First Lenny, Now Lindsay

Evidently Lindsay Lohan has some problems using the toilet.

Look, I love a good scat story as much as the next person, but this is getting ridiculous. Could it be that Lindsay has the same dietician as Lenny? Inquiring minds what to ..., uhhh, maybe not.

Lenny Kravitz If Fiber-riffic

Lenny Kravitz If Fiber-riffic

If I ever move to Manhattan, please remind me not to drop $3 million on an apartment located anywhere below Lenny Kravitz. According to a Smoking Gun report, Allstate Insurance filed a complaint in New York State Supreme Court contending that Lenny was negligent and careless for allowing his crapper to become "blocked, clogged, and congested."

(((Hurl!)))

Now it should be noted that: (a) Lenny’s mystery river of poo somehow migrated from his toilet, and seeped through the ground floor and made it all the way down to the apartment a few floors down, and (b) this is the second time Lenny's been sued for his toilet's inability to choke down whatever colon loafs Lenny keeps pinching off.

Lenny’s a rock star, so this obviously can’t be his fault. There are a slew (or would it be s-loo?) of other parties to blame -- perhaps it was the fault of the toilet manufacturer .... or maybe the building manufacturer .... or perhaps his dietician (I’m guessing the tofu-black bean chili or the curried chicken was the prime culprit).

Now if I were Lenny I would just assert the classic defense of “coming to the nuisance,” since his neighbors must have been known about his faulty plumbing (double entendre intended) given the prior lawsuit. If not, they sure as hell know now.

Ro ...Sham ... Bo!

It was with much anticipation that I saw that the World's Rock Paper Scissors champion was finally crowned. Big ups to Andrew Bergel, who took home the gold for his ingenious paper throw to defeat second place finisher Stan Long who, sadly, cast rock in his final throw. What a loser.

And while I could certainly use the $7,000 grand prize, I would rather pleasure myself in front of my entire family than admit to everyone that I was the Paper Rock Scissors champion of the world. Of course, I would probably rather watch the RPS tournament than, say, NASCAR.

Here Come The Judge (Part II)

So I'm reading excerpts of Harriet Miers' Supreme Court questionnaire and I must say it's a fascinating read. And by fascination read, I mean "boring waste of time." Honestly, she seems as interesting as a yawning festival. But, she is the next right-wing freak to be nominated to the Supreme Court, so I guess it's incumbent upon me to learn at least something about the Texas attorney with the shrunken apple head appearance.

In perusing her responses, I noticed the following interesting tidbit:

"Earlier this year, I received notice that my dues for the District of Columbia were delinquent and as a result my ability to practice law in D.C. had been temporarily suspended. I immediately sent the dues to remedy the delinquency. The non-payment was not intentioned, and I corrected the situation upon receiving the letter."

Look, I don't really mind the fact that her license to practice law was suspended in Washington D.C. for failing to pay bar dues . I can empathize with your empty bank account, Harry - my funds are usually tight at the end of the month and I've been known to utilize the overdraft protection on my checking account. Rather, I am far more offended and shocked by her atrocious grammar.

"The non-payment was not intentioned ..."

What the fuck? Is it too much to ask that our next Associate Supreme Court Justice be able to compose a simple sentence? And I don't even want to think about how many trained editors actually reviewed this piece o' work prior to its submission. Lord knows I'm no Bill Shakesepeare, but then again I’m not up for Supreme Court nomination. Which is a bad thing, because I think the job would be pretty scrumtralescent.

Dumb Monkey

Donald Rumsfeld is giving George W. Bush his daily briefing on the war and tells him that three Brazilian soldiers have been killed in Iraq.

Stunned, George says "oh my god, that's absolutely terrible," and is at a total loss for words.

He holds his head in his hands for several minutes, almost in tears.

His staff is amazed at the response as the whole room falls silent.

Finally, with a trembling voice, George lifts his head from the table and says, "exactly how many is a brazillion?"

O, Cum All Yee Faithful

I read a humorous article about a Mormon book store that removed all the DVD copies of “Sons of Provo” when it turned out that the DVD was, in fact, a gay porno called “Adored: Diary of a Porn Star.” Now I’m sure it was an honest mistake, although you would think that the picture of a naked male on the DVD cover would have tipped off a reasonably intelligent book store employee. However, we are talking about Mormons, which might explain the obtuseness.

As it turns out, the book store might have been seriously misguided in removing the movie. According to this website, certain forms of Christian are perfectly acceptable given certain parameters. I think this is fantastic news, although it would have been nice to have had this insight during that time of my life when I actually believed in this stuff. While the website sadly neglected to go into great detail, I was pleased to read that anal and oral will be able to make it into the films (although I think it’s safe to say that donkey and scat videos are a no no).

Given the profound number of Red State voters who are presumably an untapped market in the adult entertainment industry, I’m thinking that the Christian porn market could be a huge money maker. And I’m the one that’s more than willing to exploit this market. Now I’m not really interested in starring in them (unless, of course, Jessica Alba is in it) and I don’t really want to produce, write or direct them. Rather, I just want to be the guy that gets to develop the names of the movies. There’s certainly a number of great, biblically-based porn movie names* that are just begging to be made:

"Touched Down There By an Angel"

"Nuns Gone Wild, Volume III"

"David and Goliath's Lap"

"Let There Be Wood"

"The Three Wise Men and the Hooker"

"A Lay in the Manger"

"The Father, The Son, and the Glory Hole"

"Sex, Lies and Communion"

"Shall We Gather At My Wiener?"

"Nearer My Crotch To Thee"

"Midnight Mass-ive"

"A Pew Good Men"

"Three in a Confessional"

"Repentance in My Pants"

* Special thanks to VMD for helping to compile this list during at extremely boring work day at Qwest.

Who knows, maybe one day we’ll be able to buy "Thy Kingdom Cum" or "Sanctuary Gangbang" in our local Wal-Mart, if not the Desert Book outlet in Salt Lake City.

And yes, I know I’m going to hell. What’s your point?

I Hate To Fly - And It Shows

For those that don’t know me, I’m not a big fan of flying. And by “not a big fan of,” I really mean “strongly dislike.” It’s not just simply the flight itself. I’ve actually come to loathe the entire experience. From the security line strip show …. to the cattle call boarding process …. to the annoying/chatty/snoring seatmate …. to the inevitable armrest wrestling match … it’s just a not so great time. However, the gods have smiled down upon me today and blessed me with a few new bonus experiences during this trip (forgive the verb tense, but I typed these notes as they were happening at the airport/on the plane):

* Remind me when it was that men become incapable of carrying their fucking luggage? Seriously, what grown man is incapable of carrying a 25 pound bag and instead has to rely upon one of those rolling luggage devices? I nearly collided with some asshole that refused to lift his bags as he rounded a 90 degree corner -- even as he saw me oncoming -- forcing me to dive out of his way in order to avoid him. I honestly don’t know how I restrained myself from knocking the teeth out of his mouth.

* The woman sitting across the isle from me just started eating some carry-on Indian food. Lucky me. It smells like curried skunk. God, I pity whoever has to use the restroom after her tomorrow. I hope her ass burns later on like my nostrils are right now.

* The 50+ year old flight attendant keeps brushing up against me with her ass during this flight. Now, it’s probably just a serious of accidents or one big mere coincidence -- or it could just have to do with the fact that she has an enormous caboose. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she were a hot 50 year old, like Kim Bassinger. But I’ve seen Kim Bassinger … I’ve masturbated to Kim Bassinger … and you, ma’am, are no Kim Bassinger.

* The woman sitting next to me keeps dividing her attention between my laptop and the book that the window seat guy is reading. Jesus Christ, did it never occur to you that you would be stuck on an airplane for 2 1/2 hours with nothing to do? Would it kill you to carry on your own reading materials? Or did the Oakland airport sell out of Readers Digest? At last, she’s finally decided to peruse the United in-flight magazine “Hemisphere.” I guess the “Things To Do In Scottsdale” article was too tempting to resist.

* I think the curried beef woman just farted. Fuck, it smells like a combination of ass, rancid beef and paprika. God, I am going to puke right now.

* When flying in and out of Denver, one invariably experiences some turbulence when flying over the mountains. It’s just inevitable, so I figured I was accustomed to the bit of choppiness I thought I would encounter. I was dead wrong. There was an awful 10 minute stretch where the plane was bouncing around and I found myself shaking uncontrollably in my seat like Katharine Hepburn in a wind tunnel. Fun times.

I finally arrived at DIA and, with bags finally in hand, was off to my friend’s wedding weekend in Breckenridge. Thank god, I could use a drink (or six).