’s lonely in the desert, and you can’t have a very satisfying sexual experience with sand. Also, there’s nothing in the Bible about coveting thy neighbor’s goat. And nowadays, just because a priest administers the marriage vows doesn’t sanctify the process, especially if the priest in question has an important appointment with a “troubled” twelve year-old later in the afternoon.
According to my online dictionary, the word “sanctity” means, “sacred.” I’ve been married for quite sometime, but there’s never been anything even remotely sacred about it, except maybe for the honeymoon, and that was sacred because scantily-clad waitresses served you pinacoladas in the pool. Mine is just an ordinary marriage and it’s full of normal unsacred marriage stuff like listening to my wife snore at night, getting bawled out for not putting the toilet seat down, being forced to dance, having to watch “Sex In the City,” sixty times, listening to her oohing and aahing over McDreamy while I’d rather be oohing and aahing over Scarlett Johansson, having to repeatedly hear phrases like “that’s what you’re wearing?” and, if there’s any time left over, having sex infrequently and, trust me, after thirty years, that is hardly a sacred ritual, unless the word “sacred” has recently become synonymous with the word “tedious.”
Ironically, a lot of the idiots who actually think heterosexual marriage is some kind of holy sacred rite, got married in Vegas by a guy in an Elvis wig, flanked by two random, half-drunk ghoulish witnesses from the nearest casino. These young newlyweds are probably divorced within a year and living in separate trailer parks. The bride posts a twenty year-old picture of herself on Match.com, and hubbie is probably onto his third wife, who he physically abuses on a regular basis. Or he hasn’t found another wife, and is satisfying his carnal needs on his cousin or the livestock.
In fact, the term “sanctity of marriage” is completely off-limits for anyone who’s gotten divorced, because when people get married they take “sacred” marriage vows. One of those vows is, “until death do you part,” not “until you meet somebody better.”
Anti-gay rights activists are also terrified that, if gays are allowed to serve in the armed forces, the result will be sexual chaos. Right. I can just see some gay G.I. making a pass at a non-gay G.I. while their Humvee is being blown to smithereens. Besides, military recruiters are so desperate to increase the ranks, they’re enlisting ill-educated 18 year-old morons and rushing them through boot camp by limiting the curriculum to loading guns, putting on a helmet correctly and learning the military tactics involved in badminton. I don’t know about you, but if I were in Iraq, I’d rather have a well-trained gay guy watching my back than a moron with his helmet on backwards.
There are some people –- usually idiots who live in red states –- who have this inane idea that gay people can be talked out of being gay. That’s like trying to talk an albino out of being pale.
Then there’s the old saw about how gay teachers will somehow talk their students into being gay. How does that work exactly? By exclusively teaching Oscar Wilde and Truman Capote? Playing show tunes? Impersonating Liberace? So what’s the heterosexual kid supposed to say? “I love Truman Capote and he was gay so maybe I should try it?” And if a few of the kids are already gay, the teacher is wasting his time. All of which is moot because, chances are, they’re all either texting each other or hooked up to their iPods, so nobody’s even paying attention anyway.
People who are irrationally terrified by homosexual marriage usually invoke this idiotic phrase to justify their case because, in their learned opinion, gay marriage will lead to moral decay since it says so in the Bible, which it doesn’t. Men, these morons say, were meant to marry women. Period. It’s God’s will. Fact is, in Biblical times, if there weren’t any women handy at the oasis, you flirted with the closest attractive goat. Or maybe even the nearest cute guy in a robe. It’s lonely in the desert, and you can’t have a very satisfying sexual experience with sand. Also, there’s nothing in the Bible about coveting thy neighbor’s goat. And nowadays, just because a priest administers the marriage vows doesn’t sanctify the process, especially if the priest in question has an important appointment with a “troubled” twelve year-old later in the afternoon.
According to my online dictionary, the word “sanctity” means, “sacred.” I’ve been married for quite sometime, but there’s never been anything even remotely sacred about it, except maybe for the honeymoon, and that was sacred because scantily-clad waitresses served you pinacoladas in the pool. Mine is just an ordinary marriage and it’s full of normal unsacred marriage stuff like listening to my wife snore at night, getting bawled out for not putting the toilet seat down, being forced to dance, having to watch “Sex In the City,” sixty times, listening to her oohing and aahing over McDreamy while I’d rather be oohing and aahing over Scarlett Johansson, having to repeatedly hear phrases like “that’s what you’re wearing?” and, if there’s any time left over, having sex infrequently and, trust me, after thirty years, that is hardly a sacred ritual, unless the word “sacred” has recently become synonymous with the word “tedious.”
Ironically, a lot of the idiots who actually think heterosexual marriage is some kind of holy sacred rite, got married in Vegas by a guy in an Elvis wig, flanked by two random, half-drunk ghoulish witnesses from the nearest casino. These young newlyweds are probably divorced within a year and living in separate trailer parks. The bride posts a twenty year-old picture of herself on Match.com, and hubbie is probably onto his third wife, who he physically abuses on a regular basis. Or he hasn’t found another wife, and is satisfying his carnal needs on his cousin or the livestock.
In fact, the term “sanctity of marriage” is completely off-limits for anyone who’s gotten divorced, because when people get married they take “sacred” marriage vows. One of those vows is, “until death do you part,” not “until you meet somebody better.”
Anti-gay rights activists are also terrified that, if gays are allowed to serve in the armed forces, the result will be sexual chaos. Right. I can just see some gay G.I. making a pass at a non-gay G.I. while their Humvee is being blown to smithereens. Besides, military recruiters are so desperate to increase the ranks, they’re enlisting ill-educated 18 year-old morons and rushing them through boot camp by limiting the curriculum to loading guns, putting on a helmet correctly and learning the military tactics involved in badminton. I don’t know about you, but if I were in Iraq, I’d rather have a well-trained gay guy watching my back than a moron with his helmet on backwards.
There are some people –- usually idiots who live in red states –- who have this inane idea that gay people can be talked out of being gay. That’s like trying to talk an albino out of being pale.
Then there’s the old saw about how gay teachers will somehow talk their students into being gay. How does that work exactly? By exclusively teaching Oscar Wilde and Truman Capote? Playing show tunes? Impersonating Liberace? So what’s the heterosexual kid supposed to say? “I love Truman Capote and he was gay so maybe I should try it?” And if a few of the kids are already gay, the teacher is wasting his time. All of which is moot because, chances are, they’re all either texting each other or hooked up to their iPods, so nobody’s even paying attention anyway.
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