Thursday, January 22, 2015

A New Bill Belichick Book by Lacey Noonan and Me

new Bill Belichick balls book funny by Lacey Noonan

Deflated Balls to Remember
A new book by Lacey Noonan (with Bob Melonosky)

Selected Excerpts from Deflated Balls to Remember:

"When Bill's balls broke the plane of my end zone, I felt the pressure decrease, pound after pound after pound, until he showered me with his love, just like Richard Seymour and Rodney Harrison showered Bill with gatorade when the Pats won 19 in a row back in 2004."

"Bill's balls grazed the upright but bounced in for the score, my grip firm despite the wetness, thanks to the scuffing up Tom Brady preferred."  Bill Belichick's face stayed exactly the same, his lips forming a line straight and true, his eyes staring blankly,  as he had the greatest orgasm of his entire life.

Finally, I think I've sucked every last drop of humor out of Bill Belichick's balls.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Bill Belichick's Balls

Bill Belichick balls funny New England Patriots underinflated deflated

Is anybody really surprised that Bill Belichick has deflated balls?

And Because I Can't Help Myself More Ball Jokes

I've always said Bill Belichick has a set of balls on him -- that are squishy and underinflated.

Tom Brady likes his balls scuffed up and soft, so he can get a good grip on them.

Before each game, Bill Belichick submits his balls for inspection.  Officials check the pressure of Bill's balls and weigh each one individually to assure that they meet with NFL regulations.

ESPN is reporting that Roger Goodell is heading to Atlantic City where he'll burn Bill Belichick's balls in an elevator.

Bill Belichick Press Conference About His Balls (courtesy of my brother)

Bill Belichick balls funny

Bill Belichick: My balls are inflated to the pressure that's best for the team.  Next question?

Bill Belichick: My balls have the same inflation they always have, and they treated last game like any other game.

Bill Belichick: My balls need to execute better in all phases of the game.

Bill Belichick: My balls are moving on to Seattle, who's a great team, in all phases of the game, and they are tough, physical and know how to execute.

Bill Belichick Bellichick funny

Bill Belichick: My balls are neither over or under inflated.  They are sagging, in all phases of the game, and they need to execute better.

Bill Belichick: My balls, like in every game, are examined by the referees, who are just doing their job, every game, and I think they try to do their job in every phase of the game, and execute.

Bill Belichick: My balls are something you should ask the NFL about.  I'm focusing on my team, and getting them ready for the next game.

Bill Belichick deflated balls funny

Bill Belichick: My balls on film tend to favor the a-gap, and that's something they've been working on, but we need better execution.

Bill Belichick: My balls were drafted in the late second round, with one of two picks we traded down for, which represents ball value, not deflation.

Bill Belichick: My ball status is something for the trainers and medical staff and I'll wait to see what they say about them and then we'll do what's best for the team.

Bill Belichick: My balls are nothing new, and they've been handled like this since the 60's, and Lombardi handled them the same way, then there was the spread offense, and of course Joe Paterno knew something about ball-handling and it's evolved, so my balls are nothing new.

Bill Belichick: My balls were walk-ons at Rutgers.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015

This Week's Rejected Daily Mail Comments -- 1/16/15

Another Post Courtesy of the The Daily Mail - I kid Rupert Murdoch a lot when we see each other at the Friar's Club but his rag does supply an endless assortment of crap for my blog.

Mark Wahlberg Dirk Diggler

When you really, really need to see celebrity nipples poking through skintight blouses there is only one place to go on the web, the The Daily Mail. Now there's another reason to visit The Daily Mail, a new game for killing time at work. The goal is to get as many red down arrows as possible when you comment on their articles.

You'd think it would be easy. The Daily Mail is just like the New York Post except it's targeted at toothless limeys instead of toothless guys from Staten Island. Work some pro-ObamaCare into your comment, maybe a gay marriage doesn't really hurt anyone, and those red arrows will start piling up, right?  Right?  Wrong. The problem is you have to get your comments through those warehouses full of censors housed somewhere just east of Mumbai.

Rejected Comments of the Past Week

Khloe Kardashian big camel toe cameltoe
'Camille the camel is trying to say hi!' Khloe Kardashian makes fun of her VERY tight white jeans
My Comment:   If she wants more customers she should spend less time advertising the gaping vacancy of her "nether region," and more time fixing the place up so we'd want to visit.

When you're the ugliest Kardashian, sometimes you have to go to great lengths to get attention.  If Khloe was actually able to teach her vagina to talk, even if it just said "hi!" and her mom videotaped her vagina in action, maybe performing with Gary Busey,  Khloe would be a bigger star than her brother Rob.

Miley Cyrus naked nude uncensored
Patrick Schwarzenegger’s girlfriend Miley Cyrus goes full-frontal for most shocking shoot yet
My Comments:  Miley has more ugly tattoos than an Algerian midfielder.

She also has the skinny, ill-defined arms of an Algerian midfielder.

Miley doesn't seem to have a grand plan for her body as a canvas.  It looks like she gets really high, somebody says lets get more ink and Miley says. "Sure, but not too big."

Tina Fey and Amy Poehler impersonate Bill Crosby at Golden Globes
My Comment:  Who the heck is Bill Crosby?  Is he one of those valets/footmen?butlers on Downton Abbey?  "Blimey, the Countess has more wrinkles than an ascot ironed by Thomas."

Bruce Jenner woman transgender
Bruce Jenner shows the strain as he puffs on a cigarette after 'mean' magazine adds lipstick to cover photo and claims he would come out as 'transwoman' in 2015 
 My Comment:  On next week's cover, Kris Jenner will reveal that she has a kock in 2015.

See, I was right.

Kris Jenner transgender camel toe

Accepted Comments

Sometimes I do get a comment through the censors. Remember my goal is to get as many red arrows as possible.

Mark Wahlberg racist felon
Former prosecutor says Mark Wahlberg should not be pardoned because he hasn't acknowledged his 'racist' past 
My Comment:   It's all about $$$. He wants to get a liquor license for his loser brother's restaurant. Hey Mark, don't do the crime if you can't do the time.  Rating ▲29

Mark Wahlberg underwear funny camel toe

Rightwing nutjobbers don't like Mark Wahlberg, a convicted racist that shoots people in every movie even when he's playing an accountant?   Isn't Mark the new Clint?  I still can't figure you bastards out.

Friday, January 9, 2015

This Week's Rejected Daily Mail Comments -- 1/9/15

Another Post Courtesy of the The Daily Mail - I kid Rupert Murdoch a lot when we see each other at the Friar's Club but his rag does supply an endless assortment of crap for my blog.

When you really, really need to see celebrity nipples poking through skintight blouses there is only one place to go on the web, the The Daily Mail. Now there's another reason to visit The Daily Mail, a new game for killing time at work. The goal is to get as many red down arrows as possible when you comment on their articles.

You'd think it would be easy. The Daily Mail is just like the New York Post except it's targeted at toothless limeys instead of toothless guys from Staten Island. Work some pro-ObamaCare into your comment, maybe a gay marriage doesn't really hurt anyone, and those red arrows will start piling up, right?  Right?  Wrong. The problem is you have to get your comments through those warehouses full of censors housed somewhere just east of Mumbai.

Rejected Comments of the Past Week

heidi klum naked nipples beach
Heidi Klum displays her fantastic figure... as she enjoys another day on the beach with toyboy lover
My Comment:  That guy is the worst boytoy ever.  Did she get him free when she bought a stick of gum?

Kim Kardashian fat ass daily mail funny
Kim Kardashian shows off famous booty in a pair of low slung jeans
My Comment:  Kim Kardashian still has a fat ass.  News at 11. This is proof that the Daily Mail is required to have 10 Kim Kardashian stories a day or her mom stops sending them a check.

Paris Hilton doggy style funny
My dream puppies!' Paris Hilton 'spends $25K on two adorable Pomeranians and gives one to mom Kathy as an anniversary gift'
My Comment:  "She's known for being quite the animal as the proud owner of seven dogs."  Why is Paris Hilton known as an animal?  Does she beat her dogs?  Does she "sleep" with them?  Please explain.

Seems Daily Mail editors get paid to hack famous cell phones. They leave the actual editing to the site's commentators.

Vanessa Hudgens hot sexy cleavage yoga pants leopard
Jungle fever! Vanessa Hudgens flashes her perfectly-toned abs in a leopard print crop top and leggings for a glamorous workout
My Comment:  Maybe Khloe Kardashian thinks she looks like Vanessa when she waddles to a workout dressed like a cheetah.

Khloe Kardashian fat slow stupid workout

Fat, stupid and slow is no way for a predator cat to go through life , son.  -- Dean Wormer.

Accepted Comments

Sometimes I do get a comment through the censors. Remember my goal is to get as many red arrows as possible.

Cara Delevingne eyebrows big bushy
'You truly had the best eyebrows in the world': Cara Delevingne pays touching tribute to lookalike grandmother after she passes away aged 102
My Comment:  When I die, I hope my eyebrows aren't the only things my granddaughter misses. Cara's a superficial piece of lint or that grandmother was a serious be-atch.  Rating ▼1 

Seriously, "best eyebrows" is the best you can come up with when you describe your dead grandmother?  The only way that's a touching tribute is if Cara is actually touching her grandmother's eyebrows when she says it.

 Besides, everyone knows that Nicholas Cage has the best eyebrows.

Teresa Guidice prison photo mugshot
'I live for my daughters': Tearful Teresa Giudice shares her love for her family and reminisces about her early years in pre-prison interview.
My Comment:  If she cared about her daughters more than money, she wouldn't be in jail. The girls would be better off without her.  Rating ▲11

Chris Christie felon funny

Where's all my red arrows?  I would have thought that Teresa, a disgustingly rich, New Jersey stay-at-home mom with big boobs and a felony conviction for mail, wire and bankruptcy fraud, would be a poster girl for Chris Christie's Republican Party.  Apparently not.

Bonus Fun! 

Because I care about my loyal readers.  And because I created an image of Chris Christie banging Teresa Guidice doggy-style then shrunk it way down to fit in the Daily Mail header at the top of the bit.   And because, what the hell, how often to get to screw with two felons from New Jersey by having them screw?  Here's the big version of the photoshop.

funny Teresa Guidice porn fake nudes Chris Christie screwing the electorate

So for everyone who got to this page by googling:

Teresa Guidice porn

Chris Christie screwing the electorate

Teresa Guidice fake nudes

Chris Christie giving the good news to a big donor

Teresa Guidice sitting on a big boner


Chris Christie O-Face


 BTW, it looks like the Governor is making all the right moves in all the right places.

This concludes the google punking portion of the broadcast.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Downton Abbey is Fiddler on the Roof for WASPs. A Rerun.

Another rerun.

How did I miss the return of Downton Abbey?  Oh yeah, they don't advertise it during football and basketball games.  Seeing Anna fluff a pillow would be a nice break from the continuous airing of those pretentious, squirmy, psychotic Matthew McConaughey Lincoln commercials.  Instead of wanting to buy a car, those commercials have brainwashed me into wanting to punch Matthew McConaughey in the face and smash that ridiculous car with my Felix Millian Model, 38-ounce Louisville Slugger that I keep under my bed to ward off home invaders.

funny Downton Abbey is Fiddler on the Roof

I got to be honest, just like most guys, I watch Downton Abbey. I sit through an hour of fireplace cleanings and bed making and women with broken hearts because it might infinitesimally increase my chances of banging the crumpet with whom I share my couch.

I don't think too much about the show. I don't wonder why a Monty Python bit about trench warfare that cost about  £2 (that's two pounds sterling or about $3 American) can look more realistic than this show because of the judicious use of dirt. I don't think about how fucking big that house is yet we only see four rooms. I don't think about why the chauffeur gets his own house and what does he do all day when nobody ever drives anywhere. I don't wonder what you call the female butler. I gotta believe that she has a cool name like butler or valet but what is it? And what does she do all day?

But once during a particular slow scene (ha, that's quite droll because every scene is slow, oh, so painstakingly slow and British), a synapse fired and I realized that I was watching Fiddler on the Roof. A Fiddler on the Roof for WASPs.

Less facial hair, better frocks.
Less singing, more eating.
Less dancing, more stiff upper lips.
Less Jews, more Episcopalians.

But it's the same damn story.

funny downton abbey dad and an old jew

They're both about these cranky, old dads that really aren't that bad once you get to know them.  They both have shriveled up shrews for wives that aren't that important and they both have three daughters that are the whole story.

funny downton abbey crawley sisters and Hot Orthodox Jew porn

Three daughters that drive their dads crazy. That's entertainment!

For the record, that photo of the Milkman sisters is really, really hot if you're an Orthodox Jew. Back when I was in yeshiva, we would dream of yanking it to a photo of three hot sheyne meydels wearing only their gotkes. Look at those bare arms!  We would dream because if we actually yanked it, the rabbi told us it would fall off and that the Italians would take it and make sausages for their pizza.

But which of these long suffering dads has got the worst daughters? And should the Fiddler on the Roof guy sue the Downton Abbey guy? And maybe I should pitch Downton Abbey: The Musical to Matthew Broderrick.

funny downton abbey mary and her turk killing vagina versus Barbra Streisand
Mary vs. Tzeidel
The most important daughters with respect to screen time, Tzeidel was played by a young Barbra Streisand in her film debut. Mary is portrayed by a hot, British hat.

Fiddler Dad sets up Tzeidel with a butcher that is fat, old and rich. young steven spielbergTzeidel falls in love with a skinny, wimpy, little shnook named Steven Spielberg. To be fair to her dad, this is before Mr. Spielberg emigrated to America and became famous and rich.

Fiddler Dad has to cancel the wedding to the butcher and reschedule everything, causing all kinds of trouble, including the loss of a significant deposit to the caterer.

The worst thing Mary does is kill a Turk with her vagina. Being a snooty British television show, we don't get to see how, but I'm pretty sure that the Turk died with a smile on his face. Sadly, Mary almost never smiles anymore because killing a Turk with your vagina was frowned upon by the British uppercrust. Personally, if I knew Mary's vagina killed a Turk I'd be first in line to be the next victim. Now that I'm out of yeshiva I dream of dying with a big, mother-effing smile on my face while my schmeckle is buried deep.

Mary and her killer vagina win this battle.

funny downton abbey sybil marries a leprechaun

Sybil vs Hodel

The second most important pair of daughters are also the most attractive, unless you have a thing for gingers. Hodel falls in love with the tutor, Starskihutch. The tutor runs off to Moscow to be a cop or
to participate in the revolution and Hodel runs after him.

Sybil falls in love with the chauffeur, Branson. Branson runs off to Ireland to be a writer or to particpate in the revolution and Sybil runs after him. Branson is alarmingly short, like leprechaun short, and is very Irish Catholic, more Irish Catholic than Jackson Heights in the early 80s.  Starsky is Jewish and more or less regular-sized.

Sybil wins, but just by a nose. (The Anti-Defamation League can kiss my ass, it's a horseracing thing.)

funny downton abbey homely edith versus the Jewish Lucille Ball
Edith vs. Chava

Chava has a thing for White Russians and we're not talking vodka and cream. She does the unthinkable and falls in love with a cossak-loving Christian with a hoe. Dad is Redhead Jew marries WHite Russianrightfully upset and tells her she is dead to him. That's tough love. My dad told me I was dead to him once but then I unexpectantly coughed up the toilet water, kicked him in the nuts and made good my escape.

Edith is homely and bored. She kisses a dairy farmer and tries to marry a rich guy named Anthony with a dodgey arm that is all talk and no trousers. There were a thousand hints that Tony One Arm was a pansy but I chose to ignore them because I don't like to be judgemental.   Upon further reflection, we know Tony's gay because Thomas the Bumsucker, a gay man with the single worse gaydar of any gay man ever in the history of gaydom, never hit on him.

Edith's abhorrent behavior has resulted in a significant amount of sighs, hurumphs, and mutterings.  That doesn't sound biblical but if you're rich and you're British, that's the equivalent of spitting on your daughter and dancing on her metaphysical grave.

Edith wins big, big enough to call the match a tie.

Both fathers have shite for daughters and Downton Abbey is Fiddler on the Roof without the Jews. Can Matthew Broderick do a convincing English accent?

The End.

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

Christmas Rerun. A George W. Bush Christmas Carol 2014

A beloved Christmas tradition, a rerun of me bitching about Maureen Dowd. I wrote this bit way back when I was a contributing writer at National Lampoon. There was only one slot left for a Christmas story. Maureen got it. My Christmas was ruined.

The Beginning of It

Once upon a time, not just any time, but a special time, on Christmas Eve, George W. Bush was busy at his desk. Not really, he was busy on his couch watching football. His wife Laura was sitting with him. Laura was drinking a chocolate martini, and the combination of the increasing effects of the alcohol and the diminishing effects of the prescription drugs she took each night before she went to bed, emboldened her to speak without first being spoken to.

"George, it's Christmas Eve," Laura stated quietly.

Bush was quick to reply, "Fucking, yeah. Nothing like football and Jesus, reminds me of a Sunday."

Encouraged, Laura continued, "Isn't the tree beautiful?"

"Yeah, the servants did a great job."

"George, on Christmas, I sometimes think of those poor unfortunate Americans that are hungry or can't afford to buy presents for their children."

"Are there no prisons?" growled Bush.

Laura, startled, replied, "Yes, George."

"And the Army, the Navy, the Air Force, and the Marines -- aren't they having trouble meeting their enlistment goals?"

"They are, George. I wish I could say that they weren't," replied a teary eyed Laura.

Bush thought he might have to hug her in a comforting manner, but luckily he came up with some consoling words instead, "Its okay, momma. Dick and Rummy will figure out a way to trick those fools into joining up."

"Oh, George, that's not what I meant," admitted Laura. "I just wish that this horrible war was over."

"Laura," Bush calmly asked while checking his watch, "Isn't it time for your happy pills? Go to bed before I Patriot Act your ass." Laura got up and headed for the bedroom, crying quietly.

Bush sat there and started thinking about the true meaning of Christmas. Maybe Christmas wasn't about how much money his friends could make off of the war or revamping social security so that the last penny could be squeezed out of those smelly, old people.

Bush looked at his dog, Miss Beasley, and said these words out loud, as if practicing, "Maybe this Christmas we should do something to help those less fortunate than ourselves."

The nature of this outburst caused Miss Beasley to run and hide under the sofa. The words, having been said out loud, continued on their journey up through the chimney and out into the beyond, where they were heard by greater powers than a little black Scottish Terrier named after the doll once owned by a little blonde girl that eventually died of a heroin overdose after her lame television show tanked.

The Ghost of Bill O'Reilly

President Bush had looked at the knocker on the door to his bedroom countless times for it was exactly at eye level. It had a big, cool looking eagle that held the knocker part in its scary talons. As Bush went to open the door, what he saw was not the knocker but the face of Bill O'Reilly, conservative pundit and the host of The O'Reilly Factor on FOX News.

O'Reilly's face did not speak or move but just stared directly into the president's eyes. If there was one thing that upset George W. Bush, it was when someone stared him directly in the eyes. He immediately looked down at his feet -- a response he had developed at an early age. When he looked up, the face was gone and the knocker had reappeared.

"Humbug," muttered Bush. "I'm acting like a giddy, democratic school girl."

Bush locked the heavy door behind him and looked around the room. Everything was normal yet something felt wrong. Laura was asleep on her side of the big bed. Her meds lined up neatly on her night table. His pajamas were laid out on his side of the bed in putting on order. Bush quickly undressed, dressed and slipped under the covers.

He was only in bed a second when the ghostly apparition of Bill O'Reilly passed through the door. O'Reilly was draped in heavy chains that caused his face to contort during the minor exertion of breathing.

"Laura!" yelled George.

"The Xanax Queen will not help you, Mr. President," the ghost said quietly.

"Who are you and what do you want with me?" asked Bush.

"Better to ask who I was," quipped O'Reilly.

"Are you not my dear friend and conservative pundit, Bill O'Reilly?" said Bush.

"I was Bill O'Reilly. I was murdered today by the husband of the assistant I've been diddling," replied O’Reilly.

"I hate when that happens," joked the president.

O'Reilly responded with the required chuckle, "That's a good one, Sir."

"So, O'Reilly, how come you're not up in heaven? Why are you down here scaring the beegesus out of me?" asked Bush.

O'Reilly answered, "I am doomed to wander the earth in this horrible state. No rest, no in, no peace. Incessant torture of remorse -- and that's a lot worse than anything Lyndie England could ever dish out. Woe is me! And woe to you!"

Bush defended himself, "Hey, Billy Graham says I'm going to heaven!"

Agitated, O'Reilly lifted up his arms rattling the heavy chains. "I have it on pretty good authority that Reverend Billy is wrong about that. Trust me, I'm dead. I know these things. You better make a few changes, Mr. President."

"Changes? Don't forget who you are talking to O'Reilly," Bush said. "Hey, what's with the chains?"

"I wear the chains I forged in life," replied O'Reilly.

Bush looked confused, so O'Reilly tried to help, "Sorry Mr. President, 'forged' just means to make something, especially if it's out of metal. These chains are composed of the hypocritical bullshit I spouted in life. They are heavy, Sir, but your chains, Mr. President, they are going to be really, really heavy."

Bush was visibly shocked, "Is there no hope? Speak comfort to me, O'Reilly!"

O'Reilly screamed like a banshee from the old country, "No comfort for you but a glimmer of hope. My time here is short. I have a lot of wandering to do down in Texas. You will be visited by three spirits. Think about what they say and what they show you."

"I'd rather not. I really need my twelve hours of sleep or I'm a grouchy Gus," said Bush.

O'Reilly screamed again, this time like a poor, black woman getting a backroom abortion, "This is your glimmer of hope, Mr. President!" The transparent spectre then turned and floated away. Before leaving, O'Reilly leaned over to fondle Bush's unconscious wife.

"Sorry Sir, some habits are hard to break," were his last words before he left the room, not by the door, but by passing through the wall.

Bush pulled the covers over his head, "Humbug, that's what comes from too many scotches and not enough pretzels." He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

The First of the Three Spirits

When the digital clock on the nightstand turned to 1:00 AM, the hand of the unearthly visitor grabbed the comforter hiding the president and ripped it from his grasp. Bush awoke to a strange vision -- a face childlike in its softness yet lined like an old man. It was his Chief of Staff, Karl Rove.

Bush was perturbed, "Rove, how many times have I told you? Unless it’s the Second Coming of Christ Himself, it can wait until morning! Oh, are you the first of my three spirits? Are you dead too?"

Rove smiled kindly, "Mr. President, I am your first spectral visitor but I am not dead. When I sold my soul back in the early seventies, I was forced to wander as a spirit from midnight to dawn when called by my master. Tonight, I am the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"I'm starting to wish I hadn't fallen asleep every year during the Mr. Magoo Christmas Special," complained Bush.

"Let's go Mr. President, we have a full agenda. Rise and walk with me," Rove took Bush by the hand and after a couple of steps, they were in a scene of winter beauty.

"I was born here!" exclaimed Bush. "This is New Haven."

"Walk this way," Rove said, "and no talcum powder jokes, please, Mr. President."

"Huh?" said Bush.

They walked through an old ivy covered building into a large room where a very drunk, cardigan-wearing, twenty-something Bush was receiving head from a comely high school girl. As she attended to his needs, Bush was puffing on a cigar and drinking Remy-Martin straight from the bottle.

"Damn, that's Angelina DeCarlo, she could suck your kidneys right out your peehole. I really loved her but Mother didn't approve. She was Italian, you know," reminisced Bush.

"Do you know why you are all alone this night?" asked the spirit.

"Everyone else was studying or writing papers. They never understood. Going to Yale isn't about learning stuff, it's about networking and making life long connections you can exploit in the future," Bush responded.

Rove nodded and said, "Come, we have other destinations."

Two steps later they are in rice patty waist deep in muddy water. It looked like a mine had just gone off and several American G.I.'s are scattered about, bleeding and moaning.

"God damn, Charlie!" yelled Bush. "I wish I could have been killing gooks. I know I would have been real good at it, but Mother wouldn't let me. She said I had more important work to do."

The pair took two more steps and were in a beautiful ballroom decorated for Christmas. A younger Bush was getting head from a dolled up debutante. The table in front of the future president was scattered with empty champagne bottles, ashtrays and half-filled glasses.

The younger Bush stood up and in a too loud voice said, "Let's get rid of these dead soldiers! I've got a hankering to drop a full payload on old Hanoi!" His sweeping arm cleared the table sending bottles and glasses flying to the floor. The woman got up on the table and with a glassy eyed stare lifted up her skirt.

"Ala-fucking-bama!" the older Bush's face lit up. "Can't say I remember that snatch's name. Probably never knew it, eh, Karl?" Bush gave the ghost a chummy elbow to the ribs.

Rove responded with the required chuckle, "That's a good one, Sir. We have one more stop."

"Can't I watch me hose that bitch?" asked Bush.

"Sorry Sir," apologized Rove. "We have to go."

Two more steps and they were in a small office in downtown Austin. "Bush for Congressman" signs adorned the walls. A younger Bush was sitting at a desk getting head from a pretty, campaign worker. Several lines of coke were laid out on a small area of the desk that had been cleared of papers. There was a loud knock then a young Karl Rove escorted Laura Bush into the office.

An excited Bush exclaimed, "Hey, that’s you, Rove!"

"And that's your future wife, Mr. President," replied the ghostly Rove.

The young Bush looked at the young Rove with an unimpressed expression, "Is that the best you can do, Rove? I'm gonna stick with Suzie here. You can have that butterface. Grab a line and a chair."

The young Rove introduced his companion, "Mr. Bush, I would like to introduce you to the future Mrs. Bush. This is Laura Welch."

A shit-eating grin appeared on the young Bush's face, "Well ain't this awkward!" Suzie lifted her head to get a look at the fiancé, but the young Bush pushed her head back down. "No need to stop that Suzie. I'm almost done. It's very nice to meet you, Miss Welch."

Laura reached out to the extended hand and gave it a shake. "It's very nice to meet you. Mr. Bush. I've heard all kinds of good things about you. I think I'm going to have a drink, if you don't mind, and maybe a line or two."

The spectral Rove grabbed Bush and they stepped out of the scene back into the White House bedroom.

"I should have married that Suzie," Bush complained. "She knew how to party and she was skinny as a filly. You and Mother made me marry Laura." He looked at his snoring wife with disgust.

"Have you learned nothing from my visit!" wailed Rove, "If you had married Suzie or Angelina or any of the dozens of whores you fucked over the years you would not be president today!"

The shear force of the ghost's voice sent Bush back to his bed and under his covers.

"I know you hate thinking," Rove said in a controlled voice as he floated through the wall, "But please Mr. President, please try to think a little about what you have just seen and what you will see with your next visitors."

Bush, still trembling, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

The Second of the Three Visitors

Bush awoke to a prodigiously loud snore from Laura. He looked around nervously. He was determined to be ready for his next visitor. No surprises this time.

"Georgie, Georgie, Georgie!" Bush turned his head and there before him, slightly transparent, was the Great Communicator himself, President Ronald Wilson Reagan.

"Mr. President, I'm so happy to see you!" exclaimed Bush. "You look great!"

"Well... no thanks to you!" replied Reagan. "What's with this stem cell research ain't in the bible so I'm not going to fund it crap, Georgie?"

Bush fell to his knees cowering before his hero, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. It was bad advice from disreputable sources. I'll get that funding started immediately and I'll fire a couple dozen of those 'holier than thou' neo-cons first thing in the morning."

"Georgie," said Reagan. "Calm down I was only kidding. Well... you got to do what you got to do to keep this great republic of ours republican. Don't listen to my wife and son. I never did. Well... get on your feet. There's no reason to be afraid of me. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Present. I'm the jolly, happy guy that's supposed to remind you of a half-drunk Santa or maybe the Roman god of wine. Take my hand we have places to see."

Reagan and Bush took two steps and were in a homeless shelter in New Orleans. Reagan turned to Bush. "Well... hmmm, I don't remember why we're here. Do you know why, Georgie?"

"No, Sir,” said Bush.

"Well..." Reagan said, "Let's try the next place." He took Bush's hand and stepped into the beautiful living room of a Bel Air mansion. The huge room was all decked out in Christmas decorations. A large oil painting of Ron and Nancy Reagan was displayed over the fireplace.

"Gosh darn it. Why are we at your house?" said Bush. He was starting to lose his patience.

"Well..." said Reagan, "There's no call for that kind of language young man. Look how nice our tree is this year. Well... I think we're done."

The pair stepped out of the mansion back to the presidential residence. "Well..."a confused Reagan continued, "You know the story, ahhh, rich people and poor people all like Christmas. Well..."

Bush interrupted by shaking Reagan's hand, "Thanks a lot, Sir. I've certainly learned my lesson. Thanks for coming. Get home safe." Bush climbed back into his bed and closed his eyes.

"Well... I'll be going then..." and with those words, the ghost of President Reagan disappeared.

The Last of the Spirits

The final phantom, shrouded in a dark cloak, approached the bed. The hood of the cloak left the face, if there was a face, in shadowy darkness. The only visible part of the ghost was its skeletal hand.

Bush fell to the floor -- again. He thought he heard the phantom mutter, "fucking idiot," but that was probably his imagination.

"Are you the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?" said Bush.

The phantom lowered its skeletal hand, pulled out a Blackberry and checked it for text messages.

"What you are about to show me, are they things as they must be or are they things that might be given current conditions," Bush proceeded, "I mean are these the shadows of the things that will be, or are they shadows of things that may be, or are they things that might be if I don't... Oh, forget it. Now, I've given myself a headache."

The phantom slowly put away its Blackberry and bopped Bush on the head.

"Hey, that looks just like one of those video game things that Dick Cheney is always playing with," said Bush.

The phantom bopped Bush on the head again and gestured that it was time to leave.

"Ghost of the Future!" Bush exclaimed. "I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But I know you mean to do me some good, and as I hope to live to be a better man from what I was, I am prepared to go with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?"

The phantom said nothing, although Bush thought for sure that he once again heard most faintly the words, "fucking idiot." The phantom grabbed Bush's shoulder and walked him into the first scene.

It was the comfortable, downstairs living room in the old ranch in Crawford. A blonde woman was crying hysterically while an older Karl Rove tried to console her. Rove seemed to give up and retired to the big, red chair by the fire favored by Bush's mother.

The hysterical woman's crying turned to yelling, "How did I lose! You said I would win. I was supposed to win. It was my turn!”

Bush called out in recognition, "That's my Jenna! Jenna come here. Let Daddy give you a hug." Bush stepped forward and tried to hug his daughter but his arms went right through her body as if she was an image from a slide projector.

The old Rove spat, "It was your father, Jenna. You know that. He ruined it for everyone. All is lost. Everything I've done these last 50 years is for nothing. President Al Franken! I think I'm going to be sick."

"I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! I have no father! It was supposed to be my turn!" screamed Jenna.

"Come here little one," Rove said, "Come to Uncle Karl."

Jenna ran to Rove and gave him a hug but her sobbing would not stop. The phantom guided Bush a few more steps to the left and they found themselves in a poorly kept cemetery.

"This is not my family's cemetery!" declared Bush. "This is an unworthy place, it's so small, all overgrown and so close to busy streets. I can not be buried here."

The phantom raised its arm and pointed to a large, simple stone in the back corner.

"No! That is not my monument," said Bush, "It is too plain for a Bush. It is in the wrong cemetery. It will not contain my name. You are wrong, Spirit."

Bush ran to the site of the untidy grave. Using the light from the flashing traffic light at the nearby intersection, he read the words engraved on the stone.

George W. Bush
Born: July 6, 1946
Died: December 24, 2012

"No, Spirit! Oh no, no!" Bush fell prostate on the grave and cried like a Mexican mother burying her first born after a failed border crossing.

The End of It

Bush looked up from his crying. He was in his bed! In his bedroom! In his White House! He looked over his shoulder. No sign of spirits and sunlight was filtering through the drawn curtains.
He ran to the window, opened it and stuck out his head. It was a clear, crisp winter morning. The sun was shining and the air smelled glorious.

“What day is today?” cried Bush, calling downward to young woman that was loitering by the gate protesting something.

“Huh?” said the woman, lowering her sign.

“What is today, you East Coast, left-wing, pinko, terrorist-loving, baby-killer?” said Bush.

“Today?” replied the young woman. “It’s Christmas Day, you dumb, rightwing, facist, war-mongering, baby-killer!”

“It’s Christmas Day!” said Bush to his unconscious wife. “I haven’t missed it! The spirits have done it all in one night.” He stuck his head out the window and yelled down to the helpful woman, “Get a job you dumb cunt!”

Bush looked at the digital clock, 8:00 AM. It was way too early to get up. So, he went back to sleep for a few hours.

In the Vice President’s office in the west wing of the White House, Dick Cheney, Don Rumsfeld and Karl Rove were relaxing after a hard night’s work. Each had a cigar and a glass of single malt scotch.

Dick Cheney, still wearing his Ghost of Christmas Future costume, lead the boys in a toast, “To another year!”

Glasses were emptied and refilled by Karl Rove. He pointed to the slide projector, “I think we’re going to have to update that power point presentation. It’s getting harder every year to scare him straight.”

“No fucking way. We’re just getting older, Rove, “ said Cheney.

”When you started checking your Blackberry right in the middle, Dick, I almost wet myself” said Don Rumsfeld. There was a Ron Reagan mask resting on his knee.

“What a fucking idiot he is, “ responded Cheney, “Your Reagan gets better every year, Rummy. Maybe next Halloween we should fly out to LA and scare the crap out of Nancy and that fag son of theirs. Maybe they’d both have strokes and we can be done with them”

“How about another toast?” suggested Rove.

“God Bless Us, Every One!”

Turns out I just couldn't draw George W. Bush or Laura worth a damn when I was writing this bit. I have drawn them okay before, here's proofI like the O'Reilly, Rove and Cheney.

Tuesday, December 23, 2014

This Week's Rejected Daily Mail Comments -- 12/22/14

Another Post Courtesy of the The Daily Mail - I kid Rupert Murdoch a lot when we see each other at the Friar's Club but his rag does supply an endless assortment of crap for my blog.

When you really, really need to see celebrity nipples poking through skintight blouses there is only one place to go on the web, the The Daily Mail. Now there's another reason to visit The Daily Mail, a new game for killing time at work. The goal is to get as many red down arrows as possible when you comment on their articles.

You'd think it would be easy. The Daily Mail is just like the New York Post except it's targeted at toothless limeys instead of toothless guys from Staten Island. Work some pro-ObamaCare into your comment, maybe a gay marriage doesn't really hurt anyone, and those red arrows will start piling up, right?  Right?  Wrong. The problem is you have to get your comments through those warehouses full of censors housed somewhere just east of Mumbai.

Rejected Comments of the Past Week

A Christmas miracle! Kendra Wilkinson reunites with husband Hank Baskett and their kids to pick out a tree
My Comment:  I'm surprised Hank didn't pick a Christmas tree with balls.

As Christmas miracles go, this is right up there with untangling the lights in under an hour.

Kendall Jenner Christmas reindeer sexy hot with mom
Kendall Jenner, 19 and momager Kris, 59, put their lean legs on display as they dance around together
My Comment:  I'm having a recurring Christmas nightmare that I'm married to Kendall Jenner, I'm in bed waiting for my sweetie, and Kris Jenner climbs into the bed wearing nothing but antlers.

Emma Watson Maisie Williams catfight making out feminists
Game Of Thrones star Maisie Williams is 'impatient' with Emma Watson's brand of 'first world feminism' 
My Comment:  It's time for some feminist mud wrestling!!!  FOX-TV make this happen.  Would be better if one of the feminists had bigger boobs.

Accepted Comments

Sometimes I do get a comment through the censors. Remember my goal is to get as many red arrows as possible.

Pat Robertson hates gays funny
Pat Robertson claims 'homosexuals will die out' because they can't reproduce
My Comment:  So, Pat believes that homosexuals are created at conception?  Does Jesus know that he's still alive?  Rating ▲4

This is one of the most fucked up things ever said by a rightwing, religious nutjob.  Does he really believe that the current generation of gays is the only generation of gays?   And that homosexuality is not a choice but is genetic?   Is he senile?  Does nobody edit the crap that he writes?  Jesus can really pick 'em.  

French Kim Kardashian butt battle
'France's Kim Kardashian' is released on bail from prison after five weeks as she awaits trial for allegedly trying to stab her boyfriend to death
My Comment:   The French Kim has a butt that looks human.   Rating ▲4

Her whole body looks human, a very attractive, large breasted human but within the constraints of human variation.  Other than dark hair, what do these two have in common?  Is she the French Kim because she got famous after her mom videotaped her banging a rapper?

My original comment was actually funny:  "The Real Kim should stab Kayne to death.  It would be great for ratings."  Daily Mail rejected that one.

Are your gloves made out of DOG skin? Barbaric slaughterhouses in China use the hide of pets slaughtered for food to make leather goods
My Comment:  We eat cows and turn them into gloves. What's the difference?  Rating ▼22

 This is good opportunity to talk about the ratings.  ▼22  doesn't seem like much of a response.  But the actual ratings for this comment are  Rating ▲482  and ▼504 for a net result of  ▼22.

The really crappy thing is I was at about ▼200 until it became 9:00 on the west coast. All those veggies started showing up at work,  goofing off on the internet and then, all the green arrows showed up.

Christmas Rerun: The Home Alone Theme Song Blues or All I Want for Christmas is a Lexus

From way back in the archives, circa 2013, a Christmas tradition, rerunning old retreads.  I spent a lot of time photoshopping the passed out Santa from Harold and Kumar into the Lexus ad..
Home Alone funny creepy eating fingers part

When did the song from Home Alone become THE Christmas song on every TV commercial?

You know the song.  It plays when the spoiled brat gets all misty when he looks at the photo of his incredibly irresponsible mother.  If that mother was poor and black, Child Services would have taken away all those kids, and that photo would have shown up on the front page of the New York Post.

Lexus Christmas gift funny dead santa

Craftsman tools, Home Alone. The jewelry store in the mall that isn't "Every Kiss Begins with Kay." Home Alone. 


I'm gonna take a minute and rant about Every Kiss Begins with Kay.  How effing effed up is that sediment?  It's the Anti-Christ Christmas slogan.  Does anybody know anybody  that wants somebody that will only kiss them when they give them diamond jewelry?  If Every Kiss Begins with Kay, shouldn't I buy all her jewelry at BJ's Wholesale?

No, but seriously, if I go out with this kind of chick, what do I really have to buy her to get some head, a Lexus?

The Lexus Christmas commercials use the Home Alone theme, too.

Da,  da,  da,  da,  da da da,  da...

Who can afford to give someone a Lexus for Christmas?  Doctors, drug dealers, the dad in Home Alone, and John Williams.

dead santa funny

John Williams, the guy that wrote the music in Star WarsJaws, Raiders of the Lost Ark, ad nauseum, also wrote the Home Alone Christmas ditty -- because his pile of money wasn't big enough.  He even had to sue Lexus because they used a virtually identical copy of it without giving him credit or royalties.

So when is Mariah Carey going to do a cover version?

Friday, December 19, 2014

Reruns. A Charlie Brown Christmas or Linus is a Teabagger

From way back in the archives, circa 2010, a Christmas tradition, rerunning old retreads.  I draw a pretty good Linus.  Finding an angry Linus was impossible.
  funny review Charlie Brown Christmas Special Linus is a religious nutjob teaparty republican I saw this old ad on dougsploitation blog and I got to thinking.  Wasn't the whole point of the Charlie Brown Christmas special that Christmas had gotten too crassly commercial?  Look at Snoopy's doghouse!  Can't get crasser than that; Coca Cola and Kellogg's, the Breakfast of Champions.  Schulz sold out so fast that they couldn't even wait to find a Kellogg's logo that fit the drawing.

I'm one of the few people that didn't like this TV show.  It was way too religious for me.  Linus sent a cold shiver down my spine.  What kind of kid memorizes the entire second chapter of the Gospel of Luke then recites it at a party?

I'll tell you what kind. A right-wing religious nutjob kind of kid.  Don't be fooled by his mellow, thumbsucking ways.  Sure he used to lisp quietly and carry a big blanket, but those kind of kids sometimes turn into the ugliest kind of adults.


funny Linus teabagger teaparty sign peanuts Charlie Brown Christmas Special

And not the good, horny, gay kind of teabagger, the bad hate-filled, Jesus-loving, racist kind of tea party teabagger.

Now visit dougsploitation.  It is a very cool site.