Kill Martha Stewart

Martha Stewart blows donkeys. How’s that for a powerful opening statement, huh?

After wasting an hour of my life on ‘Martha Stewart: Apprentice’, I have this incredible urge now to burn things to the ground. What can I say? She really brings out the barbed contemptuousness in me. If I had the opportunity to crash a plane into some remote mountain, I’d have Martha Stewart strapped outside to the nose cone riding that sucker all the way in*!

Fuck Martha Stewart and the sandalwood-scented cornucopia she rode in on!

I annoyed me no end, pained me even, to hear her final overall assessment of the inevitable elimination boardroom drama at the show's end: “I worked hard; I never quit; I went to jail and ended up even richer and more celebrated; I could take a shit at the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro and wipe my as with a mountain gorilla and people would still make the pilgrimage to sniff the insoles of my Himalayan hiking shoes which have been craftily stitched together with genuine panda pubic hair.” Shit, this crazy bitch is one step away from professing to have died for our sins! C’mon, a little kerosene and a book of matches sounds pretty tempting right about now, huh?

I hate to burst your bubble there, bitchcake, but what about the whole going to jail for insider trading thing? Or how about that other little slice of humble pie – obstruction of justice? Camp Cupcake? Anyone? Hell-ooooooooooooooo?

Here's a scrupleless, materialistic opportunist who leapt at the chance to sell her faithful stockholders down the shitter just to make another kajillion dollars. What with all those past lies and calumnies, why are we still allowing ourselves to be brainwashed into putting so much stock in Martha’s haloed business acumen? That's like taking gambling advice from someone named 'Dallas'. You're just asking to get fucked.

And just where is all this “creativity” and "uniqueness" that Martha is so renown for anyways? The world needs another reality-based boardroom soap opera like it needs another Black Plague. Seems to me that her whole show is really just a gay man’s ‘Apprentice’ with Donald Trump.

Do us all a favor Martha, and just stick with folding dinner napkins into exact little likenesses of the Pyramids at Giza and making statuettes of penguins out of fuscilli, ‘kay sweetheart? Leave the real executive boardroom brouhaha’s to the rich assholes in toupee’s.

* I have already reserved the cockpit for the ‘Barenaked Ladies’.

Katrina Tribute

You know what I love about natural disasters - the bevy of benefit concerts and charity fundraisers that inevitably take place afterwards.

Oh sure, these hosts of talented musicians and celebrities really care about the cause they are rallying in support of, but I’m also sure you could just about drag any significant musician out of the woodwork no matter how eccentric, removed from normal society, or just plain mbittered they have become in this point in their lives. Shit, Michael “Freakshow” Jackson has even enlisted the aid of both Snoop Dogg and R. Kelly to help him with one such charity fundraiser project for the victims of Hurricane Katrina. Great! Both a known and a suspected pedophile and an OG gangster; doesn’t that just set the 'ol heartstrings a-tingle? Yay! Break out the “Jesus Juice” - it’s time to PAR-TAY!

I bet you could even convince Johnny Lyden out of hiding these days if you were to just tempt him with the right amount of distraught tragedy-befallen refugees. Who could refuse such a promotional bit?

However, because I am poor and because I usually live too far away from these one-off charity benefits and profile concerts, I have decided instead to create my own perfect musical compilation so that I can just sit at home on my ownsome in front of my stereo and still feel like I'm lending my support for the victims of the Gulf Coast devestation.

My “Katrina Tribute” would play as follows:

When the Levee Breaks – Led Zeppelin
New Orleans Is Sinking – Tragically Hip (could also use ‘Nautical Disaster’)
Riders On the Storm – The Bores, err, Doors.
It’s Gonna Rain – Violent Femmes
Shelter From the Storm – Bob Dylan
River Deep, Mountain High – Ike & Tina Turner Revue
Stormy Monday – The Allman Brothers
Texas Flood – Stevie Ray Vaughn
Fixing A Hole – The Beatles
Run For the Hills – Iron Maiden
Alabama Getaway – The Grateful Dead (Or possibly even ‘Hell In a Bucket’)
Goin’ Mobile – The Who
Drown – Smashing Pumpkins
Five Feet and Rising – Johnny Cash
Why Does It Always Rain on Me? – Travis
Here Comes the Rain – Eurythmics
Dead Shrimp Blues – Robert Johnson
Sail Away – Styx
Who’ll Stop the Rain? – Creedence Clearwater Revival
Let It Rain – Derek & the Dominoes

Honorable Mention: ‘I Ran’ by Flock of Seagulls. (Just because I love clever anagrams)

I Am Man; Hear Me Oink!

I’ve become obsessed lately with a particular girl’s breasts. I just can’t help myself. I’d say that it was like staring at a train wreck and not being able to tear my eyes away, except that no train wreck ever looked this delicious and inviting. Call me a pervert, call me a typical male chauvinist pig, whatever; just don’t block my direct view of those sweet jiggly hills of Shangri-la.

Surely, at my age, I could have expected to have grown out of this pubescent fascination with women’s jubblies by now; but, apparently not. Here I am everyday drawn to those two luscious mammaries that peek out from her usual selection of low-cut tops like two loaves of freshly baked bread cooling on a shelf at a bakery. I couldn't be happier that exposed cleavage is finally coming back into style if pubic hair topiaries were also to become fashionable.

At this point, I think that my eyeballs are more drawn towards her chest due to the immense gravitational pull that must emanate from these two planetary-sized hooters than from either their bountiful femininity or elegance.

I could try and defend my lack of self-control, but why bother? Who would believe me? Rest assured, she can similarly feel free to stare at my crotch in retaliation if that pleases her to do so. No worries. Fair is fair. I am an equal-rights pervert if ever there was one.

What can I say? Oink!

The Big Chill

I have been labeled by a few of my work colleagues as a “chill” kind of guy. Good grief! “Chill”? Who am I – Frosty the-fucking-Snowman?

Apparently to them, if I'm interpretting this correctly, “chill” means that they see me as an easy-going, relaxed, fun kind of fellow with whom they could feel comfortable with and enjoy sitting and working beside – which in this zombie wasteland, is both quite an accomplishment and a compliment.

However, this whole “chill” label thing amuses me no end. Sure, on the exterior they see the cool, calm and collective free-spirit hippy guy with whom they’d entrust their daughters and sisters with (I feel it worthy to also note here that I have noticed a severe lacking in the offered daughters and sisters as of late as well); but on the interior I’m a much different beast indeed.

Little do they know that in my mind I’ve killed them all off – at least twice! On some particularly rough days, I have passed the time by imagining new and inventive ways to bump off my fellow work peers. Who doesn’t? Surely I’m not the only one. Of course, I may be the only one announcing this fact in an open forum for all to behold.

No demise is too exaggerated, too insignificant, or too unworthy. Depending on the particular workmate, they may have been killed off by a stampede of albino water buffaloes, to merely choking to death on a lima bean. There are varying degrees of mental murder for each specific work mate around me. Someone who keeps to themselves and doesn’t hassle me all day with unnecessary griping about their unfulfilled work lives for eight hours a day may be spared a brutal slaying and merely suffocated in an avalanche of throw pillows, where some dipshit who continually pisses me off by snapping their gum and beginning all his verbal communiqués with me by first stating “Question”, could expect to meet their maker through a more painful and grizzly means like being stuffed into a wood chipper or fed to hungry piranha.

What can I say? Believe it or not it keeps me sane throughout the day as well as preventing me from me acting out any of my random aggressions and end up sitting on Death Row for crimes against humanity.

E=MCfat

When did dieters also become wizards of mathematics?

To me, most dieters look tense and emaciated; the type of person you wouldn’t expect to add two coconuts together correctly. And suddenly, in the blink of an eye they can calculate - in their heads no less – their daily calorie intake and total body fat production and somehow equate it to E=MC2, the Pythagorus Theorum, and the Caramilk Secret for fuck sakes.

Are tofu and bean sprouts giving them incredible mathematical skills or something? Shit, if that's the case, I'm quitting this diet before I turn into Rainman! I wonder then how many apples Isaac Newton had to munch before he devised the Laws of Gravity anyways?

It just seems that most dieters have this sudden amazing ability to work out complex equations while fondling particular grocery items in the aisles of their local supermarket. It’s almost like they have an actual superhuman power or something - a nerd’s version of an actual X-Men, if you will. They may not be able to otherwise work out a %10 gratuity without taking their shoes and socks off, but put a bag of Kettle chips in their hand, and suddenly they become so smart that Steven Hawking himself would stand up to give them a bow.

Minton's Silver Hammer

I believe I have found the most likely candidate to win the prestigious “Insensitive Twit of the Year” award. Sgt. Michael Minton, the official left in charge of dealing with the current stray dog problem plaguing the area of St. Bernard’s Parish in the hurricane stricken city of New Orleans.

In a move that completely disregards the noble namesake of his local Parish by shooting peoples left dogs and pets right between the eyes in the city streets where they roam, sleep, sit, beg, and shake a paw. Not only did Sgt. Minton be seemingly only to happy to accept the task at hand, but to also allow himself to be filmed doing it as well – right down to his running over of some dog in a truck; turning it into a mere poochie pancake left smeared on the pavement behind him. Is that 'Dirty Harry-thorough' or what?

Atta boy, Mikey! Way to demonstrate to the rest of the world at large what a completely disturbed prick you really are. Bravo, sir! In an odd kind of way, you almost have to respect someone who unapologetically looks Lassie in the eye and says: "Hasta la vista, Benji". Thats some COLD ass shit going on there I tell you!

You’d think it was this guys calling in life or something to shoot these poor furry refugee’s. He’s almost giggling with glee as if he’s been waiting his whole life for this very moment – security guard vs. beast. Mano et K9.

About the current lackluster government rescue efforts and the clearing of bodies from homes and city streets, Minton had only this to offer: "I don't gots tha time to be talkin' bout savin' no peoples and colleckin' tha dead when dere's dogs ta be shootin'."

I bet he even amuses himself in his labors by inventing new and creative ways to “humanely” wack the entire local abandoned pet population. I half except to see another news update on CNN featuring Sgt. Minton stuffing poodles into pillowcases and smacking them against tree trunks; and all the while - whistling while he works.

I hope the dogs can get it together enough to form packs in order to hunt his ass down and feast on his kibbles and bits

I, Cauliflower

Day Four of my self-imposed diet.

I think my body is dealing with the severe hunger pains and dieting stress by shutting itself completely down every time I enter into any prone position for more than 30 seconds. I thought this whole “eating healthy” thing is supposed to make you more energetic and revitalize your entire zest for life? Au contraire, I feel about as hollow and lifeless as a deflated basketball. Even simple everyday thought processes resonate in my ears lately like ice cubes being dropped into an empty tall glass.

Why is that? Lately, I need a three-hour nap after even nibbling a single serving of broccoli. I think vegetables are actually sapping my bodies energy, or more correctly, fat and cholesterol where what was really keeping my body functioning in the first place. I’m afraid if I were ever to eat an entire bowl of garden salad I may actually lapse into a Rip Van Winkle-esque coma once and for all!

Medics would find me unconscious on the kitchen floor in front of the refrigerator (where I no doubt made my last ditch attempt in vain to reach sustainable empty calories) and attempt to revive me by ramming peanut butter sandwiches down my throat.

“Eat, you fat bastard, EAT!”

How embarrassing would that obituary read?

“Terry Nash, aged 33, died of Anaphylactic Shock brought on by the eating of too many raw fruits and vegetables and a distinct lack of stabilizing grams of trans fat. His life could have been saved and another tragic early death could have been avoided if only responding EMS officials had been able to get a rack of ribs to him sooner.”

Dieting would suck donkey balls, except that those are probably too salty or fattening and unhealthy. So dieting sucks cabbage balls instead.

When the Levee Breaks

Okay, somebody has to say it: what the fuck is going on down in New Orleans?

Hurricane refugees are running amok in the streets and are now even shooting at police and National Guard officials, rescue workers, relief volunteers, anchormen, camera crews, each other, and anything or anybody else that should dare twitch a muscle or, heavens forbid, wade out into the open. I just don’t fucking get it. Don’t these people want help, or are these just the morons who when hurricane Katrina hit shore, decided to down all their toxic snortables, smokeables, and consumables in order to keep it all out of harms way – and they’re still riding the intense god-like high?

In hindsight of this tragedy, I can understand the victimized people looting to a point; I mean, who wouldn’t want to throw a garbage can through the front window of an electronics’ store if given the opportunity? I bet that shit is a real scream when the world is falling to pieces around your ears. But what I can’t understand is why go so far as to hinder rescue efforts by using rescue officials as target decoys? Where the fuck is the good sense in that?

Somebody explain this to me…please!

When all this is over, said and done, I hope the media pictures of all these armed vigilante assholes who are living out their “Gunfight at the OK Corral” fantasies in disaster areas by shooting at those trying to aid and assist others in need will be postered on every post office and corner shop wall until they are all hunted down like the scum they are and had their genitals fed to hungry wolves.

P.S. In a stroke of good fortune, the Neville Brothers have been located and are reported to be safe and unharmed. They were spotted by a rescue plane in the area floating on a make-shift raft, which later turned out to be Dr. John wearing a pair of water wings.