The Thrilla on Capitol Hilla

Sleep is for the weak.

My Two Primary News Sources Are Running Contrary Headlines

Now I don't know what to think.

Wha?

Let me get this straight. You were fat. You were also black. Then you took some sketchy internet drug and now you are marginally less fat and also WHITE? Holy shit do NOT take that sketchy internet drug.

November 11, 1992

In 1992, after Bill Clinton was elected President of the United States, my fifth grade teacher made the whole class write letters of congratulation to him. Clearly she was a communist.

Anyway, my classmates and I used our best penmanship to express our hopes for the future under President Clinton. Oddly enough, none of us had the foresight to write about maybe not eliminating welfare for the poorest Americans, so you can blame us for that.

Here is my ten year old self being a policy wonk:

Dear President-elect Clinton,

This is what I expect of you as President (just a few reasons):

I would like you to work especially hard on the economy. I live in Seattle, Washington and the loggers are losing jobs. I am NOT saying people are more important than saving endangered species like the spotted owl.

I would also like for you to send more troops out to Florida to help people build their homes.

Now I guess I will tell you about myself before I go on. My name is Meagan and I am ten years old, and my birthday is on June 10.

My parents voted for you. If I could vote I would vote for you, too.

Okay, back to what I expect of you. I want you to help fight crime and to stop the sale and use of illegal drugs.

I really hope you will write back to me. (My address is on the bottom of the page.)

Sincerely,
Meagan

P.S. When is your birthday?

As you can see I have clear policy ideas as outlined in my desire to create jobs for loggers without murdering any owls AND my birthday is on June 10 AND apparently I hate illegal drugs! YOU'RE WELCOME BILL CLINTON.

So awesome, right?

While it is assumed Palin voted for herself, she did not say whether she voted for Sen. Ted Stevens, who was convicted last week of ethics violations for accepting gifts, and Rep. Don Young, who is under investigation by the FBI.

"I am also exercising my right to privacy and I don't have to tell anybody who I vote for, nobody does, and that's really cool about America also," she said.

I'm gonna miss you, girl.

His Spine Shrank

I was in a celebratory mood last night so I went and did something I never do. That is to say, I left my house and saw a movie on its opening weekend. Clint Eastwood's Changeling. Here is my review.

First of all ladies, it's important to remember that if you get a full time job in the 1920s, your son will get kidnapped, and probably murdered by a weirdo and that weirdo's cousin. Every lady in the 1920s was a ghost, incidentally.

Also, the corrupt police will most likely trick you into thinking that some other white child is your white child. But he isn't.

An Irish cop will institutionalize you for questioning him and then you will become friends with an institutionalized prostitute. Sometimes she says funny things, but then all of a sudden she is not in the movie anymore.

If you're Clint Eastwood, the last thing you will want to do is allow this movie to end. It's best to keep it going on for hours, if not days.

Oh, sorry single mom. It looks like you will not see that baby, your son, again. That is because he was hella murdered or something in a chicken coop.

Or was he? You are a woman, so you are not very smart. You do not understand most of the things that happen to you.

Then everyone gets fired.

The end.

Psych, the movie is not over yet.

Yes it is!

No it isn't, because this is how we will end it, if we are Clint Eastwood:

"He just gave me something I never had before."
"What's that?"
"Hope."

Professional Alarmists

The New York Times has endorsed Barack Obama for the next President of the United States. This comes as a surprise to zero people, but the Times did post an archive of all of their Presidential endorsements all the way back to Lincoln.

Speaking of that Lincoln endorsement, it's probably the most hilarious editorial since the ill-advised Wendell Willkie endorsement of 1944! Am I right?? Ladies?

Anyway, it starts off like so:

A Mr. Lincoln, of Illinois, familiarly known as "Old Abe," age 51, height six feet seven, by profession Rail-Splitter, is to be our next President. The thing seems pretty sure...It becomes a matter of some importance, therefore, to see what is likely to happen in consequence of it. On this point doctors differ. Mr. J.W. Gerard, who talks in italics and deals largely in very poor jokes, thinks Mr. Lincoln intends to split the Union. Mr. O'Conor becomes facetious—very much as a retained and well-bred hyena might be—and thinks Lincoln will live on negroes, to save expense of beef, during his Presidential term.

Then it starts rambling on about someone named Professor Lowe and John Cochrane's balloon style of oratory. The rest of the endorsement tries to assure these "professional alarmists" that Lincoln will probably not have the opportunity to "do much mischief" insofar as freeing the slaves in the District of Columbia and prohibiting the inter-state slave trade.

Oops!

Dear Professional Alarmists, My Bad! Sincerely, The New York Times

Farewell

Just now, my attention was diverted to a website called So Long, Cowboy. You can write a letter to the stinky turd that is currently occupying the White House or you can take a picture. Two of my favorites are here and here.

Anyway, this is the farewell photo that I submitted:



Goodbye, dickhead.

John McCain Supports the Hurricanes

I Will Do Whatever Famous Person* Asks of Me

Hmmm. I thought John McCain hated celebrities?

*Famous Person did end up being Peggy Noonan, who is not famous, but is a person.

Sometimes it's the simplest things that I love the most

I just found the best fucking thing ever on Etsy:



Salt-n-Pepa shakers. God bless us, every one.

Lipstick on a Pig

Special Guest Blogger: Rudy Giuliani

Hey, did you guys catch my speech at the RNC last week? Man, I sure laid in to Barack Obama. What an elitist that guy is—Harvard and Columbia educated, successful author of two memoirs. Not like me, Rudolph W. Giuliani, America's Mayor and just an average joe. For example, you might not have heard of the small town that I grew up in. It's a little hamlet called Brooklyn. Haven't heard of it? I'm not surprised. It's a little off the beaten path, if you know what I mean!

That Obama, what a snob! He's so metropolitan. I, on the other hand, know what it's like to represent small town American values. For eight years, I was mayor of a small, rural township called New York City. So much of what I love and respect about conservative values comes from my time as mayor of this tiny village. I'm sure the East coast elitists will deride that experience, but my leadership sure meant a lot to the townsfolk of New York City!

Can you believe what Obama said about working class people being bitter and clinging to religion? The pretense! I cherish and value all religions, which is why I spend so much time with devout Christians like Donald Trump. I know how much conservatives value marriage, which is why I have been married three times, once to my own first cousin! It don't get much more down home than that, friends.

Obama is nothing but a celebrity senator. He's all style and no substance. He has no idea how to lead with integrity, unlike Republican Senator Fred Thompson, late Republican Congressman Sonny Bono, Republican Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, and of course, my hero: President Ronald Reagan.

McCain/Palin '08!

Whether Large or Small

From Lindy:

"I was picking up some Chinese food at 50th and the Ave, when a hobo in a red hat started following me. 'Say, girl, you single?' he said. 'Say, girl, you lookin' goooood.' When I ignored him, he followed up with, 'I want to go on a date witchoo. Let me take you out.'"

Hobo. Please. Where are we going to go? Did you get tickets to the garbage fire?

But would it be so bad if the invitation had come from "The Littlest Hobo"?:



I think no.

Special Guest Blogger: Criss Angel

Hey America. It's me, Criss Angel. Listen up. I freak minds—for a living. I see your mind hasn't been freaked yet. Well, check this out. That's right, America. I just made an endangered species disappear. Which one? Ever heard of the polar bear? I didn't think so.

Listen, I'm no johnny-come-lately to the mind-freaking game, okay? This isn't child's play, this is real life. Real mind-freaking life.

Oh, what am I doing now? Just walking on water. While hanging on meat hooks.

Is your mind freaked yet? An unfreaked mind is a terrible thing to waste—so freak it.

I'm not like a normal, lame magician you guys. I'm Criss Angel: Mind Freak. You know I'm different from David Copperfield because I wear women's jewelry and eyeliner. And foundation. Oh, I almost forgot to mention my totally awesome, not gay metal band, Angeldust. Get it? My name is Criss Angel. You'll know it's me, because I'll be the one in the Luxor lobby wearing a t-shirt with my own name on it.

I mean, I feel bad for all you losers who haven't had your minds freaked yet. Your lives must be so empty with your regular minds that have yet to be freaked by my illusionary prowess. Watch, watch, watch! I'm going to walk through what you thought was a solid door. Watch! Come over here. Take off my sock. Take it off!

What? That illusion didn't freak your mind? HOW COULD YOUR MIND NOT BE FREAKED YET?

Listen, I don't need you, okay? I've freaked the minds of millions of people, including celebrities. Ever heard of Carrot Top? Yeah, I freaked his mind. Why don't you try Gene Simmons on for size? His mind has been freaked. By me. Criss Angel. Mind Freak.

Bomb Sniffing Dog

This weekend I found myself waiting in line to board the Bremerton ferry. The Washington State Ferry system apparently employs bomb-sniffing dogs to prevent any sort of like-9/11-except-on-a-boat style of attack. But I was a little distressed to see that the dog assigned to our ferry wasn't a German shepherd, no. It was fucking Old Yeller:



Um, that is the least ferocious bomb-sniffing dog of all time. I've got bad news for you ferry system. That's not a bomb-sniffing dog, that's a cuddle-sniffing dog. He is trained to find anthrax, but all he can find is hugs! His search came up empty—unless you count that cache of snuggles that he found.

It depends on what the definition of "hat" is.

I got hollered at on my way to the bus stop yesterday morning. A drunken hobo yelled, "Hello, girl. You gotta nice HAT." It wasn't really offensive, except for the environment, where the hobo was depositing his beer cans.

Unless by "hat" he meant "titties." Then it would be offensive.

Meags and Adam Get Gay With Pets

This week's edition of Meags and Adam Get Gay With Pets features some of teh gayezt shit you ever saw.


Here I am getting gay with Bunnicula. I REQUIRE THE BLOOD OF 1000 BEETS!


Not to be outdone, Hank and Adam got totes homo gay faggo-tron to the max. It was so gay that Hank screamed with rage.

08.08.08

Eight is a lucky number in Chinese culture, apparently. The Olympics Opening Ceremony is tonight. China makes me nervous. I don't like that China owns 24% of the United States' treasury notes. I don't like that dirt cloud that they've created over south Asia.

In any event, that won't stop us from reporting all the excitement live from China, right Today show??

Ann Curry just said, "If you're Chinese, and over a billion people are, then today could be the most fortuitous Friday in 100 years."



She could be talking to you! Were you aware that over a billion of all humans are Chinese?!

Fucking stupid retarded dumb asshole Ann Curry.

Have you ever seen anything like this before?

You may have heard about the bus decapitation that took place earlier in the week. If not, you are so lucky.

Lindy: dear canadian bus

me: UMMMNMOOWENOENOENOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

no thank you

Lindy: THAT IS THE EXTENT OF MY QUESTION

me: NO THANK YOU

Lindy: W

T

F

that story ruined my life

me: well

they talked to some canadian about it on CNN

and he was SO CALM

Lindy: I WATCHED IT

I WATCHED THAT SHIT I THINK

i watched some canadian talk about it

me: "yes, and then he carried the head off the bus and dropped it on the ground"

Lindy: yes

me: OH REALLY

DID HE

Lindy: OH

OKAY

me: DID HE JUST CARRY THE HEAD OFF THE BUS

AND THEN DROP IT ON THE GROUND?

CAN HE CARRY THIS URINE OUT OF MY PANTS ALSO?

CAN HE?

Lindy: on the one i watched, the interviewer was like "had you ever seen anything like this before?"

and the dude was like, "ummm, have i ever watched anyone get decapitated before? NO!"

OF COURSE NOT WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

me: GET OUT OF HERE

PLEASE

SOMEONE DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE FECES IN MY UNDAPANTZ

Lindy: DEEZ UNDAPAYANTZ R FECEZ'D NOW

That is journalism. For you.

Just for the records

I have really been enjoying the Seattle Municipal Archives' photostream on Flickr the last few days. There's something about looking at old pictures of the city you have inhabited for your entire life that is unmatched. It's kind of like looking at baby pictures of your granny.

One of my favorite entries (so far, anyway), other than the hippest ladies I have ever seen, is this letter from Dixie Emerson:



The text reads:

Dear Sirs:

I am writing this letter to tell you why I think Elvis Presley should be allowed to come to Seattle. I know you don't want him because you think the teenagers of Seattle will start a riot. Well I'd like to ask you a few questions on that subject.

1. Are we the kids in the other towns? No we are not. Sure there are a few rowdy kids in every bunch but the majority are O.K.

2. Then why are you afraid we'll start something? Also just for the records Elvis has stopped kids in other towns by saying "sit down or the shows over." It stopped other teenagers and would would work on us too because no one would want to be the cause of canceling a show.

Elvis would probably be a real nice person if people would give him a chance. Everyone treats him like something from outer space is it a wonder he's misunderstood. After all what do you expect if people always say he's no good. How do they know? Have they met him? Talked to him?

If people would just stop looking at the few poor points of a person and concentrate on the good ones this world would be a much better place to live in.

As Julia Carney said her her poem 'Little Things,'
Little drops of water,
Little grains of sand,
Make the mighty ocean
And the pleasant land...
Little deeds of kindness,
Little words of love,
Help to make earth happy
Like the heaven above.

Sincerely yours, Dixie Emerson (Age 14) and a member of the Greater Seattle Elvis Presley Fan Club & a student at Sylvester J.H.

I googled Dixie with no luck.

Western Union

I'm so freaked out about this election. I want to die every time I think about it. Recently I've been trying to assuage my own fears by getting some perspective on the most hilarious moments of the campaign thus far. For example:

A messenger delivered a handwritten note from McCain to Obama’s Chicago offices inviting the Democratic presidential nominee to a series of Goldwater-Kennedy-style debates. Bill Burton, an aide to Obama, told the messenger, "You know, you could have just emailed this."

A messenger! A hand-written note! Did he arrive on horseback? Covered wagon? Did he ask Orville Wright to take it to Chicago on his crazy flying contraption? The only thing that could make this story any better is if you exchanged the word "messenger" with "carrier pigeon" or "Goldwater-Kennedy" with "Pterodactyl-Brontosaurus."

I shouldn't worry. Surely your average American won't vote for a man that died twelve years ago. I mean, Weekend at Bernies was funny and all, but do you really want Andrew McCarthy and Jonathan Silverman to puppeteer the president at state dinners?

Namaste or something

I was doing yoga this morning and I was dismayed to discover a rather long leg hair right behind my knee. Not long like, oops! Missed a spot! More like, oops! Missed a spot 4000 times!

Anyway, it reminded me of a class I took awhile ago from a lady hippie. Some people seem to really hate hippies, but I don't mind them. They keep a dolphin company. They eat salad for breakfast. And most importantly, they've got tofu the size of Texas.

But this hippie was different. This lady hippie had armpits full of hair. This didn't disgust me, necessarily. I was moreso bothered by her lack of originality. I mean, it's 2008! You are not Erykah Badu! Can't we think of a better way, as ladies, to subvert the dominant paradigm? Can't we be more clever in the ways in which we cast off the oppression of this patriarchal society? Broads: Surely there is a bigger world out there than our mammalian right to grow hair under our arms.

It's kind of like a lady keeping her maiden name after she gets married. I think it's a grand plan, but it just doesn't pack the same punch as it did 20 years ago. I recently read this book called I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley. She wrote an essay about a friend of hers who, when she got married, changed her last name to "Universe" instead of taking her husband's name. Now that's commitment, friends.

In closing, hippie, I suggest you get creative with your feminism. Why not ask your boyfriend to shave off all of his body hair? What about doubling up on the shoulder pads in your power suit? Wait! What if...you made one dollar for every dollar a man made in the workplace? Holy shit. Did the back of your tiny head just explode??

Meags' Ad Watch Continues

I've been seeing this commercial alot lately:



It's part of a series of commercials where the two overweight dudes bully the effeminate one who apparently won't rest until he has fag-ified the oh-so-tough brand image that Mike's Hard Lemonade apparently enjoys.

Just a thought, Mike's Hard Lemonade, but you might want to reconsider alienating your loyal fan base of 19 year-old girls and homosexuals (or any combination thereof) in an attempt to woo heterosexual men. Heteros aren't exactly known for their affinity for flavored malt beverages. If they were, my boyfriend's fridge would be full of Bacardi Breezers.

True North: South of the Border

Yesterday morning I was getting ready for work with CNN on in the background. I wasn't really paying attention, until this commercial came on:



I put my bronzer down. An extraordinary what now?

Dear hilarious twenty-something copywriter for True North Nut Snacks: I think I speak for sleepy Americans everywhere when I say nicely played, sir. Nicely played.

Estelle Getty, My Favorite Punch Line

Estelle Getty has died at 84. I don't know what I'm going to do—she was my go-to punch line for all jokes elderly. I don't know, "This sweater makes me look like Doris Kearns-Goodwin" doesn't exactly pack the same punch.

So here's to you, Estelle Getty. Thanks for introducing me to the granny zinger (Rose: "I just found out I'm the most boring person on Earth." Sophia: "Did something happen to Regis Philbin?") and for being younger than Bea Arthur.

Perverted Justice

I like to walk to work through Volunteer Park in the morning. It is nice in the park. Leafy. And usually the secret bathroom rendezvous have ceased by the time I'm making my forenoon promenade.

A couple of days ago, though, while listening to The Game featuring 50 Cent (BECAUSE I AM RAP'S MVP, FUCK!), my lady spidey sense began to tingle. I became acutely aware of a jogger following me at an inappropriately close distance. I removed my headphones and mentally practiced my judo moves.

He followed me through the park, until I exited near the tennis courts. He then oddly jogged a few feet into the nearest driveway. When he thought I wasn't looking, he surreptitiously ran out of the driveway and back into the park, thus proving that a) I can no longer enjoy the public park and b) he did not live in that house and was indeed a perv.

I relayed this tale to my male companion, who assured me that "pervs don't always rape ladies. Sometimes they just enjoy making ladies nervous." Deciding not to ask him how he knows so much about creepos, I responded, "Little did he know that I get my jollies from shanking pervs."






You better jog.

For Your Most Precious Keepsakes

Awhile ago, I was looking to help heal the political rift between my mother and me by purchasing her a clever Barack Obama t-shirt. Instead, I came across something even better.

Yes. A Barack Obama Secret Muslim Keepsake Box.

For some reason, the online proprietor of the Barack Obama Secret Muslim Keepsake Box has discontinued sales of the item, thereby destroying my dream of giving the best Secret Santa gift ever.

To contextualize, some enterprising young bigot used Barack Obama's most flattering secret Muslim picture:



And then glued it on the top of a keepsake box.

It got me thinking. What would I put in my Barack Obama Secret Muslim Keepsake Box?

1) My (dog-eared!) copy of Mein Kampf
2) My WWJD bracelet
3) A signed first edition of The O'Reilly Factor for Kids ("Almost everybody watched the TV show Friends on NBC. Unfortunately, some kids think that's what real friends are like. Of course, we can learn a lot of things from our Friends on television, but sitcoms are very different from real life.")
4) Another, smaller, Barack Obama Secret Muslim Keepsake Box

Let the eagle soar,
Meags.

You mean, like, in a sexual way?

I used to have this other blog. It was about strange men saying inappropriate things to unsuspecting ladies. That blog is over now, but some of it was too funny to let slip into interweb oblivion.

From 11/14/2007

Last week (two weeks ago? When was that boring ass election?) Lindy and I partied hard at the Dan Satterberg election night party in Burien...which was unsurprisingly boring and totally white.

However, I was there to "help" Lindy procure interviews for The Stranger (and more hilarious tales can be found here, here, and here). And procure interviews I did when I approached the most unbelievable-looking war veteran I have ever seen. His name was Joel Harvey. He was magic.

Atop his long, greasy, mussed locks sat a mesh navy hat depicting what I assumed to be his ship (USS My Brain is Broken). On his stout frame, he proudly wore a satin baseball jacket over a heather gray Mt. St. Helens muscle tee.

Realizing immediately what an amazing opportunity this was to get the most insane interview of the evening, I approached Mr. Harvey.

Me: Hi, I'm here with the Stranger, sort of. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?
Joel Harvey: What? I can't hear out of this ear!
Me (now leaning uncomfortably closer to Mr. Harvey's good ear): Hi, I was just wondering, did you vote for Dan Satterberg?
JH: Yes.
Me: Why did you vote for him?
JH: Because he makes things right. That's why.
Me: Why did you come to his party tonight?
JH: You mean like, in a sexual way?
Me: " "
JH: Also, I like rum and cokes. You know, the reason I came tonight is the same reason I became a first captain in Vietnam.
Me: Dan Satterberg's party is like going to Vietnam?
JH: Yes. Can I get that rum and coke?


Yes you can, Joel Harvey. Yes you can.

Winning Over the All-Important Methuselah Demographic

Good news, America! It's time for the veepstakes!

I was watching CNN the other day and the anchors were debating the merits of potential Vice Presidential candidates for McCain. One anchor observed, "He should pick someone young to balance out the ticket."

"Oh, so he shouldn't pick Father Time as his running mate?" I wondered.

"He should pick Baby New Year," said my companion.

"I think Baby New Year is too young to be Vice President, plus he's not even registered to vote," I countered.

"But it's the perfect bait and switch," said Companion. "By the end of 2009, Baby New Year will be Father Time."

Touche.

McCain/Baby New Year in '08!

"You know how much I love a) dog tricks and b) rape, therefore...enjoy"

I was going to post this video that Leah sent me and then I found out that people don't like when you post something on the internet that has already been posted on the internet.

So, if it's all the same to you, I'd like to just post this pic of Tom Skerritt:



A river runs through you, Granddad.

Grandma H

I hosted Mother's Day brunch at my house today. An Indiana Jones marathon was on (remember Harrison Ford, by the way?). During the scene in Temple of Doom in which Harrison Ford seduces Kate Capshaw, my grandmother began yelling, "They're going to end up in bed! Take off your clothes! TAKE OFF YOUR CLOTHES!"

This made everyone uncomfortable.

It also reminded me of the time that we watched The Jacksons: An American Dream together. My brother and I found the scene in which Joe Jackson maliciously murders Michael's pet mouse (and proclaims "Yeah, we got him. We got him good!") particularly hilarious. My grandmother was inexplicably enraged at our enjoyment of this movie. She began to yell at us. "WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING? THIS IS YOUR HISTORY! THESE ARE YOUR ANCESTORS!"

This was news to my brother and me.



Happy Mother's Day!

"As an official celebrity, I know my endorsement has just made your mind up for you."

As hard as I try, I know I'll never be as funny as US Weekly: "Tom Hanks has joined the ranks of Oprah Winfrey—and Heidi Montag—in making a public endorsement for president." Finally, after years of hard work, Tom Hanks's name can be mentioned favorably along side Heidi Montag.

Anyway:



Did I ever say anything untoward about Hanks? Because if I did, I'm taking it back. I'm taking it ALL back.

"Hello, Neil Diamond. I like your hair."

Can't I just live the rest of my life believing that that's what Johnny Cash says at the beginning of this video? Even though it obviously isn't?



Although, I guess "I like Neil Diamond's hair" is basically implied in everything everyone ever says ever. But still.

Dear Baby,

Hey little blog baby. Well, it's me. Your dad. If you're reading this letter, congratulations! It means I finally decided that I love you. I know I haven't been around that much since you were born. I know I spent so much money on fresh kicks and Neil Diamond tickets that you had to go to school wearing a barrel with suspenders attached and eat one bean with a knife and fork. I'm really sorry about that. I left most of the parenting up to your mom, and she did a great job. She's a great lady, your mom. But I just want you to know, baby, from the bottom of my heart, that taking care of a baby is women's work. Do I look like a woman to you? I know you don't know, because you're a baby, and also you're a blog so you don't technically have eyeballs or consciousness. But I'm all man. And now I'm ready to man up and make you, my baby blog, #3 on my priority list. Right below Fantasy Football and Jessica Alba's butt. And pizza. So #4. You'll always be my #4, baby. Never forget that.

Love,
Your dad,
Ronald Himmelhaver

Si Se Puede!

I try to read actual novels that stimulate the mind, but what's the point? Who am I kidding? I am never going to finish Empire. So instead, I read US Weekly.

Have you noticed how good Madonna looks? Like, kind of too muscular, and in a gross way, but still, like totally hot? Like Wolf from American Gladiators? Sexy!



At this point, I'm sure you're wondering to yourself, "But how do I get massive guns and man hands just like Madonna's?" Fortunately, US Weekly has provided diet advice from Madonna's personal trainer, which they assure me is perfectly safe:

Two pounds a week is the typically advised weight loss, but pro Tracy Anderson says she has worked out a way to safely shed even faster!

This short-term diet "ensures you lose between 3 and 5 pounds a week," says Anderson. The diet bans processed food, dairy and all spices ("They’re bloating and upset your digestive system, which causes you to store fat"), oil and sauces ("They’re just added calories"), discourages drinking alcohol or caffeine (sip 1.5 to 3 liters of water daily instead) and prescribes one serving of whole-grain carbs a day. Once you're at your target weight, adopt a healthy but less restrictive diet.

This is groundbreaking! All I have to do is eat less--and exercise more! Let's see a sample menu:

WEEK ONE
Breakfast
1 cup Kashi cereal, with ½ cup plain — or vanilla — nonfat rice milk
Lunch
3 oz grilled chicken breast — or fresh turkey breast (no deli meat!) — with ½ cup each of chopped cucumber and tomatoes
Snack
1 cup mixed berries (try raspberries, blackberries and blueberries)
Dinner
1 cup organic pasta with ½ cup steamed spinach

Come on, ladies! Let's all embrace Ana! Africa does every day!!

Repent While Ye May

A couple of weeks ago I sent my dad the link for these two YouTube clips. Parodies are almost never funny (I'm peeking at you, MadTV), but these did cause a chuckle to escape ("OK, can we get some of those pills that Cindy McCain stole from that charity?").

Here's my dad's response. Seriously.

Dear Liberal Young Person:

Gay marriage is evil.

Using marijuana is evil under all circumstances—use alcohol like the rest of us. May I recommend Vodka?

Cindy McCain has a lot of pain due to her glamorous hair style and having to have heterosexual relations with a fossil—thankfully they’re married (even though it got off to an adulterous start, more pills please). Stealing from a charity is an oxymoron since: a) everything they have is donated; and, b) they give everything away anyway so WTF?

Shut up and read your Bible, if you can read. Repent while ye may.

Holier than thou,
Dave

When You're in Texas, Look Behind You

It's pretty easy to make lazy jokes about Chuck Norris—especially after his star turn as spokesninja for Mike Huckabee. Norris is this close to taking over the reins as Default Punchline from Hasselhoff and Gary Coleman. (Listen, dudes, I know you think it's funny to informally refer to David Hasselhoff as "The 'Hoff" or get t-shirts made of that fateful meeting between Hasselhoff and Gary Coleman, but I assure you that is not the case.)

That said, there is a piece of comedy that is right under America's noses that we are choosing to ignore. It is called Walker, Texas Ranger, and it deserves some attention.

Observe:



You might be wondering why Gary Busey tried to murder that Special Person with his bare hands. That is a ridiculous question.

Old News from the Interwebs

It's official, nerds! Bob Odenkirk and David Cross are making a new show for HBO:

Odenkirk and Cross co-wrote the project, which will star Cross as himself. He leaves Hollywood to move into a suburban, gated community where he has two roommates, a right-wing conservative and a liberal hippie.

More here.

And it's not a minute too soon.

GQ Wants You to Die Alone

Do you know what they're marketing as men's footwear these days?



(Um, this shoe also comes in a boot.)

Fellows, I'll never complain about my 80 cents to your dollar ever again.

Baby Fluffington

Do you ever catch yourself on Petfinder looking at pictures of precious kitties?

Oh.

Well, allow me to introduce you to Baby Fluffington:



He needs a good home. R U DA HOME?

Baby Fluffington not really your scene? Why not try expert snuggler Scrappy Pants or my semi-formal friend Mr. Downtown?

It's Ironic!

There was an article about Meghan McCain in the latest issue of GQ (which I read religiously due to my love of vaginas and my interest in getting closer to them). Some highlights include:

Meghan’s parents, Senator John and Cindy McCain, bought her this loft around the time she graduated from Columbia University last spring, and the interior looks like a spaceship furnished by West Elm. There’s a giant silver chimney that extends out of her fireplace into the ceiling about twenty feet above. Across the living room is a very stylish and very uncomfortable-looking pod chair. And then there’s Meghan’s prized tchotchke of the moment: a skull that, when you open its mouth, reveals a clock.

“You like it, right?” she asks, opening it for me. “Because I told my friends I’d throw it away if the GQ guy didn’t like it. I totally love it, though! It’s ironic!”

Not to mention:

“He’s a rock star,” she says of [Barack Obama]. “Everybody flipped out, but I think universally women find him attractive. Whatever.”

By the time we arrive at Garduño’s, the discussion has moved on to the Romney brothers’ dad, Mitt. It’s two days after he suspended his run, and we’re trying to puzzle out why voters never really got around to liking the guy.

“Mitt didn’t keep it real,” Meghan says, munching on a nacho chip.

She graduated from Columbia.

More of Meghan McCain's stunning genius can be found here and of course here.

It's so Hard

Our blog is in its infancy. And it's not easy being a baby.

Holla ho, Curtis!

Hello, this is the blog of Lindy and Meags. We have chosen the medium of "blog" to convey to you our most hilarious of jokes, due to our crippling fear of both public speaking and video cameras.

Now, we are no Johnnies-come-lately to the semi-professional joke-telling game. Lindy tells jokes semi-professionally for The Stranger and Meagan unprofessionally tells jokes to her coworkers. You should also know that we have been crafting jokes and good times together since our senior year of high school, where we met in a Shakespeare class.

"Fie! 'Tis lewd and filthy!" said Meagan.
"I wear not motley on my brain," said Lindy.

As you can see, our first meeting was fateful. And humorous. In fact, many have compared it to When Harry Met Sally. Except more lesbian. So, more like When Harry Met Nathaniel Hawthorne if they were both chicks. When Sally met Martina Navratilova?

It should come as no surprise, then, that our peers voted us "Most Likely to Make You Laugh" that year. Well, lots and lots of people voted for Meagan. Almost no one voted for Lindy. BUT! After one of the winners was disqualified (having already been crowned "Most Inspirational"), Lindy rocketed into 4th place with an unheard-of 7 votes to a resounding schoolwide: "Who is that?" Are we most likely making you laugh with the posting of this blog? Why not make Lindy and Meags most likely to make you laugh while you kill time at your shitty job?

So let this blog be your first stop for impressions of the hilarious variety, uproarious collections of moustaches, and observatory observationalisms. Did we mention that we're ladies? We've got notebooks full of menses and mother-in-law jokes! We don't like Mondays! Take that, Christopher Hitchens!

Wanna talk to us? Why not email lindyandmeags AT gmail.com and see what happens!