Rightfully So

Let’s try to work these into the popular vocabulary in 2006.

Well ain’t that just the Bishop’s jizz!

Sweet smegma stew!

Damn, that really chaps my Cheney!

Well I’ll be a Nazi barber!

Ex Crapula, Scientia! (From Drunkenness, Knowledge)

Edith Keeler must die! (Probably only works at Star Trek conventions)

Need a last minute gift? These best-sellers are sure to please.

Bitter Old Dyke: The Mother Teresa Story

The Dogs Playing Poker Code

Are you about to have a seizure from watching all those old stop motion Rankin-Bass Christmas specials on ABC Family Channel? No? Well, check out these other shows anyway.

Extreme Makover: 13 Candlewood Edition (ABC)
Ty Pennington and his crew of homemakers travel back in time to 1991 to remodel the disheveled hovel of some drunken college losers. Viewer Discretion Advised.

No Glove, No Love (Fox)
Ahmish boy Lars sets out from his family’s Pennsylvania farm on a quest to find a condom so he can consummate his love for the virtuous holstein cow Betsy. On tonight’s episode, Lars loses his beard in a craps game in Pittsburgh and must delve into the town’s seedy underworld in order to win it back.

The Wasted Years (Lifetime)
Andy Richter stars as Ed, A socially inept, middle-aged midwesterner dealing with the consequences of having spent his college years in a state on constant inebrieation, squandering the most formative years of his life and forcing him to seek attention by posting witless entries on a friend’s website. On tonight’s episode, Ed stays up late drinking cooking sherry and emailing old girlfriends; after he is arrested for violating several cease and desist orders, he must plead with his well-to-do friends from the Computer Mafia to secure his release.

Stern Warnings (CBS)
A group of senior citizens confined to an old-folks home write dire letters to local media outlets predicting the downfall of society. Tonight, “Grandma” Esther Suggs writes the New York Times a rambling letter about “these kids today and their rock and roll music.”

Eat Your Spouse (NBC)
Dan Cortez hosts this extreme reality show where married couples compete to win fabulous prizes by seeing which pair can eat more of each other. Tonight, see if Jeff and Shiela Atweiler can recover the lead lost when Jeff barfed up Shiela’s duodenum.

Judge Bladderspackle (Syndicated)
The Honorable Navin Bladderspackle presides over small-claims cases in backwoods Nutscrum County, North Carolina. This week the wife and non-incarcerated children of deceased Finster Snert gather to fight for their inheritance: the rat-infested rear seat from Snert’s 1970 Dodge Dart.

It has become fashionable in recent years for families to gorge on a holiday concoction known as “Turducken,” a combination of a turkey stuffed with a duck, which is in turn stuffed with a chicken.

But what if you can’t afford three of the holiday’s traditional birds? What if you can’t even afford one? What if you can’t afford a home and have to settle for squatting under a sheet of plastic strung between two poles in an abandoned industrial lot?

Then you would be Harvey Shank and his daughter Vanna, two plucky indigents who aren’t letting their social marginalization keep them from enjoying the spirit of the holidays.

“‘Cause of the schedule we worked out where we eat every third day, we were going to miss Thanksgiving,” Harvey said as he exfoliated his arms with a hunk of tree bark. “Van was pretty upset, and I said ‘well don’t just talk about it, go catch us some food.’ And wouldn’t you know she came back an hour later with the plumpest squirrel you ever saw.”

But Vanna didn’t stop there. Spurred on by the holiday atmosphere and the prospect of starving to death, Vanna set out again and returned with a loveable stray mutt.

“That was a beautiful dog,” Harvey said wistfully. “He was like one of the family. So I felt like I was doing him a favor when I chucked him on the head with a piece of concrete.”

While Harvey skinned the dog and squirrel, Vanna set out in search of what would be the piece de resistance: a fat, dumpster-fed possum.

At first Harvey didn’t know how they would eat all three. “It was more food than we’d had in two weeks. But I thought, Hell, it’s the holidays, let’s splurge a little.”
Recalling a cooking show he’d seen on t.v. while in the waiting room at the free clinic, Harvey stuffed the squirrel into the possum, then into the dog.

After roasting the beast for several hours over two bic lighters they’d stolen off a corpse, Harvey and Vanna sat down to a banquet they will likely remember for years to come, especially given the serious gastronomic distress the disease-laden amalgam is sure to cause them.

But Harvey doesn’t dwell on the negative. “We don’t worry about what tomorrow will bring. We enjoy the moment.” For someone who will likely be dead before sunup, that’s the best attitude one could possibly have.

Trying to shake off the winter blahs? Get out of the house and check out these upcoming holiday flicks.

The Sound of Music 2: Von Trapp’s Revenge

Watching Paint Dry Pt 6: Timmy’s Bedroom

Every year, the Christmas lights seem to go up a little earlier than the year before. The stores bring out their Holiday merchandise before the average temperature even drops to 60. No sooner have we put away our barbecue grills and patio furniture than we are bombarded with catalogs hawking Yuletide savings.

With Christmas sales accounting for a sizeable chunk of a store’s yearly revenue, retailers have continually moved up the start of the holiday in hopes of drawing more shoppers through their doors. In doing so, many Americans have become so caught up in Christmas that they forgot to celebrate Thanksgiving.

“We just freakin’ forgot it,” says Jane Wildbush of Topeka, Kansas. “I had this sense that we were missing something, but the family was so caught up in Christmas, what with all the decorations and stuff being up the day after Halloween. Then one day I was standing at the freezer, wondering why I had a 16 pound turkey taking up all my space, when it hit me.”

Pumpkin pies piled up on store shelves. Cornucopias rotted away in warehouses. Picture books portraying Pilgrims and Indians sharing a banquet instead of hacking each other to pieces were never even shipped. By trying to capitalize on one holiday, America had forsaken another. That is until last week when Congress finally stepped in. In a rare bipartisan effort, a bill was passed combining Thanksgiving and Christmas into “Thanxmas,” a new month-long holiday orgy of food, spending, and liberal vacation day policies.

“We want America to continue hemorrhaging its hard-earned dollars to our nation’s retailers at Christmas time, but we don’t want them to forget to celebrate the day that the pilgrims defeated the Indians in the country’s first football game,” said Pennsylvania senator Rick Santorum. “By combining the two, we can preserve our cultural past while ensuring our economic future.”

Some religious groups protested the combination of holiday names, claiming that “Christgiving” would be more appropriate as it maintains the emphasis on our lord and savior without whom there would be no football to give thanks for. In response to the charges, members of the House Holiday Reoganization Committe issued a statement saying they would give the matter serious thought, and might even propose changing the name to “Christgiving” just as soon as America’s churches ponied up enough dough to trump the check written by the pumpkin pie manufacturers and paper turkey centerpiece makers.

When the Revered Jerry Barnes passed away last Thursday, he began his ascent to heaven leaving behind a loving wife of 51 years, two children, five grand-children, and a devoted congregation he’d served faithfully for over four decades.

Oh, and the quivering, naked altar boy he’d been violating when he died.

“God’s not gonna like this,” Jerry says nervously, looking back over his shoulder as the earth slowly disappears beneath his feet.

As a Protestant, Jerry and his ilk had largely escaped the scorn and shame that has recently befallen his Catholic brethren. After all, Protestants are free to marry and raise families. His disgusting urge to piddle altar boys should have been sublimated through his regular, permitted sexual release, right?

Jerry shakes his head and stares nervously down at his still aroused “staff of Moses.” “Lots of us Protestants were into it,” he says. “I don’t know, after so many years of being Mr. Nice guy, I guess I finally just snapped.” His speech becomes more impassioned as he tries to defend himself. “I mean, can you imagine what it’s like for everyone to think you’re so perfect all the time, to expect you to always do the right thing and never lose your temper? Who do you people think I am, Jesus?”

He takes a deep breath to calm himself down. “I just wanted to do something bad, to get back at all of them, show them I can cut lose every once and awhile too.”

But why sodomy? For that he has no answer. He only turns to look up at the sky.

“The worst part is that God knows us before we’re even in the womb, which means he knows everything about us. He knew I was going to end up like this.” He shakes his fist at the sky. “How about a little warning, huh? Would it have killed you to give me a signal that maybe I was on the wrong path? Thanks for nothing, bastard!” He buries his face in his hands and bursts into tears.

After awhile Jerry’s sobs subside enough for him to say that the only reason he’s even going to heaven is so God can kick him in the balls before casting him into hell. “It’s well-known among the priesthood. I get one swift kick square in the nads, and all the other priests get to laugh and spit at me. You know how much it hurts when you get kicked in the nuts, right? Imagine when God does it.”

As we near the pearly gates, I ask him if he believes it’s fair for a man whose crime was having sex with boys to spend the rest of time among the likes of Hitler, Stalin, Jack the Ripper, Ted Bundy and George Burns. Jerry’s fear is so paralyzing, however, that he seems unable to contemplate incomprehensible agony as one of the Godless forsaken in the inescapable bowels of Satan’s soulless void. And perhaps that’s just as well. ‘Cause brother, it’s gonna suck.

Imagine a person who is 100% consistent. Imagine someone who will try to get you to stop whining the instant you begin. Imagine that you admire the consistency that this person can keep up in order to properly condition the subject who is whining. Now imagine this person is a dog. Evidently, mans best friend doesn’t care to hear us complain much.

I found this out quite by accident, but my dogs resolve continues to surprise me. My dog is very kind to me. Whenever she needs to eat, drink, play, or use the doggy potty room - she alerts me by coming over and looking pitiful. If I do not respond in a reasable amount of time (3.2 milliseconds), she begins a painful whine. After I realized that my dog was training me much better than I had ever trained her, I began to resist. Instead of responding to the very reasonable needs my dog was informing me of, I decided to engage in a very mature game of copycat. It turns out that she hates this.

If I mimic her whine back to her, she will whine louder. If I continue to whine she will begin pacing back and forth. As I continue to whine she will begin to bark. Finally, as my unrelenting whine hits a terrible crescendo, she storms out of the room. Once again I have a tiny epiphany and realize that my dog is acting more reasonable than I do. When my kids whine I tell them that whining will not get them what they want. They continue to whine and I inform them that whining is a sure fire way to lose privileges. As their whining intensifies to near tantrum stage I tell them to go to a room where all of the toys are. If I had just followed the lead of my dog, I would have laid down in my bed and taken a nap.

I want to be a dog, and rightfully so.