Keeping it real compared to what, Torn Slatterns and Nugger Ranchers
The devil’s IRS agent
Telemarketers went to court to stop the U.S. government from setting up a proposed ''do not call'' list that would block unwanted sales calls. Now that is some job description: a lawyer for telemarketers. That’s like being Saddam Hussein’s public relations director.
Press one if you are rude, press two if you are annoying
Cell phones are coming out with phones that bark like dogs and meow like cats. And if those aren’t nerve-grating enough, they will make ones that screech like owls and squeal like pigs.
Instead, why don’t they just get a recording of the cell phone owners voice shouting; “I am a rude bastard.”
For cell phone users who talk while they drive, the phone rings with a recording of someone screaming; “Watch out for that car, you idiot.”
Masochist: Beat me, beat me. Sadist: No.
It turns out one of the contestants on “Joe Millionaire” busty Sarah Kozer, starred in S&M and bondage videos. That might come in handy. For safety reasons, Evan might want to tie up the girl when he finally tells her he is broke.
I saw the pictures on “Smoking Gun” online. She’s tied up with duct tape covering her mouth. Why would anyone find a woman more attractive with her mouth taped shut? On second thought, they might have something there . . .
Your move, dork
World chess champion Garry Kasparov played a supercomputer to a draw in the second game of their Man vs. Machine showdown. Man can’t beat machines, so why try? Until a computer can get fat, go bald, grow a ponytail and honestly think it looks good, man doesn’t stand a chance.
Fly the portly skies
The FAA is now ordering 24 airlines that operate small planes to start weighing passengers on some of their flights. They think the weight has caused plane crashes. Overweight travelers thought it was embarrassing to buy two seats, how about will they feel when the pilot says; “We can’t take off with your huge butt, go take a bus, lard-ass.”
Now that’s a sport
The Super Bowl is over, the NBA basketball playoffs are far off, March Madness is a long way off and baseball is months away. There are only four words keeping sports fans going: Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.
She will be rich in no time
According to tabloid reports, Bill Clinton is seeing a sex therapist. Instead of charging Clinton by the hour, the sex therapist charges Clinton a dollar per confessed bimbo.
Like, oh goodie
Cell phones feature e-mails, two way, walkie talkies, and voice memos. OK, whoever makes cell phones, stop. We officially have enough ways to talk to each other; it’s time we work on actually having something to say.
So we can, like, communicate or whatever
Now with cell phones with e-mails walkie talkies and voice memos, thankfully teenagers now have a myriad of ways to say; “Dude, like, what are you doing?” “Nothing, Dude, like, what are you doing.” “Like totally nothing.” “Like, me too.” “Really?” “Totally.” “Cool.”
Since you asked:
Slats and Nuggies, what do you think is the scariest single thing on the planet? Earth quakes? Please. Rattle snakes? Nope. Charging lions, perhaps? Not even close. Terrorists? Close, but not there yet. Rabid Pitt Bulls? No, the scariest thing on the planet is a group of young teenage girls.
Yesterday, while in line at Jamba Juice bar, I was a captive listener to a bunch of, oh, probably freshman-aged girls from the local Torrey Pines High School. Oh my god. To quote John Malkovich from "Being John Malkovich" I have seen a hell NO man should see.
These four girls, using only the words Dude, Like, I'm all, and Totally, somehow proceeded to verbally eviscerate everyone who wasn’t with them at that very second. Once separated, I'm sure these girls were probably sweet, smart and polite. But when herded together, the pack mentality of teenage girls transforms them into a unit of mean, sarcastic, bitchy, cruel, mouth-breathing, gum- smacking, thong-wearing, split-end checking buffoons.
And just think, I have an eventual teenage girl growing in my own house. Oh, the humanity.
Nuggies and Slats, get down on your knees and thank God for sons and Y chromosomes. The only good news is that, at age 44, I was completely and totally invisible to this pack, so I could look at them with utter horror and they couldn't sense my fear and, as a result, attack.