That's Ludicrous! Like the Rapper! But More So! Like Yo Mamma's Juicebox. Quotation Marks Do Apply.

So, I promised everyone stories the other day. Stories involving really stupid shit correlating to the entry I wrote earlier about the 22 year old girl suing for damages because her boss's husband picked her up and dropped her on her head at a mandatory office party.

Heh. Yep. Still funny.

Anyway, I have been to jury duty. It began one fateful day when I sat there and thought, what should I have for lunch and then I got a call. "You got a jury summons." And then the voice on the phone broke out in hysterical laughter. Maybe it was because I was mouthing off trying not to curse because well, that would be rude. Have you seen that one Calvin and Hobbes strip when Calvin's dad drops a christmas present on his foot and screams "Ripping dipping dang fang a ding dong!" or something to that effect. That was me. Although, Bill Waterson's ideas of the man's inner psyche probably did not consist of tearing heads off with your teeth and then fucking the esophageal passage while gastric juices spilled out of it. But that's not what I was thinking either. I was just kinda bummed.

So I decide that there isn't really anything wrong with jury duty and maybe I will get a cool case and I'm unemployed right now so I guess I might as well get it out of the way. It was time to do my civil doody. (Like how I slipped that in there? Clever, right?)

I got up on the morning of February 14th and got a ride to the courthouse. I know. Valentine's with Judge Bishop or Silverstein. He treats me good. He rubs one out under the pulpit, I mean judge's chair thingy, under his robes during trials, tips well, and rounds up on the hour so I'm okay with it. The halitosis takes getting used to.

But I get herded into large room where I wait, hoping, mostly, that I don't get called on. An hour later, we watch a public service film about the joys of civic duty. We, the people, the commonfolk that can't get out of jury duty (which means we're probably not very smart and don't have any real convictions) are the only people who can make or break someone's entire life. All up to 12 unqualified people who at the most, can form a complete sentence. Sort of. That I think true. See? Told you.

My name is suddenly called from the voices ahead (It's a large, deep cavern of a room.) and I slap my forehead in dismay and walk to the front. The group of us are ushered away, shuffling our feet like a chain-gang into a smaller room.

There are two lawyers. One, a smart talking man with a thick Long Island accent and the other, a quieter glasses wearing, thinning hair kind of guy. Both in their late 30s/early 40s. I think about what they did to get to this point in their careers...University of Phoenix online...selling blackmarket babies for tuition...eating ramen and cut up hot dogs...cramming time for the bar....cramming time in at the bar...barshhheshs...

And now they have a degree that will give them a steady influx of cash. Something I will never have.

Anyway, they proceed to tell me that the case today involves a nurse. Damn. A oncological nurse. Damn. A middle aged female oncological nurse. Damn. A middle aged female oncological nurse suing for damages. Damn. A middle aged female oncological nurse suing for damages due to pain and suffering. DAMN. A middle aged female oncological nurse suing for damages due to pain and suffering from injuries sustained at a YMCA. DAMNIT FUCKING RIPPING DAGNABIT DIPPING DANG FANG A FUCKING WHO HA DING DONG SHIT BRICK CUNTSUCKING DEVILWORSHIPPING HOBAG MONEY GRUBBING DICK WEEDS!

I was a tad annoyed.

At this point I'm a little steamed by this little play of manipulative lawyer speak and hope that in no fucking way I get called because someone will want me on the jury. Asian...check. College educated...check. Just out of said college and thus no job and has time to serve on a jury for Nurse Douche-y McBitchface who fell off a stationary bike in a fucking YMCA...check.

They shuffle through most of the people in the room, asking them questions, taking some people, turning away others. Finally, they are looking for one last juror. They call one name and the final name...is mine.

I would call foul play at this point or lunge across the banister but I am in a court room.

They call the two of us forward. I glare. I look uninterested. They ask if we can serve fairly. The other lady says she can. They ask me.

"I don' think so."

"Why not?"

"I think this case is completely ludicrous."

They get my ass out of that room so fast I think I left my conjoined twin on the cheap plastic seats. Nah, found him. He's under the couch cushions again. Oh, you. You love that hide and seek.

When asked outside as to why? You fucking manipulated the entire population in that room to see a withered old nurse who treats those kids you see on TV with no hair or eyebrows who falls off a bike and cracks her wrist, that's why, you dipshits.

I don't have to go to jury duty for another 7 years.

Necrophilia Is A Fun Word to Say. I Could Name a Child That. Except For That Whole Corpse Fucking Thing.

And in one fell swoop, the weekend has come to a close and I am sitting at this office in Midtown cursing the days that once were.

In some recent news, Artist Sol LeWitt has passed away. If you don't know his work, it might be worth looking into. On a cheerier note, manatees are going to be classified as "threatened" instead of "endangered" or "extinct" which was my first thought when I read the headline "Manatees losing their endangered status." Manipulative bastards. Either way, it's good news, that means Jenny Schecter can write more about the peaceful manatees and go apeshit on some other unsuspecting lesbian with a pulse (or even if they didn't, she'd probably give it the go ahead too.)



This is the way you woo her.
Stick your fingers in her cooter.
If her lips do not stretch,
it means, perhaps, you are a lech.

She's dead, you fucking idiot!

5 dollars from the bank you get.
Because clearly now, I won the bet.
Doubly forth we to your car,
I will need to go to the bar.

To wash my mouth of all that stuff.
I gathered, plastered on her cold cold muff.
At the time I was unaware
Distracted by all that matted hair.

She's fucking dead, you idiot!

But either or tis okay.
I got off on it anyway.
The load flew through, hard and fast.
And in that moment the die was cast.

In a flash I turned my head,
checking for the one I bed.
Vanish-ed!

I grab the 5 clams and dart
Feeling a strange tingling in my heart.
Perhaps she wasn't really stiff,
But oddly now I am instead.
My head and heart are in quite a tiff.
Sticking it to the dead, I dread,
Is a sign you are fucked in the head.

I run and run and run and run.
Stopping once for a Cinnabun.
I run and run and run and run,
Accidentally plowing over a nun.

Sinking in fear from the past,
I check into a hotel at last.
Showered twice in every hole.
I clease myself of her ghouly soul.

Looking back to see, once more
Her stony face in the bathroom door.
I scream and shout and plead for life,
her icy hands cut like a knife.

One last attempt, I try to ditch,
But she proceeds to make me her bitch.

She's fucking you dead, idiot!
She's fucking you, dead idiot!

We were married at the gates of hell by a minister who unwittingly got caught touching young boys in the spring of '92. It was a magical affair.

(The image above. Now that's what I call a cold fish.)

I Will Swallow You Whole With My Enormous Va-Jay-Jay and You Will Quiver In Delight and Pass Out From the Exhilaration.

Okay, not really.

So I was sitting around this morning in my underwear...wait. Nope. Just a blanket, lasciviously wrapped around my body...wait. Nope. There was a lot of fumbling involved, some tripping, some trudging about in a haze, some ass-scratching, and I stepped on the dog and he yelped like the sound one makes at the high point of an intense orgasm...wait. Nope. Don't have a dog. "Dog" and "orgasm" should also never be in the same sentence.

SO I was sitting around this morning, eating some leftover eggplant roll (still kind of cold), wondering if this blog is really worth keeping up. I mean, I'm not really sure who reads it, potentially no one, and I could say that I'm doing it for myself, but that wouldn't be truthful, not that I have a serious problem with lying. I don't have a drinking problem. See? Easy.

So, any of you faithful listeners out there, if it gives you something to do while you are at work, brilliant. If it gives you some great jerk off material, so be it. If it gives you conversation topics with your grandmother, even better. If it gives your grandmother some great jerk(jill?) off material, then I'll give you 5 dollars for your troubles. So you let me know, ya hear? Oh yeah, submissions or suggested topics are also very much welcome. The ranting is a lesser problem than the topic of rant.

While we are on this whole thing though, if you recall Dan Savage held a nationwide search for a gross sexual term to be tagged to "Santorum" as in Rick Santorum. (Wikipedia works wonders for people who have trouble differentiating between the numerous politicos that will inherit the earth.) The winning definition was "the frothy mixture of lube and fecal matter that is sometimes the result of anal sex."

Now, as you read earlier, I had trouble finding a good term to attach to female masturbation. Whoever comes up with the best term, I will post it on this site and advocate the use of said term to describe the act of little girls touching their dirty parts, sometimes shamefully in the back of the rectory, sometimes with the man in the clown suit at birthday parties, you know the variety. And I will do so for the rest of time. Advocate the use of the term, that is. Not practice my balloon animals.

IT IS ON!! HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT!

What I was really getting to before I began the contest and the self-doubt portion of my post stems from my conscious thoughts as I sat on subway this morning. Hentai tentacle beasts.

I love you.

You bring glee in my heart because I know there are fucked up people in the world, just like me. And there' something about tentacle beasts, although strange, I find, rather exciting.

Not in a way where I actually want to be penetrated by a squid, or in the way a farm boy might bed an animal...or is it "barn an animal" or "haystack a goat?"

But it is this perverse, twisted, animalistic behavior that really lets you know that you are alive.

I mean, if you are going to get assaulted, best it be a strange animal that just runs amok trying to stick it's grubby little fingers into any hole it can find (like that cousin that you don't really know but are acutely aware of) rather than a living breathing human being making the conscious decision to plug your orfices with a random assortment of household objects and/or body parts.

Am I right or am I right?

I'm going to stop now before I get a little too involved in discussing the merits of beast abuse over other abuse. It's just not pretty. Or is it too pretty?

Only time will tell.

If you haven't realized already, I've been vamping this entire time to bring you to this newsitem. Giant squids are fascinating. Underwater, gigantic, squiggly. They are perhaps the scariest motherfuckin' thing you could possibly encounter. And therefore the most sexually stimulating.

WELLINGTON, New Zealand - A colossal half-ton squid, believed to be the largest ever caught, may be destined for the microwave oven.

But researchers say they don’t want to cook the massive creature — just defrost it so they can study it better.

Scientists at New Zealand’s national museum, Te Papa Tongarewa, have taken possession of the beast that took fishermen two hours to land after it was netted by chance in Antarctic waters last month and was frozen soon afterward to preserve it.

Expert Steve O’Shea said the squid had weighed in at 1,089 pounds and measured 33 feet long — heavier but shorter than initial estimates of 990 pounds and 39 feet.

It appears to be by far the largest specimen of the rare and mysterious deep-water species Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni, or colossal squid, ever caught.

Experts say the creatures, which have long been one of the most mysterious denizens of the deep ocean, may grow even bigger — up to 46 feet long.

Aggressive hunter
O’Shea said scientists at the museum are considering using a giant microwave oven as a possible way to defrost the animal so they can study it.

The mammoth squid could not be left to defrost at room temperature because the process would take days, leaving the outside to rot while the core remained frozen, he said.

At the time it was caught, O’Shea said it would make calamari rings the size of tractor tires if cut up — but they would taste like ammonia.

Colossal squid can descend to 6,500 feet and are known to be extremely active, aggressive hunters.

O’Shea said the squid is priceless to scientists, and would be worth many millions of dollars if insured.

Squids are love...


Don't you just want to stick your finger in it?

Holy Crucifix, Batman! I'm All Tied Up! Thank God You're Here! Wait...What Are You Doing? Hey, That Hurts...Wait...Do It Again.

In the news: another representation of Jesus is bleeding. This time in a policeman's house in India. Officials say that the red paint is probably melting from humidity.

"This is indeed a miracle and shows that Jesus was in pain because of our sins," said John Chrysostom, a priest at the Anglican Church of Port Blair.

Dude, for once, can it not be about you and the entire human race? Thanks. I'd like to entertain the fact that there might be some underground society painting Jesi(?)(never thought about plural jesuses...makes you think don't it? It's all very complicated.) And these men (Jesus painters are way into sausage parties. Didn't you know?) had the foreknowledge to paint the blood with red paint...the likes of which would melt in extreme conditions.

I bet they are Irish. Swashbucklers.

However, that being said, I'm trying not to discount the fact that Jesus indeed has had a huge impact on my life. And yours. Jesus has been the port in the storm on so many occasions in the trials and tribulations that develop over daily life. The ones that usually are followed by "Perhaps that was a bad idea."

He tells me that in a reality that says influential people of all colors at some point will probably be portrayed as white.

He tells me "You're not a very good person and since I have a strong hold on just a wee population (in comparison to the global population) they all be chilling in my crib in the clouds. No room for you, sucka."

He backtracks and tells me that if I do start believing, and repent all my sins, and start being good, and stop wearing a condom (or if you do, poke a hole in the tip of it and continue full force with the unsuspecting victim), then maybe, I just might be able to climb on board. Jesus's reach is a Greek hazing.

He tells me that if I do horrible things and feel really sorry for myself afterwards, I'm golden.

He tells me that wearing women's underwear is okay.

He tells me that leadership isn't an easy task. Control your disciples, keep your sects in order. At least try. And if you can't hack it, martyrdom is the way to go. Absolves you from everything.

He tells me "Ah'll be bahk."

He tells me people are created in his image. Have you looked in a mirror recently? That's Jesus talking.


Or it could be the fact that all God's children have fucked shit up a whole lot. Yeah that might be it. Jesus, you a'ight in my book. No. It's not the Bible. Oh. Right. Hmmm. Well, sure, that might be true...but have you licked an eyeball? I highly recommend it. No? Right...White Castle? Now? Uhm. Yeah, ok.

Sorry, I apologize. He does that sometimes. You just have to humor him. Anyway, continuing on...I realize that what I've been writing is perhaps a showcase of my infinite unintelligence and shallowness. If only I can find a way to dig deeper and sink my teeth into something that is underneath the surface. If there is anything there. Its a crap shoot really.

Burrowing dinosaur unearthed
Fossilized family broadens picture of extinct reptiles.
John Whitfield
The discovery of a dinosaur family fossilized in its burrow could make us rethink where the animals lived, how they behaved, and even what wiped them out, say researchers.

Well, just hold on to your britches for one second...Dino goes off and digs a little deeper and is still fuckin' extinct? Shit then. So, shallow or deep, you're fucked in the end. I'll just stop obsessing about it.

David Varricchio of Montana State University in Bozeman and his colleagues found the jumbled remains of two juveniles and an adult together in what looks to be the remains of a custom-built hole in southern Montana.

The discovery provides the first evidence that dinosaurs could burrow, and the best evidence yet for long-term parental care in dinosaurs, says team member Anthony Martin, an expert in animal traces at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia. "I imagine that two juveniles curled up in a small space with an adult," he says.

The team has named the beast Oryctodromeus cubicularis, meaning 'digging runner of the lair'. It belongs to a group of small herbivorous dinosaurs, and lived 95 million years ago during the mid-Cretaceous period.

The skeletons are incomplete, but they show that when fully grown, the animal was about 2.1 metres long, of which more than half was tail. The dinosaur had a broad snout and powerful shoulders well adapted for digging, and sturdy hips that would help it to brace itself as it dug. It could also run on its back legs.

Secret entrance

The burrow's presence was betrayed by a patch of rock that differed from its surroundings, in an area known to contain dinosaur fossils. The burrow seems to have been dug on the edge of a river flood plain and filled with mud during a flood, burying its occupants, the researchers report in Proceedings of the Royal Society1.

The den was just over two metres long, with a pronounced s-bend — making it harder for predators to enter — opening out into a terminal chamber. The close fit between the sizes of burrow and beast convinced the team that Oryctodromeus had dug its own den, rather than simply displacing a previous occupant. "It's not just a random attempt," says Martin. "It's very well constructed."

"It was generally assumed that dinosaurs wouldn't dig — they tend to be either runners or very large," says palaeontologist Paul Barrett of the Natural History Museum, London. "This is quite a departure."

Varricchio and his colleagues had previously found what seemed to be a family of dinosaurs in what could have been a collapsed burrow in China (see 'Fossil hints at devoted parenting in dinosaurs'), but no one had seen an actual tunnel space until now.

Safe underground

Burrowing may have helped dinosaurs to survive in harsh climates, increasing the range of habitats available to them. No one knows exactly what the environment of this part of the world was like when these dinosaurs lived there, although it was probably semi-arid.

Related dinosaurs are known to have lived in southern Australia, which was close to the South Pole at the time, and South Africa, which was hot and dry. These species and locations would be good places to look for further evidence of burrowing, says Barrett.

The lack of an ability to burrow has also been suggested as a factor in the demise of dinosaurs 65 million years ago, at the end of the Cretaceous. Many of the mammals, reptiles and amphibians that survived a mass extinction at this time could burrow, perhaps sheltering them from whatever catastrophe caused the massive cull.

"The absence of burrowing has been proposed as one reason why dinosaurs didn't make it," says Martin. "You can't use that as a reason now."

Using one specimen to speculate about the dinosaurs' extinction is "quite a big inference", says Barrett. "It might be taking the data too far," he cautions.

Ah but a guy can dream can't he?

Period, Period, Period, You Are An Ellipsis. Which is Indicative Of My General State of Being.

Bloody fucking shit bitch, mucka mucka hi mucka hiney ho, turtles in the square need a line of blow...
There has been a certain amount of nostalgia resurfacing in my life over the past few days. I think it's okay to feel this way but I am still a little unsure about the details. There's a line where public and private is drawn and being in this whole mode of finding those who you once knew, once saw, kind of breaks it up. Or makes you feel like you need to draw that line with the biggest fucking sharpie marker you can find and then if there are any unwanted tresspassers, you can blow them the fuck up with some heavy artillery, like a cadre of angry penguins with blowtorches. That work underwater.(Have you noticed that these days as long as you have a movie about penguins, you win an oscar? Something about them and their heavy bottomed waddling is probably striking a familiar tone with many Americans around the world...face it, the USA is a heavy-set environment.)

However, is it really worth the effort to go into a serious discussion on the merits and faults of public and private domains in society? No. At least I'm no longer in the mood.

Let's further alienate ourselves. Shall we bring the subject around full circle to the menstrual cycle?

Some of you who had the pleasure of hearing me speak on this subject before will remember the feverish glint I get in my eye when doing so.

The period is awesome. On so many levels. On a purely biological level, where an egg is cultivated and expelled every 28 days or so. Yes, yes, I understand that some people are very irregular. But gestation periods are for the most part very definitive. So. It would be safe to assume that without all the crazy shit we do to our bodies, sorry, I don't mean "we," I mean all you girls who have your menses, but for sake of simplicity, we, without the drinking and the meds and the THC and the eating disorders and the fad diets and the free radicals in the air and the smoking and the chemical by products of household solutions and the stress and the (this is starting to sound like a Tori Amos rant...) and the depression and the study drugs and the birth control pills and the sex and the roosters we keep in the backyard for special occasions, would probably be much more on point with our periods coming and going.

And thus revelling like pigs in shit over the miraculous albeit, annoying, bloody, and painful nature that is the ability to conceive a child.

Furthermore, that is the one thing that will always have a superior stronghold over society and men in general. No questions asked when you have feminine troubles. Gym teachers, fathers, bosses, gays, all cower at the thought. (Jesus too. He told me.) There is something so undeniably taboo and disgusting about endometrium that make them turn the other way in a heartbeat, much like the words "Kids" or "Queer" or "Marriage." A generalization perhaps, but the meer utterance of "tampon" has enough power to make a grown man cringe in fear and cry for his mama (who is at this point probably experiencing the "change" and therefore exempt.)

And that's the beauty of it. I get a weird tingling in my prostate from thinking about a bunch of people treating the period like it's some sort of pus-oozing disease. Like they have to don a radioactive body suit and wade through the muck of it all. Like it's been sand blasted over the city in a red sticky mess and the men freeze, petrified in terror over what might happen if any skin contact or inhalation occurs. They start charging through all the home depots across the world tearing each other limb from limb for the last ventilation mask in country. You know, like SARS, but not just for the Asian variety.

Power, I tell you. It's hypnotic.

A friend, floating knee deep in the crimson tide, needed to stop by a rest stop in Maryland (which by the way is a harrowing experience) to pick up a tampon. As I was loudly discussing the merits of an applicator versus the kind that you just shove on up there with your finger, but then backtracking when I noticed that the applicator tampons they were selling were made of the material of a toilet paper roll, these two two huge burly men stopped by to look for something. One of the guys had these hatchmarks on the back of his neck, you know, big old prison tatts inked in with a ball point pen, where each mark represents each person he maimed along the path towards self-confidence so naturally, I look at them questioningly and wonder if I'm next in line. So there I am, coming up to about their waists, gesticulating wildly about heavy flow days, and there they are looking at first, then inching away slowly befor hightailing it out of there.

It's like kryptonite for anyone with a penis, not just Superman.

And I mean, really, who but a woman can handle the experience of having a period or carrying a baby and enduring monthly cramps? Can you imagine a guy having a period? They wouldn't know what the fuck to do with themselves.

I'm not sure if Margaret Cho mentioned this but you know you can definitely picture a guy reaching for a dirty sock to shove all up in there on that heavy flow day. And then forgetting to take it out. And developing a yeast infection. And then wondering what to do about it. And then baking bread with it. No. Just kidding.

Ladies, you have a stronghold. Use it. But remember, with great power comes great responsibility.

(Exposed to image above by Heather Fink)