Here Kitty Kitty Kitty…

Hopefully you’re back to normal after the whole Pussy Riot blog entry from yesterday.  Or as I could have called it…  Moose Knuckle Melee.  But as if that wasn’t bad enough, now we have this.


A group called Code Pink is wanting Congress to respect women.  And they plan to achieve their goal by dressing as pink vaginas and standing around in public parks holding signs like some sort of Poontang Protest.  I guess their head is where the “magic button” is located on a woman, right?  Is it?  Somebody tell me, for the love of God.  I can’t find that damn thing anywhere.

Don’t get me wrong.  I love protests.  Sometimes I’ll walk around the city streets holding a sign that says “HONK IF YOU LOVE PEACE AND QUIET”.  I also have a sign that says “DOWN WITH PROTESTS”.  But these ladies are going to be in for rough times.  Sure, they were good enough to shave it, but wait until the cops hit the labia with that pepper spray.  I’m no doctor, but that must sting.


How About “Camel Toe Commotion” Instead?


Breaking news from Russia, everyone.  Two members of the feminist punk band PUSSY RIOT have fled the country to escape arrest.   At first I thought they had arrested the band QUIET RIOT.  They are a bunch of pussies and so it could easily have been a mistake in the press.  But, no.  As I’m sure you know by now, the band made a number of performances protesting Vladimir Putin’s rule, which led to three members being arrested and given prison sentences of 2 years.  Here’s what I’ve learned as a result.

ONE:  The Russian court system moves quickly.   They were just arrested in March and are already in prison.  Those bastards don’t play over there.  Just a guess that there aren’t many television attorneys on Soviet daytime.

TWO:  Russian punk bands sure dress strangely.  If we had the American version of Pussy Riot, I’m thinking it would look like a band that had Fat Albert’s buddy Mushmouth, the wrestler Bane, and that dude who shows you how magicians pull off those illusions.

Image Image Image

To my knowledge, only Mushmouth has a musical background.  He played that crazy trombone-type of instrument made from pipe and a lamp shade.


THREE:  Something called a Pussy Riot exists.  Now even though I’m a self-taught gynecologist, I’m still not exactly sure how those things riot.  What are their demands?  Maybe it’s a term that refers to numerous pussies.  You know what I mean.  A group of ravens is called a “conspiracy”.  A group of fish is called a “school”.  So, maybe a “riot” refers to a group of pussies.

You know what?  I feel dirty just writing this.  Ugh….

Amazing Crap


Let’s see…  Maggots, flies, some kind of toxic cloud, and some sort of greet shit in the bottom of this kid’s underwear.  What kind of family does this kid have and what are they feeding him?   I mean, I could see the kid with an occasional skidmark.  Or even a little yellowing in the front.  But this?

I remember reading Encylopedia Brown and the Hardy Boys.  Now they read about a kid who craps his pants and is proud enough of it to show it to you.  And to top it off, it’s called “Amazing Underpants”.  The only amazing part is that he isn’t under the protection of Family and Children Services, or that he hasn’t gotten the bejezus beaten out of him by some sensible kid.

Ain’t gonna be any Froot Of The Loom commercial with this guy.  Promise.

One Little, Two Little, Three Little…

I know that you most of you guys subscribe to NATIVE magazine, the official magazine of “The Santa Fe Indian Market“.ImageSo, you’ve probably already read the list of the Toughest Movie Indians.  But I haven’t read my copy yet, so don’t ruin it for me.  I like to try to guess who made the list and such, but this is a tough one.  I know it’s not that naked little Hiawatha, Disney’s filthy attempt at kiddie porn.


Hmmm, who else….  Oh, how about Gandhi?  He’s an Indian.  Right?  Oh, that’s a dot instead of feather.  OK.

Uh, well…. hell.  I guess I’m just going to have to say Bruce Lee.  Nobody was tougher than Bruce Lee.  Whoever it is, that guy is one tough sonavabich.  The lower you go on the socio-economic scale, the tougher you are.  Just wait until an American Indian gets into MMA.  Gonna be trouble for whitey.

PS:  In all honesty, I thought this summed up the most probable thought of all American Indians:

God Said Bake Me An Apple Pie


Great book for all of the engaged women out there.  And the “surprising results” noted on the cover shouldn’t be surprising…. especially since Proverbs 31:3 says “Do not spend your strength on women”.  Then it goes on and on for 29 more verses telling women to make clothes and bed coverings, work hard, buy vineyards, select good sewing material, and even get get up while it’s still night to cook for everybody.  Yeah, all guys like the sound of that.  But where’s the part about being a freak in the bedroom?  Let’s be honest.  That’s what we’re looking for.  Right guys?  I want a book that says “God demands me to do the Reverse Cowgirl at least once a month”.  Maybe that’s in Psalms somewhere.

Either way, that’s better than trying to write a book called “My So-Called Life As A Deuteronomy 22 Wife”.  That portion of the Bible says the following (among other things):

* If any man gets married, does the nasty with her, and then finds out that he is sick of her BS, then he can accuse her of not being a virgin on their wedding day.  The father of the  bride then has to PROVE that she was a virgin (WITH EVIDENCE).  If the bride’s father wins, the groom owes some money.  If she wasn’t, she gets stoned to death.  Like with real stones.

* If a virgin is engaged to somebody and another man finds her in the city and does the nasty, then both get stoned because she didn’t cry out in the city.

* If a guy finds a virgin who’s not engaged, takes her and rapes her, then the man owes the girl’s father some money and he has to marry her.

* Oh, and no dude can bang his mother.  Or step-mother.

So, there you have it.  I’d bet the results of being a Deuteronomy 22 wife wouldn’t be that surprising.  If you live in Tehran.

Rock, Racists, and Ricketts


If I were a racist, I would say that anytime you mix your white dad (Pop) and some black lady (chocolate fudge), then you get Pop-Tards.  Hey, racists would say it’s true.  People who are mentally developmentally challenged come from race-mixing.  Where do you think Mongol-oreos come from??  Or the Girl Scouts’ “Thank You Berry Much-Hausens Syndrome”?  Or “Chips Derealization Disorder-Luxe”?  So, there must be some validity… according to them.

But I’m not a racist.  However….  I did recently see a bumper sticker that EVERYBODY hates.  Including racists.  It said “I LOVE NIGGERS”.  See?  Told you.  Everybody hates it.

OK:  That bumper sticker joke was courtesy of Chris Rock.  I think that makes three Chris Rock mentions since I began this thing.  Still funny though, right?

Return To Gayberry

I know that you are wondering what’s happing with our cartoon friends (the ones we followed a few weeks ago).  Well, here’s the latest in Gayberry…


So, to sum everything up….  The old queen that looks a lot like Ned Beatty finally caught the elusive lover he had been chasing.  The young buck still calls Ned’s unit a “fly rod”, and then Ned mentions something about “buttering him up”.  Apparently they have code words for sex.  This time it’s “book deal”, and the young dude says something about passion.  There you have it.

You know, “the gays” can be cured of this horrible disease that dares not speak its name.  At least that’s what I hear from Jimmy Swaggart, a guy who’s good at games with dares.  And ugly hookers.  Here’s his award missing book “HOMOSEXUALITY:  ITS CAUSE AND ITS CURE”


Funny that when you open it, there are only two pages:

Page 1:  Homosexuality is caused by Satan!  We once thought it was caused by Liberace, but he’s dead and guys are still blowing each other.  So, it must be Satan.

Page 2:  The only cure is to find a nice, remote place somewhere out of the range of human ears.  Be sure to carry rubber gloves, bleach and a change of clothes.  Oh, and bury the murder weapon along with those clothes and gloves deep in the ground.  Oh, yeah.  I forgot.  Bring a shovel.  It will come in handy.

PS:  If you’re wondering about the boy named “Rusty” in the other comic (Mark Trail), then here’s your update.  He’s still on the can.