Brokeback Mountain

Brokeback Mountain. The Gay Cowboy Movie. I actually didn't think it was that gay. Anything with Roy Rogers is way gayer and way more cowboyier. He wears yellow paisley shirts and pink bandannas. I'm no expert on gay culture or cowboy culture, but I think he would get some pretty stern looks if he walked into a dude ranch looking like Captain Crunch.

Heath Ledger was hot in that movie. It's kinda hard not to look hot when you're wearing blue jeans and riding a horse. Even Randy Quaid looked hot riding a horse (He played the angry sheep herder). Ledger did mumble throughout the film, though. He reminded me of the gopher from the Winnie the Pooh series. He slurred so much when he talked that the first time I watched the film I thought his name was Anus instead of Ennis. Anus would have been so much cooler.

An Open Letter to My Son

Dear Lukas,

I know it may be awhile before you can read, and if you attend the schools around here that day may never come, but I wanted to take a minute to let you know that I love you. I don't love you the way I love breasts, but deeper and less superficial. I still worry sometimes if I'm the best role model for a child to have. I would hate to pass the family nose or the family temper on to you. No one needs that kind of baggage. At least I know I'll be a better dad than Scott Stapp. He sings for the band Creed. Yeah, I know.

I promise to make the best effort, though. I'll read to you every night. I'll play catch with you. I'll do all those things that a good dad is supposed to do. I promise. And I'll never engage in group sex with Kid Rock and a couple strippers in the back of a tour bus. Yeah, Scott Stapp did that. While he was married and fronting the pseudo-religious rock band Creed. What a jerk.

It's hard for me to imagine anything more beautiful than that big bulbous belly that your momma has right now. I place my hands on it and feel you kick and it brings tears to my eyes. But I know that it will pale in comparison to the first time I see your face and hear you cry. I can't wait to meet you. If I never do anything monumental in life, at least I can say that I created a wonderful child with a wonderful woman. I don't care if I'm never an astronaut. Or a NBA star. Or the singer for a pseudo-religious rock band that plays songs about fatherhood, but then attempts suicide. Yeah, with a wife and two kids, Scott Stapp tried to kill himself.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I want to give you everything and I want to be everything for you, but if I fall short just know that I tried and I love you. And at least your dad isn't Scott Stapp, because that guy really sucks.

Love,

Daddy

President Obama and His Radical Homosexual Agenda

There are alot of people talking right now about how President Obama has let them down. I might as well be one of them. So here it goes; President Obama has let me down. And it's not the usual petty politics that has me so upset. It isn't the economy. It isn't health care. And it certainly isn't LGBT rights. All of which, coincidentally, are the reasons I voted for the man in the first place. His failure, or 'lack of progress', in these areas might be enough for the average left wing nut job to doubt our commander in chief, but it takes more than that to rile my tail feathers. And it isn't his lack of patriotism as Glen Beck might have you believe, but rather his lack of facial hair. On a side note- Barney Frank, if you're really a homosexual, where are you hiding your moustache?

Not since William Howard Taft has a president had the audacity to dawn facial hair. Sure you're the first black president, but without a really cool set of mutton chops, does it really even count? Shaft didn't seem to think so. And what about Isaac Hayes? Sure he would have still been funky without his signature beard, but he wouldn't have been superfunky. And in a world where politicians get up every morning and shave their man-fur, we need superfunky. But I suppose that looking presidential is sort of your thang, Obama. So if you're not going to walk the walk, the least you could do is talk the talk. Let's go back to Barney Frank. The man is probably the 'talk the talkiest' person in Washington. He's not afraid to speak the truth. If he's not going to fix the economy, he doesn't say he will. In the old days it was called being a 'man of your word'. Hell, even those closeted Republicans could learn a thing or two from Frank. If you're going to choose the homosexual lifestyle over a normal and moral lifestyle, at least own up to it. Don't organize witch hunts and condemn your fellow sinners. Instead, these Log Cabin Republicans choose to arrange phony marriages to women in order to appear more electable. Shame on these women who marry politicians only to hide their gayness. What do they call them? Oh, yeah, beards.

"Pregnant Women Are Smug" by Garfunkel and Oates

I find that this song holds certain truths. Hopefully the old ball and chain can laugh with me. That or I'll be sleeping on the couch for the next three months. Enjoy:

The New McItaly Burger

Recently, Italian Minister of Agriculture, Luca Zaia, gave the official seal of approval to McDonald's new burger, the McItaly. The McItaly is compromised of Italian beef, Asiago cheese and artichoke spread. Zaia claims that the sale of this hamburger will benefit Italian farmers who are struggling under the flailing economy. Critics claim that this collaboration of lunch and state is an attack on the very culture of Italy. I say that the industrialized food industry will work wonders on Italian life. Look what it did to the American South.

Hopefully fast food won't be Americas only export to the pointed boot. Our mobile home industry is booming. Who needs the upkeep on an Italian villa when you can vacuum a double wide during Judge Judy commercials? Plus, they can always hook it up to a pickup truck and drive to America when they realize that living in a country with strong cultural ties is far more time consuming than living in a country that doesn't care. We're the country that forgets to put a load of clothes in the dryer. Sure they've spoiled, but we can always wash them again.

What can't be washed off is the foul stench of sin. After we teach the Italians how to eat, we should probably teach them how to pray. Sure they're got the Pope, but we've got Pat Robertson. And if those two ever had a superbowl for the soul, my money would be on old Paddlin' Pat. He's got the balls to say the hurtful and dividing statements that the Pope only implies. Plus the ornate robes and antiquated rituals of the Catholic Church fly a little too close to the brightly feathered barbarians that brought our ancestors to America in the first place. Sure we murdered the Indians and pushed them into cramped squalor more than actually converting them to Christianity, but at least we tried. Italy, get ready for cultural extinction. Hey, I wonder if you can infect a blanket with ignorance?

Click here to read the full article.

9 Chubby Nerds and a Black Guy

Urinating is a very important ritual for me. Where I go, how I go and with whom I go matter greatly. For instance, if I'm going to go in public, I wash my hands prior. It's not that I'm afraid of the outside world; it's that I realize my penis is cleaner than most people's hands. Do you really think your coworker washes his paws after every bowel movement? Hardly. When I'm at home, however, it brings me great joy to pee in the backyard with the dogs. Allowing them to pick up on my scent helps to unify the pack.

It's also important that my pee not touch someone elses pee. A small part of me insists that this is nothing more than my racist subconscious. I am, after all, from the South. And what is more discerning than having my healthy fluid mix with inferior urine? I thought that the online dating service I signed up for would help to ease my troubled subconscious. That's why when the questionnaire prompted me to select the nationalities I was most interested in dating, I proudly clicked 'African American'. Sadly, all I got were 9 white chicks and an Asian.

Luckily, my wife also signed up and took the aforementioned questionnaire. Who was she paired with? Nine chubby nerds and a black guy. I didn't even know she was into black guys. That tells you how much I pay attention. Hell, I didn't even know that I liked Asians. In fact, I was so sure that I didn't like Asians that I left the 'Asian' tab unclicked. I was so positively and undoubtedly sure that Asian women were so far removed from my preference that I would never in a thousand years have romantic feelings for one. Fortunately for me, I took the Chemistry.com questionnaire and now know otherwise. Apparently, I'm quite fond of them.

On a side note, this post is a few days late due to a few more battles with the now slain computer virus.

You and Me and Baby Makes Three

I love you, Bekki!

Oh, and you too, Lukas!

Hello, Heather

As promised, I signed up for an Internet dating site. I took the personality test at Chemistry.com and it matched me with some pretty hot numbers. Unfortunately, I refused to pay the $26.65 sign up fee, so actually contacting and talking with these women is out of the question. Instead, I'll just look at their pictures and pretend we had long meaningful talks about life and love. Hey, Heather, remember when you made that really charming and introspective comment about how people treat one another? Of course you don't. But you might ask yourself; if you're just looking at pictures of women and fantasizing, how is that any different than looking at pornography? Well, when you look at porn you stroke your penis. When you look at Chemistry.com, you're just stroking your ego.

I did find out a bit about myself through the websites personality test. For instance, did you know that I'm interested in sex? "Of all twelve (primary/secondary) types, you are also the most sexual-because both dopamine and testosterone stimulate the sex drive". I had no idea that I was such a sexually driven person. I should probably tell my wife this. My unstoppable sexual appetite has less to do with me being a pervert and more to do with my genetic makeup. It's not my fault. It's sciences fault. You can't blame me for hunting for strange ass in a grocery store than you can blame a lion for playing piggyback with a gazelle.

"Sheila" by Jamie T

There are two seperate videos for this song. Both of which are worth watching. Sadly, embedding is disabled on these. So, enjoy:

Deliciously Deviant Dexter

Through the beauty of Netflix, the wife and I just got finished watching the entire first season of Showtime's drama Dexter. For anyone not familiar with the show, it stars Michael C. Hall as a blood splatter analyst working for the Miami police department. In his spare time he also likes to stalk and murder 'bad guys' in a ritualistic fashion. I wonder if South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford is next on his list.

[spoiler alert] The first season centers around this vigilante serial killer and his journey of self discovery. He finds out he has a brother. His brother is also a serial killer. Michael C. Hall marries the girl who plays his sister, which is gross because it's incest, but more like TV incest which is considerably less gross due to the fact that it's not real. And even if it were real, she's only his sister through adoption, but still the psychological bond is there. Right? [end spoiler alert]

And Dexter's sister is like a gerbil in a hamster wheel. She keeps searching for love, but she never really gets anywhere. I think she'd be great with Sgt. Doakes (played by Erik King). If you watch the show, don't worry. I don't know anything. I'm just guesstilating. Although I wouldn't be surprised if Dexter sabotaged that relationship. I watched Six Feet Under. I'm fully aware of his preoccupation with bald black guys. His relationship with Keith was tumultuous at best. I'm just sayin', watch out Montel Williams.

Hunting for Strange Ass at the Grocery Store

Flowers. Hallmark cards. Heart-shaped candy and boxes of assorted chocolates. Is there anything that sums up February more than Valentine's Day? Well, besides black history? I doubt it. The fact is, February is for lovers. And why should I be denied love just because I'm married? That's why I've decided to throw my hat into a couple of the better known dating sites; Match.com, eHarmony.com, ect. I'm hoping to find someone who looks like the Sun Maid Raisins lady. And if that doesn't pan out, I wouldn't mind having lunch with the girl from the Santitas bag.

The wife is strangely unopposed to this idea. Perhaps she's too distracted by the ungodly creature that's tap dancing on her bladder. Whatever the case, I'm overjoyed by the opportunity to bring disappointment and regret to a new generation of women. I say women, because I was under the impression that these dating sites are strictly heterosexual. I'm just waiting for a few queens out there to prove me wrong and point me in a more flamboyant direction. I wonder if the Brawny guy is available.

Oddly enough, my son is also for sale. The wife and I have been pimping out his baby registry info to anyone and everyone who will listen. Well, are you listening? #43691882 at babiesRus . And if unrewarded generosity is as unappealing to you as it is to me, I'm offering the consolation prize of naming my son. The first person to buy something from our registry will get the honor of naming our son. I'm not just talking abut the first name, either. I'm talking about the whole shabang. How does Louise Larsen, Jr. sound? Or Prince Gomolvilas, Jr.? And, Prince, if the Brawny guy is available, I'll take the one from the 1980's. I can't resist a guy with a moustache.

"Damaged Goods" by the Devotchkas

NYC, bitch!

Sarah Silverman and the Toyota Death Trap Recall

When I first saw the movie Speed, I never imagined that it would play out in real life. I'm speaking, of course, of the massive number of Toyota's that are being recalled due to sticking gas pedals. There have been reports of some automobiles reaching speeds of 130 mph before being stopped only through collision. I can't tell if I'm watching CNN or a Jason Statham movie. As Toyota releases recalls and apologies, I have only one logical question: where the hell is Dennis Hopper?

Another unstoppable force is comedian Sarah Silverman. Season 3 of the Sarah Silverman Program airs tonight. Some people might be put off by her confrontational comedy, but it's satire. It's supposed to make you think a little. She's like a female version of Larry the Cable Guy. Only cuter. And more Jewisher. Oh, and her comedy act is totally different from his. So I guess she's not like him at all. But she is like these new Toyota death traps. She's shiny and fast.

"Rebel Girl" by Bikini Kill

The last 30 seconds are my favorite. It makes me feel the warmth of sisterhood so much that I wish I had my period. Enjoy:

Whores, Girlfriends and Guys Named J.D.

I was saddened to hear of the recent death of author J.D. Salinger. When I was a child, I often dreamt of running away to New York and paying for a prostitute. Salinger's novel, the Catcher in the Rye, gave me hope that my dream could one day be fulfilled. The only difference is, I wouldn't have pussed out like the fictional Holden Caufield. I would have given that whore six and a half inches of American made reality - 3 minutes of sex followed by 57 minutes of crying, 'cause all be damned if I'm paying for the second hour.

Another J.D. to recently pass is the main character from the ABC comedy Scrubs. The network execs didn't exactly kill him off, but he might as well be dead with as few 'guest appearances' as he makes. Ever since ABC bought the show from NBC and Zack Braff walked, the show just isn't the same. Watching the show now is like staying with your hot girlfriend after she gets really fat. Sure, the sex is still good, but her self-esteem issues are a total drag. If I wanted that type of bedroom talk, I'd just have sex with my wife.