New John McCain Poster: New Arizona Immigration Law = Racism

Aryan-zona - Had to create this image

The Arizona Immigration Law is ugly. It is racist. It's proponents are fascists.

There are approximately 30,000 illegal Irish immigrants in New York City. Can you imagine New York City cops walking up to folks that look Irish and asking them for their papers?

SamaraiFrog at Electronic Cerebrectomy explains it better than I can.

Bam Aide's Joke Ignites Jew-haha: Actual headline torn from the NY Post

Another Post Courtesy of the New York Post - 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.

President Obama's national security adviser, retired General James Jones, apologized yesterday for a joke he told to a pro-Israeli think tank.

Here's the joke:

"A Taliban fighter, desperate for water, finds a Jewish merchant's store. The merchant tries to sell him an overpriced tie, outraging the militant, who suddenly realizes that the shop owner is a Jew. The Taliban blows himself up, destroying the store and killing the merchant. The merchant's widow still tries to sell the dead Taliban a tie."

While audience members laughed politely, Abraham Foxman, uptight Jew and the head of the Anti-Defamation League, told ABC News that the joke was "inappropriate," "stereotypical," and "quite frankly, not that funny."

Obviously, the problem wasn't the joke, it was the audience. What kind of schmuck named Jones tells a Jewish joke to a pro-Israeli think tank? The General got his speeches mixed up. He told the Israelis the joke he was planning on telling the Saudi Delegation to the International Women's Rights Convention.

This isn't the first time James Jones has had this problem. Remember this photo?

He was telling Hillary Clinton the one about the cankled hooker in the eye-melting pink pantsuit that got appointed Secretary of State, when he noticed what she was wearing.

Here's the joke National Security Advisor Jones was supposed to tell to the pro-Israeli think tank:

"A Taliban fighter, desperate for water, finds a Jewish merchant's store. The merchant tries to sell him a tie, outraging the militant, who goes into an anti-Semitic rant. When he's done, the merchant tells him about a restaurant that has water. The fighter leaves, returns an hour later and complains, "Your brother tells me I need a tie to get into the restaurant." The Jewish merchant sells the fighter a tie, a pinstripe suit in last year's style and two matching sportcoats at a tidy profit. Then he complains to the United States and a Predator strike kills the Taliban fighter's neighbors, wife, children and mother-in-law. The Taliban fighter survives, finds water and continues to fight for many years."

"Now that's funny!" screamed a doubled-over Abe Foxman as tears fell from his eyes and spittle dribbled from his mouth.

I Attend My First Teabagging Party

I found this bit on an old flash drive. I wrote it back before I had a blog or when my blog was strictly baseball. I'm sure it has since been done better by the Daily Show but given it requires almost no effort by me, I'll submit it for your enjoyment.

Last night I attended my first Teabagging party and I have to admit that it was a lot of fun. I've been teabagged many times before and I've even done some teabagging myself. Here's a photo of me teabagging the Wall Street Bull statue after a three martini lunch.

The idea of a Teabagging party was pretty damn exciting. I shivered with anticipation as I rode the elevator up to a conference room in the New York Hilton.

How did I find out about the party? I was walking down Seventh Avenue minding my own business when I noticed a ruckus. I thought there was a demonstration going on but it turned out that these guys were party recruiters. This nice guy told me he was proud to be a teabagger and a Veteran of Foreign Wars, and that he loved Jesus.

Fundamental Christians usually don't inflate my dinghy but this nice lady was willing to do it for Jesus instead of the $50 it normally costs over on Lexington and 39th Street.

This kid convinced me to blow off my plans and go to the party.

No, he's not my type. He's more Pope Benedict's type. But he did tell me that Elisabeth Hasselbeck was going to be one of the celebrity teabaggers. I'm as liberal a dem as there is and these guys were aiming to please. Elisabeth Hasselbeck can provide the milk for my teabag anytime!!!

In the unlikely event that you are unfamiliar with the slang of today's youth, here's a screen capture of Elisabeth Hasselbeck and Kristi Yamaguchi demonstrating proper teabagging form during the Republican National Convention's Teabagging on Ice extravaganza. Teabagging is very difficult while fully clothed, on ice. Leave this fancy stuff to the professionals.

When I got to the conference room I was a little worried. There seemed to be way more tea "bags" than there were tea "cups." Not a great recipe for a kick-ass teabagging party in my opinion. On a positive note, most of the teabaggers were old enough to be collecting social security. There's nothing like an old, saggy, leaking tea bag to leave a bitter taste in your mouth -- just ask Larry King's sister-in-law. I figured I'd be able to hookup with more than my share.

First, there was a whole lot of talking and a lot of chanting involving Obama, socialism and other boring stuff. Newt Gringrich went on forever. The thought that I might be squatting next to a naked Newt was not helping the turgidity of my dinghy.

But then Elisabeth took the podium. Here she is showing off her significant teabagger skills. I think that's Elisabeth's mom in the pink straitjacket. I know she looks all uptight and grumpy but it turned out that mom was a bit of a go-er if you know what I mean. Nudge, nudge, say no more.


I'm not one to teabag and tell but...

Elisabeth gave me this free t-shirt!


And Pinky gave me this free t-shirt!

It's good to be a liberal democrat!!!

Is It True That I Beat Up a Midget?

I have never done this before but because of all the attention this is getting throughout the internet (especially on facebook), I am going to address these stupid rumors about me.

I did not beat up a midget in a bar on Avenue B over the weekend. The truth, if anybody is actually interested in the truth, is that the midget beat me up.

Anybody that knows me knows that I played hockey against Gordie Howe and that I have this weird affection towards "humans of short stature." Not the kind of affection where I want to have sex with one. The kind of affection where I appreciate their difficulties and genuinely like hanging around them in a manly drinking-buddy-sort-of-way. I also respect the fact that most of them do not like the m-word so I always use more acceptable terms like dwarf or little person.

So last Friday night there happens to be this dwarf in the bar that I'm in and I'm inching my way closer until I'm only one stool away. Then this really attractive woman sits on the stool between us and I get distracted from my pursuit because while I have this unhealthy dwarf thing going, I have a much stronger and much healthier trying to get laid thing going, too.

She looked so much like Alyssa Milano that I thought she was Alyssa Milano. After studying her carefully, I determined that she was probably not Alyssa Milano but she was close enough for me. This provided a great opening line and the potential for a conversation.

Turns out I'm drunk and she's drunk. I'm friendly. She's friendly. I'm clever and funny. She's clever and funny. I'm flirting. She's just being nice. I'm horny. She's not. I ask for her number. But before she can reply, the little guy notices me hitting on her. Apparently, she's the guy's wife/fiance/girlfriend/sister. I'm not sure of the actual relationship because things got crazy fast.


I know what you're thinking, "How the hell did a midget beat you up?" First, this wasn't one of those cute and fuzzy little people that are determined to make it in the big people world by being pleasant and charming like all those guys on the cable shows. This was a bitter, steroid-induced, crazy dwarf that wanted to show his woman that he could kick the 6 foot tall skinny white boy's ass like those other guys on the other cable shows.

Did I mention I was drunk? After he cursed at me and poked me a bunch of times in the thigh, I jokingly agreed to a fight and to much laughing and scattered applause got down on my knees to "make the fight fair."

In addition to ruining my best pair of khakis because of the absolute filth on the floor, I quickly came to realized that I am fairly immobile on my knees. And did you know that it is impossible to kick at someone or defend yourself from kicks? It's no wonder that Dorf guy was so bad at golf. Kneeling is a totally non-athletic position.

After his little boots found my face a few times I came to the conclusion that if I stayed on my knees I would lose badly. I also knew that if I stood up before I lost consciousness I could win. I'd have the leverage, and the reach, and look like a real douchebag, and I'd almost certainly never have a chance with the guy's sister/girlfriend/wife.

So I stood up, I apologized, I bought the guy and his buddies a round, we laughed about it and then I got the hell out of there. And now me and Bill Cosby, will forever be known as the guys that gave a midget a beating.

I did get the wife's number. We're meeting up this Friday. Different bar. Come on, she looked just like Alyssa Milano!

Monet, Picasso and Burton: I Play Hookey From Work at the Museum of Modern Art

Yesterday I blew off work and headed up to the MOMA to immerse myself in modern art. You laughed. You imagined that if I were to blow off work I would likely end up in a peep show, or a baseball stadium or passed out behind a dumpster.

I have an artistic bent. I wanted to be an artist in high school until my teachers convinced me that I sucked.

Monet

I had time to kill before they would let me into the Tim Burton exhibit so I checked out Monet's Water Lilies. Unfortunately, these paintings have really faded over the years -- I mean you can barely make out the flowers in a painting that is as big as a house. Probably caused by the tens of thousands of flash photos that everyone was taking despite the numerous signs forbiding it, and the useless guard watching everyone taking the photos. It's too bad.

Picasso

A Picasso exhibit was across the hall so I stuck my head in. I like Picasso. The Picasso Museum in Paris was my favorite part of that trip. These were etchings for magazines and books. Never seen an etching before. Still don't know what the hell an etching is. Am now amazed that an etching could ever be used to entice a woman up to your bedroom.

Burton

Tim Burton easily kicked the other guy's butts. The exhibit had hundreds of drawings, some models, and some movie props. I really liked the drawings. When Mr. Burton draws something he takes the time to ink it and paint it with watercolors. The stuff was great. There was this diorama that was way better than a shoebox. It had a kid killing his dad but you can only see the bloody gore when the light changed color.

My three favorites were this panel from a Nightmare Before Christmas storyboard.

A drawing of skeleton reindeer with Wite-Out on black construction paper and a huge polaroid of a blue woman hammering nails into a blue baby. That's the woman and the baby but this photo must have been taken before her home improvement project.

My Dick Discusses Tim Burton at the MOMA
The following review was written by a frequent contributor of insightful posts and unsightly stains, my dick.

This exhibit was filled to overflowing with people. There had to be at least 100 models from France and Italy enjoying Tim Burton. And when I say models, I'm not talking about little three dimensional figurines of skeleton boys. I'm talking about incredibly beautiful women.

I was queued up behind two gorgeous, young women from France that found every cartoon, no mattter how obvious, to be out loud funny. Damn, French is an appealing language when spoken by amazingly attractive women.

Are the Fashion Houses of Milan and Paris closed this week?

Also, and I commend the exhibit curators for this decision, the space was way too small for the sold-out crowd, resulting in uncomfortably warm conditions. All the hot art babes were hot so clothing was minimal.

After an exhaustive internet search that took 5 minutes I have found photos of the two French models that were my inadvertant "companions" at the MOMA.

So, if you are a rich, handsome stud muffin, get to the MOMA and get laid. If I qualified, I'd use the old "wanna see my etchings" line.

The Last Staff Meeting

Actual page from my notebook with notes from staff meetings on 11/12/08 and 12/3/08.

The first meeting we were forced to use the new video conferencing equipment because it cost something like $100,000. It consists of two 48 inch screens. On one screen you see the poor saps that do exactly what you do only better, about 100 miles away. On the other screen, you see yourselves.

We looked terrible.

They also arranged the conference room especially for us and lined us up so we could all be seen. I felt inspired so instead of writing useless notes I drew a useless picture. It ain't DaVinci, but it ain't bad. Frank, the network guy, got the pimp spot, the halo, and got called My Personal Savior for a week after the meeting. Tony, the guy second from the left, fell asleep and looked so pale on the monitor that I thought he died. I yelled, "Hey Tony, are you dead!?!" which woke him up and got a laugh.

I really should be writing for The Office.

Okay, that was the promised whimsy, here are the marigolds.

Ready for more halfassed DaVinci? Believe it or not, I have pissed the Mona Lisa (that's another DaVinci painting).

Another Example of Why Work is Sucking the Life Out of Me or Writing those Dilbert Cartoons is the Easiest Job in the World

Let's start off with a picture of my coffee mug and the following words, I love my boss (wink). So, while it is true that I hate my job with a passion worthy of Mel Gibson, and it is true that my job is mind-numbingly boring, unfathomly useless and demeaning in ways that only a piss bucket boy from the 1700's would understand, it does pay the bills and I love my boss (wink).

You saw the wink, right?

THE REST REMOVED BY ME

Somebody I trust, somebody way wiser than me, told me to delete this post. If you missed it, you didn't miss much. It was an email from my boss that was so unbelievably stupid, it was funny. Like that doesn't happen everyday, everywhere, everytime, to all of you.

My boss and everyone else in charge work very hard -- to make the rest of us feel small and insignificant, and miserable. But as someone else much wiser than me also has said, "Work is work. If it didn't suck worse than Karl Rove with a mouth full of broken glass, it wouldn't be work."

Standby, I plan on another post about work that is safe, and full of whimsy and marigolds.

Another bit about My Boss the Douche Bag.

Sandra Bullock's New Boyfriend

A friend at US Weekly slipped me a past-up of next week's issue -- featuring a Sandra Bullock exclusive. I have a good feeling about this guy. America's Sweetheart really deserves better. Let's all cross our fingers.

The girl does like her ink!

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More Sandra Bullock

My Dick Explains Why The Blind Side is So Popular
Sandra Bullock Wins Oscar, I get More Traffic!