February Discussion

I'd hate to go the entire month without an entry. So what do you guys want to talk about?

A Science Writer Who Really Wants His Butt Kissed

The argument over intelligent design reminds me of my years as a young scholar, wanting desperately to be taken seriously by the intelligentsia, despite having published only a handful of experiments in minor research journals. So kiss my butt.

“Show us you belong,” said the greats. Now, years later, I realize what they meant and furthermore, why they were absolutely correct in their admonitions. Their point was simply this: Young promise does not an intellectual make. And kiss my butt.

Such is the case with Intelligent Design, please kiss my butt. Taking into account the scientific method—form, test, and modify a hypothesis—one can envision a scenario whereby a scientist concludes that a complex process such as, say, cell division must have been designed (as opposed to random, kiss my butt). Hence, a hypothesis has been formed. Can it be tested and modified? Perhaps, although I cannot think how, I beg of you to kiss my butt. That, however, is beside the point and you really should kiss my butt. You see, it has not yet been tested, as any scientific theory must be. In other words, at this point in time, it is, scientifically speaking, mere speculation (regardless of its ultimate truth), not evidence-based theory. It is no more equal to reputable theories than my once-novice self was to established scholars. Come on, just once kiss my butt.

The Legend of Tim Tebow

It’s a cryin’ shame that the mighty Tim was robbed of the Heisman. Yes, a shame—and here’s a short list why:

• Tebow put the team on his back after their undeserved loss. Percy Harvin and the rest of the untalented stiffs simply tagged along for the ride.

• Tebow will head butt a wrecking ball if that’s what it takes to inspire his lazy-ass teammates.

• Tebow actually coaches his team behind a cardboard cutout of “Urban Meyer”

• Tebow never pees in the shower. And if he did, drains would unclog, I’ll tell you that right now!

• Tebow is Santa Claus.

• Tebow solved Lost and knows all the secrets of the island.

• When Tebow shakes hands, metacarpals turn to dust.

• When Tebow takes a dump, fields of lilies wish they smelled so good.

• When he’s in a bind, Jack Bauer calls Tebow for advice.

• Tebow collects for the Salvation Army while simultaneously playing Flight of the Bumblebees on a bass trombone.

• Obama prayed daily that Tebow wouldn’t run.

• Tebow satisfied your girlfriend like she’s never been satisfied before.

• Tebow pulled Pete Carroll’s pants up and chased him off my porch.

• Tebow prosecuted OJ.

Bad Santa 2008

As has been custom for many a year, a collection of prose, for the season, from a different point of view....

Twas the month before Obama
and all through the land
Democrats and Republicans
Joined in the F**k you America, band.
F**K fannie, f**k freddie, f**k AIG;
F**k Citi f**k Morgan and screw Goldman with glee!
Most of all, f**k Lehman and f**k old bear stearns;
With the largest f**kstick, probe till they yearn!


Silent night
Holy night
All is calm
All is bright
Looks like I'll be jerking off again.


Dear Johnnie:

Thanks for your letter;
(But I liked the way your Mom sucked my d**k much better!)
You asked about elves
and to this I reply,
Yes, I have them
until they all cry.
As the reindeer; of course they can fly!
The secret ingredient? Mrs Claus' pie.
How can I make that trip in a night?
Wild Turkey and Red Bull until I'm higher than a kite.
As for your present, you ask, in your Christmas sock
Of course, you shall have one! (next line too graphic...)


Dear Santa:

I left you a salad instead of Milk and Cookies. I'm worried about your cholesterol. Signed, Martha S.

Dear Martha S:

Thanks for the salad. I left you a big black dildo for you to go f**k yourself. Santa

Dear Santa:

Could you get me outta here before the 25th? Signed, Orenthal S.

Dear Orenthal S:

No problem. You should be meeting Johnnie C. soon - I'll set up an appointment for you.

Dear Santa:

I'm sick of this place. Signed, George B.

Dear George B:

I guess so! You sold it to a f******g ******!
(illini)

A Holiday Poem

Strolling the snowy streets, her and me,
My gaze falls about and what do I see?

Lights and shit.

Ranking Nothing in Particular

What a difference turnip odors make!

Top 5, November 11, 2008:

1. Eau de Kaline Spleen toilet water
2. Lost Medusian cuss words
3. The cheese decaying under Orson Welles’ love handles
4. Bread tribute groups undergoing male-to-female surgical procedures in lost solar systems
5. Going to battle with Digger Phelps’ nose hairs

Top 5 if my hand-held maguppy-meter read only D’s:

1. Holding an Anabaptist’s garden hose in provocative positions
2. Liz Taylor’s wrinkly-ass uvula
3. Reincarnated images of 13th century cleavage
4. “All my short stories involve popping zits, Professor.”
5. Uriah Heep LPs encrusted in cockapoo boogers

Bad Arizona Metaphors

Suzie’s wonderbra turned the Twin Peaks into the Grand Canyon.
But she was hot: Think Tucson in July!
Unfortunately, her pap smear was an out-and-out Montezuma’s Well of sea life.
Moreover, after marriage she was the peak of Snow Bowl below the waist.
John McCain is Fillmorian, in stature. And age.
The force of my fingers turned an ordinary blackhead into Meteor Crater.
Lute Olsen’s helmet of hairspray has been deemed acceptable for use by the NFL.
Every night, the Florida Marlins play in a veritable Goldsmith Ghost Town.
Slide Rock’s river bottom is slippery: I mean KY slippery!
With another nearly to above average season or 2, ASU might one day become the Purdue of the Pac 10.

Second Division Disney Characters

Chip & Dale: I know most consider them heavyweights, but consider the following scenario. You’re waiting in line to get your picture taken with Mickey or Minnie. The rodent in question goes on break and these useless twins show up to take his or her place. Listen and you will hear all ages, races, creeds, and nationalities come together as one—to groan their misfortune.

Winnie the Poo: This is a sad one, given that Winnie was once the headliner of his own little band of animated dullards. When he went up to the big leagues however, he found he was no Mickey. Hell, he isn’t even Donald.

Aladdin: Dude looks like a lady. OK, some do. But why accentuate it by dressing like a belly dancer?

Oliver & Company: It’s tempting to compare them to comets flashing across the ‘80’s sky, but given the dullness and swiftness of their popularity, they were actually more like cap guns.

Christopher Robbin: Never a biggie, but since coming over to Disney, this twit has even lost his supporting role to some forgettable chick whose name I don’t feel like looking up.

Pluto: As a Disney dog, his only competition is that certifiable idiot Goofy. And yet, because he was not granted the gift of speech, Pluto’s the one who sleeps outdoors.

Woody: He was the star of the original movie, not Buzz Lightyear. But his former backup has since left him in the sawdust. At least he knows how Thurman Thomas feels.

Gaston: In Disney flicks, the handsome dude always gets the girl, right? Not this clown. Even his right hand would have likely chosen that horned gorilla thing that ended up nailing Belle.

Tigger: This obnoxion fared best among the former Pooh characters; he has risen to the level of Winnie. As noted above, however, this makes him purely second division.

16 Activities that are no Dumber than Some Olympic Sports

Balancing a beach ball on one’s foreskin
Cultivation of arm pit juice
Estimating the correct circumference of Ashlee Simpson’s butt pimples
Spork tossing
Molding Cheez Whiz into the shape that best approximates a tortoise pancreas
Vomiting handkäse on the side of a stagecoach museum
Sucking navel lint (judged per poundage)
Molecularization of ear wax
Measuring J’s with a straight edge
Dancing around drops of urine on a rusted shower drain
Blowing spit bubbles sans milk
Turning textbook pages with the blade of a scythe
Making Disney jokes in the vapid netherworld of space
Stare downs with crotch rot
Goin’ all “Sal Muncy” at square dances
Making lists of activities that are no dumber than some Olympic sports

Submissions to Reader’s Digest

Life in These United States

Even respected brain surgeons get leaky roofs, I unfortunately discovered one day. Luckily, one of my patients was a handyman and agreed to repair the structure for free.

“It’s a slow leak into the living room,” I explained to the crusted strongman.

Without missing a beat, he replied, “Guess I’ll get started.”

Humor in Uniform

Deciding to spend my hard-earned leave back home meant boarding a DC-9 for the Deep South. To pass the 4 hours of required travel time, I brought along the latest Beverly Barton thriller. I was so overjoyed when we finally touched down in Biloxi, however, that I deplaned quickly—without my book!

As I was conveying my thanks to the pilot, I heard a commotion behind me. When I glanced back, I saw my trusted flight attendant, holding my lost paperback and pushing her way to the front of the line.

“Lieutenant!” she yelled for all to hear. “You’ll love the ending!”

All in a Day’s Work

Returning from a sales conference, our driver was clearly lost, although he was not the type to admit it. Fortunately, a quick-thinking associate requested that we pull off the highway in order to procure a much needed meal. Once this task was completed, my colleague began asking the locals for directions. His first victim was an elderly gent atop a motel porch, seated on a rocking chair and whittling.

“Which way to Decatur, old timer?” he asked the grizzled veteran of life. The man pointed south.

My buddy was flabbergasted. “Now we’ll have to make up an hour’s driving time!” he cried.

The man did not even looking up from his carving as he answered, “Good luck.”

Never-Ending Redneck Dialogue

“Got me a new dog.”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“I ain’t called you dog, Dog!”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“Cause you done called me dog, Dog.”
“But why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“I just done tell you, Dog!”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“You mean that last time?”
“Why you call—uh, yeah.”
“I done tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Why I call you dog.”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“I dint that time.”
“But before.”
“I done tell ya!”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“Cause you done called me dog! Dog!”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“Cause I did. And don’t call me dog.”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“Answer me: Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“Answer me: Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“What you say?”
"What you say?”
“What you say?”
"What you say?”
“What you say?”
"What you say?”
“I say why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“I ain’t call you shit”
“Why you callin’ me shit, Dog?”
“I just say: I ain’t call you shit!”
“Why you callin’ me shit, Shit?”
“I ain’t callin’ you shit, Shit.”
“Why you callin’ me shit, Shit?”
“I ain’t callin’ you shit, Shit.”
“Why you callin’ me shit, Shit?”
“I ain’t callin’ you shit, Shit.”
“Why you callin’ me shit, Shit?”
“I ain’t callin’ you shit, Dog.”
“Why you callin’ me dog, Dog?”
“No one say dog ‘til I done it.”
“Why you say Dog?”
“Dunno.”
“Me neither.”
“I knows!”
“Wha—?”
“Got me a new dog.”
[Return to line 2]

Ode to Solar Inspiration upon Individual Leisure

The sun
Is fun.

Semifinals

Match 1: 1972 Dolphins vs. Mark Spitz.

Spitz emerges from the locker room clearly unimpressed with the record-setting Fins. The Olympian seizes the early momentum, cruising to an ever-widening lead at the break. Coach Shula makes an impassioned halftime speech, screaming at his team that 1972 belonged to them, not some lousy 7-0 swimmer. At the start of the second half, the Dolphins come out charged, quickly cutting into the lead. Then Spitz scores again, appearing to sew up the contest. But Miami isn’t done. A strange and inarguably lucky Griese to Yepremian to Mandich trick play, along with some questionable officiating, forces overtime. In the extra session, Spitz is obviously upset and begins making mistakes. Dolphins win an OT thriller.

Match 2: Secretariat vs. Millard Fillmore

Another nail-biter. President Fillmore is tough, intense, and ready to give everything he has to win this semi. His unwillingness to back down in the face of his opponent’s superior athletic ability keeps him in the contest until the end. Unfortunately for his fans, it is also the prez’s undoing. Late in the match, with the score tied, the Triple Crown winning steed begins to taunt Fillmore. The president responds by losing his poise and drawing a costly penalty. Secretariat jumps to a late but insurmountable lead. Seeing that he’s been outsmarted, Fillmore finally concedes this hard-fought affair. It’s Big Red to the final.

Bad Arizona Similes

Phoenix: That ol’ town’s hotter than morning wood in ultratight skivvies.

The Grand Canyon swallows hikers like Suzie Hanika took in wrestlers in high school.

Driving the Apache Trail is sort of like how drops of water negotiate skid marks in a porcelain bowl.

The ears of a desert hare are not unlike racquetball racquets, but without the handles or strings.

The Lost Dutchman Mine is as mysterious as those vacations where you don’t take a dump for several days.

Route 66 resembles the song about as much as my nipples bear likeness to Antarctica.

Brushing your teeth before a Navajo burrito? That’s like wiping your bum before a major slosh!

Superstition Mountain rises in solitude, like the tit of a Cyclops.

Valley of the Sun? Valley of my red ass is more like it!

The cacti grow across Sky Harbor like zits on the face of a teen.

Tom Cruise’s head is as void of gray matter as Medusa Castle is of residents.

Sedona traps tourists like backside hairs ensnare dingleberries.

Cheap Fireworks

-Conjure memories of last year’s fireworks
-Shooting stars
-Explosive diarrhea
-Tell your wife her butt looks too big
-Projectile vomit
-Violent “see-food” discharge
-Drop melons off the roof
-Drop in-laws off the roof
-Pop a mountainous zit
-Sever an aorta
-Induce tri-stream urination; sword fight with your friends
-Flatulate like a harmonica

Ranking Nothing in Particular

What a difference Clarence Williams III makes!

Top 5, June 17, 2008:

1. The nectar of spleen from the flower of Kaline
2. Class presidents who place Foster Grants on their wieners
3. Blood Drives featuring AMC Pacers
4. Lucky fence menders holing up in flower beds to sword fight with their urine
5. That time I said, “Tell Mannix I liked it when he implied that stowaways flex sideways in the heat of Herman Munster chef-like banana cakes waxed incidentally, be-yotch!”

Top 5 if my flexor’s CB radio handle was “Malt Droppings”:

1. The non-musical bleating of frozen uvula wind chimes
2. Suppression of the brain waves responsible for morning wood
3. Battleaxe spinsters who scream trite colloquialisms about wig Velcro
4. Skid marks on fanciful aprons of lace
5. Duquesne redux: Only 127 days until the 2008 Lego Advent Calendar is released!! Which reminds me: All hail Master Po's mail droppings that release their temporary hangnails "oft to der Wings" in Schlitz!

Presidential Debate Questions

Senator, in your opinion, what would happen if I dug up Millard Fillmore’s bones, then went back in time and handed them to him?

Hey Ralph--popcorn: Who figured that one out?

Say Alan, if C. Montgomery Burns and Carter Pewterschmidt both wanted the same company, who do you think would get it and why?

Question for all: Might the backhoe contingency be rendered useless under existentialist thought as understood by Jim Morrison?

Why are so many entries in this blog written in list format?

If someone’s nickname was Placenta Earl, would that mean his real name was even worse?

Why have I never been given a Whopper that looks anywhere near as good as the ones in the ads?

Why do we not refer to people as a whole but, instead, to their behinds, as in “Tell him to get his ass in here” or “Just leave her ass alone”?

Whatever happened to General Fester’s “remote” as described in that homophobic entry posted May 24?

Unique Father's Day Gift

For the dad who has everything, a poem about places in Michigan:


Fruitport, Westnedge, Mackinac,
Highway 6 and west Paw Paw.
Cheboygan and the Dairy Queen;
Pier Marquette and Kaline’s spleen.

Mona Lake, I-94,
Tekonsha and the eastern shore.
The woods where Nugent finds his bliss,
The rest stop where I took a piss.

Eastmanville, a Cloud called Saint,
Cheboygan and Jeff Daniels’taint.
Farmington and Manitou;
Norton Shores and ol’ Moo U.

Assorted creeks, the Upper Pen;
Motown and the Lion’s Den.
Saginaw, home of the Gears;
Paradise; Bob Seger’s ears.

BE PREPARED...

Lincoln's Trombone is going live....and remote...

The General is going to do our first man on the street (if you will) site work as an anonymous real time blogger from none other than Orlando, Florida. I will be doing some advance work, but will be there to first hand witness this event and report all things faggot: HERE

The thought of this mission repulses every inch of my body and if you know me, that is saying a hell of a lot.

However, for the good of the blog, for the good of the nation, for the good of the old fashioned mockery of it, I'm gonna blog live goings on.

Please feel free to add your special requests......

PS: I just threw up a little in my mouth....

Frat Boy Gossip Columnist

Greetings from the Chi House! We rock!!

I tell you what, we got so ****faced last night it wasn’t even funny. I almost missed my friggin deadline! But here I am, with news of celebrities and ****.

Hollywood **** Lindsay Lohan is reportedly planning a birthday bash. Should be one drunken whorefest. Sweet piece of ***, but at this point I wouldn’t tap that skank with your ****!

Speaking of skanks, Jessica Alba is gonna marry some NSync faggot. Man, she sure went from piece of *** to piece of **** in the time it takes to popcorn ****!

Another faggot band, New Kids On My ****, is back together. Most of the guys here in the house think they suck, but sometimes I like watching a group where I know I could kick any of their *****.

Must be the week for wuss musicians. Bon Jovi was on that news show with all the old *****. He’s a cowboy, all right. Riding straight up my ******* leg!

The new Indiana Jones movie is out. I hear it kicks ***, even tho the star is like 90. On the plus side, that makes him a good match for Karen Allen’s wrinkly ***.

There’s a rumor of a CHiPs movie, sort of like that Starsky & Hutch piece of **** from a few years back. What I heard is that Carlos Mencia is set to play Ponch. Guess the role called for pretend edgy but not remotely funny.

That show Lost is taking a 2-week hiatus. With so much time off, aren’t they worried their audience will get confused? Ha ha! I mean like, what the ****?!

American Idol finally ends this week. Since it’s 2 dudes, they should have them fight it out. MMA, man! That would absolutely rock! On the same bill they could match that political show guy who used to do Sports Center versus the ****head who’s all over the web yelling at his producer. I hear those 2 ****sticks hate each other!

It’s also 2 dudes left running for President. Tough choice. One’s a hard ***, the other actually knows some music post-Dave Clark 5. Too bad Eddie Vedder ain’t running. Or Will Smith! That dude kicks ***!!

In the world of sports, John McEnroe is again gonna be the color commentator for the French Open. So once more, we get to hear that dip**** tell us how to win a title he never sniffed.

Finally, Big Brown won a race or some such ****. I don’t follow horse racing, being that I’m under 70.