In watching the 2 recent debates, I have some ideas to make the format more interesting.

As the credits rolled, an obnoxiously diverse group of young people would fill up the stage and join the candidates and their families in the Electric Slide.

I’ve got my ear to the pavement, and the word on the streets is that the Mad Cow Disease is making a comeback. Ooooooh…how exciting! Next to MonkeyPox, is there a single more amusing and delightful disease out there? I can’t say I feel very sympathetic for people who contract Mad Cow. I mean, its not like cows are very quick and agile, and they have no tempers. It’s like getting chased by one of those world’s fattest babies that occasionally grace the cover of the tabloids. I guess that would be portly baby disease. Anyone who gets bit by a cow deserves all sorts of diseases. If I had anything to say about it, they would also all of the sudden become allergic to cheese and ice cream, and get spots all over their body like cows. They should grow 3 more stomachs and wear a big goofy bell around their necks. And they should speak in moos.

On the other hand, I do feel sorrow for people who get Monkey Pox, as monkeys are adorable, they juggle, and who can possibly resist petting one and offering them whatever yummy treats you have in your pockets at the time.

I know I’m about 7 months early, but I’m so excited that I couldn’t wait any longer to announce the 1st annual Easter Egg Hunt for Homeless Kids on Saturday April 11, 2009 at 10:30 PM. I’m doing it Saturday night so that I can sleep in Sunday morning and wake up to make myself chocolate chip pancakes without having to worry about a bunch of kids waiting for me. I won’t be celebrating Easter, as I’m a Jew, but I feel like I have an obligation to those who are less fortunate than Jews, and to a lesser extent, the rest of society. I decided to have the hunt take place at 10:30 PM so that I’ll have time to have myself a couple of fruity alcoholic beverages afterwards to celebrate my goodheartedness. Also, Easter in 2009 lies on my birthday, so I need to keep my options open in case anyone wants to take me out for cake and chocolate milk.

I do not want people telling me how wonderful I am for doing this amazing deed for the kids of the street. The look on the face of the child who gets to eat my half-sandwich while wearing my sweatpants will be reward enough. And it feels good knowing that some lonely child will have the loyalty and companionship of an adorably little baby chicken.

I’ve decided that I want babies. 3 of them, to be exact. I want triplets, but I don’t want them to all look the same.

I would like for my third triplet to be normal. I would not like my normal baby one bit, and that’s the truth. I would neglect him and feed him discounted hamster food. I would dress him in raggedy torn overalls and make him carry around a pitchfork. I would tell him that if he shined Umberto’s shell, I would feed him porkchops. When my precious little Burtle’s shell was super-shiny, I would feed my normal baby Rabbit food. I would homeschool him, then not teach him anything. I would ask him to read things and then laugh at him along with Umberto and Thelma. His illiteracy would be the root of many jokes in my household. I would hire someone who slurred really badly to tutor him until he developed the same slur. This would make his attempts at reading even funnier than before. I would not buy him a bonnet. I would call him Zeek.

I used to think that the scariest thing for a small child was the boogeyman, or Leatherface. That was until last Easter. The sheer horror I saw on the youngsters faces as they were being forced into the lap of the Easter bunny made me rethink my stand. The kids were crying hysterically as their parents, upset that they just spent $25 to get pictures that will be carefully placed into colorful frames and cute little snow globes, were shoving and using candy and whatever else they could think of to get their kids to force upwards the corners of their little mouths in a quasi-smile long enough to have their pictures taken with the big furry monster. I think they should have kids take pictures with a real bunny, or a small stuffed bunny. What’s the worst thing that can happen, rabies? But to have a disgruntled balloon artist dressed up like an 8-foot tall bunny, with his ugly middle-aged head visible through the hole in the fur helmet sitting on his head, and smelling more by the minute, and only able to communicate with clumsy waves reminiscent of a bear swiping at a tourists head is frightening to me, so you can imagine what it does to little kids. At least known killers like Jason and Freddy are out in the open and don’t try to hide their motives. When you see them, you run. But with the giant bunny, you don’t know whether you should approach them for a hug, or throw eggs to distract him before running as fast as your tiny little toddler legs will carry you.

Some guy at the gym today was wearing a shirt that said Booty Hunter. If he really wants to keep it real, tomorrow he’ll wear a Booty Kryptonite shirt. Never has there been a man with less of a chance of scoring with the ladies since crustacean lover Timmy Crocker decided to start wearing a leather jacket embroidered on the back with “I Have Crabs!”

Someone on TV just said, “There’s a lot of coldness in those glaciers.”

Indeed there is.

It just makes me wonder… If someone like that could make it to the egg as a tiny little sperm, what kind of weakened competition was he up against? After years of heavy drinking and thousands of whippets, his dad probably had one barely living solitary sperm left, along with several hundred dead sea monkeys.

Article in White. My commentary in red.

AP - A robber rolled into a Dallas convenience store came armed with a bat and a knife. He left with a lot of condoms and an energy drink.

He probably wanted to make sure he had an extra boost in case he ended up being chased by the coppers. I can’t imagine what else he would have wanted an energy drink for. I hope he was careful not to puncture the condoms with the knife.

Dallas police Cpl. Kevin Janse said Friday that a man in a wheelchair entered a Dallas 7-Eleven Wednesday afternoon, rolled straight toward the cash register and beat it with a baseball bat until it opened.

It turns out that his dad sold him for eighteen dollars and forty-two cents when he was little and he remembers how furious his dad was when he was given a twenty with a request for the one dollar and fifty-eight cents change. He remembers his dad yelling at him because he couldn’t even get him twenty dollars. Anytime he sees small change being made it reminds him of his dad and he smashes it with anything he can find. In fact, he had just been released from a 2 year stretch in the pen for beating an ice cream truck driver with a frozen king sized Butterfinger.

But he didn’t grab any cash. Instead, police say he stole 10 boxes of condoms and an energy drink before making his getaway Wednesday afternoon.

It’s like the movie “John Doe”, where someone commits a crime for a selfless purpose and doesn’t want any money. They should throw him a parade. He could be his own float.

Janse says the suspect may have been homeless and was likely intoxicated at the time of the robbery.

I agree. In fact, I like to blame most of life’s mysteries on homeless alcoholics.

It has been brought to my attention that Tiger Penises have barbs on them (apparently I found that so impressive that I decided to capitalize the word penis). I didn’t believe the jibber jabber, so a Google search was done to prove me wrong. While learning the true extent of my wrongness, I found the existence of a Chinese aphrodisiac called Tiger Penis Wine. It turns me on just thinking about heating it up and dripping it in bad places.

I also found some alternate uses for Tiger parts.

1 - The tail can be ground and mixed with soap for applications as an ointment in the treatment of skin disease. The bones from the tip of the tail ward off evil.

2 - Crushed bone added to wine is an old Taiwanese general tonic.

3 - To cure a fever caused by ghosts, sit on a tiger skin. If used too often, you may turn into a tiger.

4 - Add honey to the gallstones and apply to abscesses on the hands and feet.

5 - The hair should be burnt to drive away centipedes.

6 - Mix the brain with oil, rub on your body and you will be cured of laziness & acne.

7 - Eyeballs rolled into pills are sure cure for convulsions.

8 - Whiskers should be kept as a charm for protection against bullets, and to give courage.

9 - Carry a claw in your pocket or wear it as a piece of jewelry and you will possess courage and be protected from sudden fright.

10 - Eat the heart to acquire strength, courage & cunning.

11 - Floating ribs should be carried as a good luck talisman.

12 - Use the penis as an aphrodisiac.

13 - To prevent a child from having convulsions, remove the small bones from the feet and tie them to the child’s wrists.

It also turns out that Whales have penises up to 10 feet long, which explains why they’re so peaceful. This also suggests multiple previously unknown uses for the blowhole. It also explains why John Candy got the hottest women. And Gorillas, which are violent and angry, have 3-inch penises. This information clears up the mystery of why Irish men drink so much and have such explosive tempers.

Speaking of pee shyness…

My worse case of pee shyness came when I was drug tested by the Volkswagen Dealership I used to work for. The woman standing with her ear to the bathroom door listening for pee fraud, or phraud, was the modern day twin of Laura Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie. This devious trick to try and make me pee illegal narcotics made me very uncomfortable. No matter how much I tried and tried, nothing was coming out, so I kept returning to the waiting area to drink water. It was really embarrassing. Eventually my bladder gave in and I filled the cup. I drank so much water that the test ended up being inconclusive and I ended up having to be tested again. Throughout the whole process I kept envisioning little Laura Ingalls taking my cup of watered down urine and running off through the woods back to the cabin going:

“Pa! Pa! He switched his urine with dog urine! He’s tainted the test Pa! Pa! He’s dirty! That man from the future just committed phraud!”

I went to Marshall’s the other day to pick up some socks, and ended up waiting in line for close to 15 years because the guy in front of me happened to pick the only 3 items in the store with no tags on them, so they had to send some elderly retarded lady on a wild goose chase to find the prices. A few minutes passed before they sent someone after her. Was there a meeting at Marshall’s earlier in the day detailing the exact methods that would be used to steal my soul? Of course there was only one line open, so I was forced to endure this excruciatingly long game of autistic capture the flag. While I was waiting, an apparently motherless child wandered into the adjacent register booth. The cashier flipped out and yelled at the little mongrel’s grandmother because something might fall on the child’s giant head and that he could get hurt. The same thing was said to Jason’s momma on Thursday the 12th, and we all know how that turned out. This kid seriously had the most giant, indestructible head I’ve ever seen on a kid. They could use his head as a wrecking ball to smash run down crackhouses used by prostitutes and homeless squatters. I feel bad for whatever poor item happens to fall on this baby monster’s cranium, although being at Marshall’s, they could just discount it a bit and mark it damaged. I also feel bad for the child’s mother if she didn’t have a c-section, and I imagine his father most likely cries himself to sleep every night.

This is a duplication of the incredibly disturbing bathroom at the Border Café in Saugus, which is just north of Boston. I’m not exactly sure what the message here is. I’m thinking it’s some sort of urinal race war, but that’s just a guess. I think the only fair thing to do would be to stand in between the two urinals and share the stream between both amigos. Like my great, great grandmother used to tell me… If you can have racial unity, if even for a moment, a little pee on the wall is a small price to pay. I think I made her proud.