Abortion is Hilarious!

There are two types of people in this world, those that have been aborted, and those that have not. Now granted, in a perfect world many more of the latter would fall into the former group, alas this is not the case. The world is filled with dipshit assholes and no matter how persuasive that voice in your head is you can’t get away with killing them. No matter how liberal a judge you draw, chances are he won’t buy into your ‘belated abortion’ theory. Abortion is a serious matter. It’s an issue as close to my heart as a hanger to the head. But it's also a sensitive issue. People get pissed off when you joke about it, so for this reason I’m going to try to hold back on the jokes. For experimentations sake I’m gonna try to discuss a serious issue, Abortion, in a mature manner. Boobs.

It’s important to learn the difference between an aborted person and a non-aborted person. The central difference you will find is that an aborted person is dead, while a non-aborted person is often alive. When encountering an individual whom you believe to be a victim of abortion there is one important question you must ask. ‘Is this a functional human being, or a bloody mess of placenta on the floor?’ Generally, if the second answer is the correct one this person is an aborted person. If this is the case then Congratulations, you’ve found yourself an abortion. Pick that bad boy up and put it in your front pocket. Don’t worry, the mother doesn’t want it, that’s why she’s here. The first rule of aborted babies is ‘finders keepers,’ and chances are the doctor, father, and security guard all want it for themselves, so run. Run fast.

Once you get to a safe place you’re free to do all kinds of things with your new baby fetus. Remember, if the baby was aborted the law doesn’t consider it a person. It’s therefore legal to do whatever you want to it. Be creative, have fun. But be selective with who you tell about these escapades, most people tend to get upset if they hear about any sexual endeavors. Remember, that’s how you got into this mess in the first place, so be careful.

Eating it is always a safe and delicious choice. I know it sounds gross, but it’s not cannibalism if it’s not a person. Be warned, though, if your abortion is Indian, it will be spicy.

I’m just kidding folks. I don’t believe most of that crap, it’s just satire. It is only by joking about those issues that haunt us that we can fully overcome them. What’s the difference between a jew and pepperoni pizza? A pizza doesn’t scream when you put it in the over. Let the healing begin, people.

Let’s get down to some political analysis shall we? The irony of the whole abortion debate is that most pro-lifers are right wing. The people who are protesting in the streets screaming that every life is sacred are the same people voting for the death penalty. It’s absolutely ridiculous. How do you justify something like that? It’s like saying that if they’re gonna murder the guy, the least they can do is let him kill a couple people first. I guess they’re okay with institutionalized murder, as long as they get to watch.

I’m talking about the issues people!

What right does the government have to decide when it is and isn’t okay to kill a baby? It is a mother’s inherent right to decided when to murder her children! It’s right there in the Constitution, or… the bible. Or something.

It’s against the law to abort a baby once it reaches 7 weeks of age, but if it’s only been 6 weeks than shove that vacuum up your vajay jay, Momma’s goin’ dancing tonight! At what point of development does a person become a person? I don’t think there’s a date you can put on that kind of thing. I think you should be allowed to kill a baby until the moment you leave the hospital. And I don’t necessarily mean your baby, I mean any baby.

Baby killing’s a hot topic. There’re no easy answers. Some would argue that killing a baby is murder, plain and simple. Others argue that there’s blood and a potential baby pouring out of a woman at least 12 times a year, so what’s the big deal. There’s no right or wrong answer. Only one thing is certain; everyone’s got an opinion, and some are more complicated than others. I, for instance, am anti-abortion, but pro killing babies. The hunt is half the fun.

So who’s right? If only some omnipotent being could wrap it all up for is. Give us a Jerry Springer final thought on the issue, but that’s not gonna happen. All we can do is have our own opinions, do what we believe, and most importantly, joke about it. If we can’t laugh about the terrible things in this world then we just become a group of angry, unforgiving people. And then we’re no better than the blacks.

I feel better already.

Everyone's Got a Poopinion!

I haven’t had a lot going on in my life recently so I’ve been very bored very often. Afraid that my boredom would soon lead to insanity, I enthusiastically asked Ramon, my imaginary friend, if he wanted to play a game of ‘Checkers’. He enthusiastically punched me in the gut and called me a “Fag.”

‘Hey,’ I sternly warned him, ‘You call me that 5 or 6 more times and I might go and talk to somebody who’s not a figment of my imagination.’
Now as anybody who has even remotely studied the subject can tell you, once a fictional character becomes conscious of their imaginary existence, they immediately cease to exist, exploding in a beautiful mess of imaginary color and gore. It was immediately following this that I found myself sitting pants-less on the park bench, alone and bored. I packed up my satchel, put away my magical beans and tiara, and went to find a friend to talk to.

After a brief negotiation, 22 dollars, and a street vendor hot dog, my new ‘friend’ agreed to grant me 7 minutes of conversation. He told me of how, just the other day, he found himself in the ‘Museum’ subway station where he found a poster promoting the new renovations about to be undertaken at that very station. The government, apparently, plans to put mummies, and dinosaurs (hopefully just bones), and artifacts there turning the Museum station into an actual museum!!! At the top of the poster was a brief tagline which read "What's Going on Here?" to which some hilarious individual graffitied, ‘A misallocation of public funds.’

While I find this a funny social statement, some patriotic passerby felt so outraged by this blatant act of Treason that he pulled out his sharpie, which he conveniently keeps in his wallet, and responded with the simple yet meaningful, ‘Have pride in your city.’

Now don’t get me wrong, I think a subway poster is an appropriate location for debate. A much better forum than, let’s say, an actual forum. In fact I think we should change the electoral system by replacing televised debates with candidates taking turns writing their opinions on subway advertisements for museum renovations and gay dating websites. I mean, moderators and civil conduct? What are we? Animals?

Now I know it’s a tired subject that we’ve all wondered aloud to ourselves and, if you’re not me, others, but the phenomenon of inappropriately located opinionated debate is beginning to get out of hand. For example, when I go to the bathroom in a public place there are some messages that I’m willing to accept. If you’re trying to tell the world that there’s no toilet paper left, then I think it’s your right, nay, you’re responsibility to wipe your feces on the wall, and if you’re tall enough, the ceiling. If you wanna hand me a paper towel and ask me for a tip, it’s your right to express your opinion; you’re an asshole, I get it. But when I sit down to unload my fecal demons, the last thing I need to be informed of is that ‘Michael Jackson hates Kykes.’ I mean, whoever’s theory this is clearly found it so important that he took the time to scribble it on the wall of the stall, yet he has left no further facts supporting his argument nor his contact information had I wished to learn more on the subject. If it’s true than I’m pretty mad at MJ, but as it stands I gotta chalk this one up to pure speculation. Ruined my poo, too.

I’ve never understood why angry opinionated people bring pens into the bathroom with them. It’s like there’s some sort of underground therapeutic methodology that I’m just not keen too. I can even accept this being their opportune moment to express themselves, I know when I’m pooping my brain kicks it into high gear, but why is everyone always so angry. There are always offensive statements like, ‘Nuke Africa,’ or ‘I have aids and I rubbed my blood all over that toilet seat.’ I’m not an angry pooer; I would assume I’m not the only one. Yet I have never seen an amiable or even sedate comment in a bathroom stall. Just once I wanna swing the door shut and see, written in faint grey letters, ‘I’m feeling pretty good, I guess,’ or ‘Danny DeVito is an alright actor!’

The only thing that bothers me more than angry rants is generic mean spirited statements like, ‘You Suck.’ It’s like, if you’re gonna take the time to carve your viewpoints into this slab of wood, than make it count man. You don’t even know me.

I’ve always wondered if this phenomenon is strictly isolated to men, or if women do it, too. It would probably be different; women are too in touch with their feelings to leave such rudimentary carvings. They’re probably much more civil, like ‘Black people are generally darker in complexion than caucasions.’ Underneath which an African American would rebut. ‘As a light skinned woman of color, I resent that assumption’ ‘Oh yeah!?!’ the original poster would threaten, ‘well I apologize!,’ and with that the white woman, now finished clogging her bleeding vagina, would leave the stall, defeated, never to return. Underneath that somebody probably carved the recipe for nice bunt cake.

I guess what really set off this insightful tirade was an unsettling comment I read the other day. I sat down to do my business, and as if they had timed my arrival to the second, written in large block letters across from my face were the words ‘I fucked your mom.’ Now this type of bold statement would upset nearly any man, but this situation hurt doubly so because I could feel, deep down in my loins, that it was the truth. That being said, I’d like to take this opportunity to ask my dad to please not write on the walls of our house anymore.

So why does all class and respect go out the window as soon as our asses touch those porcelain bowls of honest expression? Is it a deep rooted desire to return to our roots, writing hieroglyphics on blank walls, leaving our mark for the future? Do we feel this a safe anonymous venue for expression, without having to worry about the consequences? Has the public bathroom stall become the new confessional? Or are we all, deep down in the core of our very being, simply assholes? I don’t think it matters, really. Human beings need somewhere to truly express themselves. If we can get things off our shoulders and out of our bowels simultaneously, then who cares why we choose the formats we choose? Besides, there’s no need to speculate.

The writings right up on the wall.

Breaking News: Lying to Children bad?

There’s a saying, probably from a song I’m too lazy to look up, that says, “Time can change me, but I can’t change time.” While this saying has no real meaning in the larger sense of the theme of this entry, it holds as little weight in the short-term. Basically what I’m saying is that it has absolutely nothing to do with what I’m about to talk about. ‘So why leave it in’ you ask? I’ll tell you why. Well, actually I won’t.

Parenting styles have changed a lot over the years as have the attitudes of my generation. Whereas my grandfather’s generation was tough, beaten, and strong; my generation cries watching Oprah. My grandmother once told me the story of when my grandfather lost his left arm in the war and spent the next 42 years without any medical attention claiming it was ‘just a papercut.’ Actually, none of that is true. It’s just the same though, none of this has to do with this entry anyways.

I’ll just skip the introductions and get to the point: We need to stop lying to children. Granted it’s fun lying to little kids because, well, they’re stupid, but ridiculing our future doctors and lawyers is no laughing matter. At least not to them. I think that parents completely under appreciate the affect that lies have on their kids. Don’t get me wrong I’m just as guilty as the next guy. I’ll play along when I hear a parent telling their kids myths about Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, or The Holocaust (too soon?), but I can justify this to myself because: a) they’re not my kids, and b) I’m a horrific human being.

Also, I’m a second generation liar. Whether I lie because it’s just the way I am or because I grew up surrounded by lies is up for debate. We could argue about ‘Nature vs. Nurture’ all day, but until somebody actually arranges the fight it’s all speculation. Regardless of the result (I’d take Nature in the 4th) it doesn’t change the fact that as much as my parents assure me they’re honest, it’s clear they lie to me. When I was young my father used to pretend I had a little brother who died tragically performing whatever dangerous task I was about to embark on to keep me from doing it, and as if that wasn’t enough, both my parents, to this day, continue to tell me that they love me.

I have a baby brother named Evan. He’s about 2 years old and he can’t speak yet. So when I sit down with him and he points to a picture of a train, he says ‘Choo, Choo,’ and I say ‘Yes Evan, that’s a choo choo.’ But it’s not a fucking choo choo; it’s a train! I’m lying to the bastard and he’s not even old enough to join the Israeli army (two more months). He’s also currently being toilet trained. So every time he goes to the washroom we all act impressed and clap and cheer like he was just named president, which is ironic because he's no longer full of shit. But none of us are actually proud. We can poo on our own, we’ve been doing it all our freakin’ lives. I mean, my cat poos in one spot, I should expect the same from a tiny human being.

It’s not just parents lying to babies to keep them from crying and shitting in their shoes, we also lie to them through childhood. I have some cousins that I go to visit occasionally and they’re in that stage where they draw everything, and everything they draw gets put up on the fridge. Not just the fridge, also the walls, the cupboards, and my nightmares. It’s one thing if you’re putting them up because you wanna be supportive of your children or you think they have a gift, but let’s face it, that orange scribbling that Jenny claims is a giraffe is no Picasso. It looks more like I cut a cat in half and threw it at a blank piece of paper.

Again, I’m just as guilty as the next guy. Recently one of my cousins drew a picture of me, which was really sweet and I was genuinely touched. But when she actually showed me the drawing an inexplicable sense of contempt for her grew over me. I looked like a clown whose face had been lit on fire and extinguished with a rake. To make matters worse my name had been written on the bottom, with one of those backwards S’s and a few extra vowels. All I could think about was how our school system had failed them, and if there were any specialty schools for children with no creative center in their brains. And while I was thinking about how pathetic this child’s perception or “art” seemed to be, all I was able to say was how beautiful it was as I reached for the tape to put it up on the fridge.

My point is that I am no saint. I lie to children; I even smack ‘em around a bit if nobody’s watching, but I’m not concerned. For the past twenty years I’ve been told that Jesus died for my sins, so I’m going to heaven with a clean slate.

Unless of course they were lying about Jesus. But my elders wouldn’t lie to me.

Right?

The Smartest Bastards Alive

Marketers are the smartest people on planet Earth. Seriously. How many times have you seen a commercial on television and as if you have no control over your body you find yourselves buying 4, 5, even 6 dozen cases of kitty litter before you realize you don’t even have a cat? Now you have to go buy a cat, a cage and some toys plus you’ve got to spay and neuter it lest you disappoint Bob Barker, go buy some ointment for that rash on your groin that won’t go away when suddenly you realize that you haven’t update your blog in over 2 months and while writing the first paragraph of your most recent update you realize that you’ve been typing a sentence for way too long and it’s time to either delete everything you just wrote or press the period key, pretend this never happened, and try to get back on track.

I got a computer virus recently. It’s a pain in the ass and it’s dangerous but I just can’t bring myself to get rid of it. I got a piece of spy ware, which essentially means that I get popups nonstop. The beautiful thing about the whole situation is that the popups pretend to be my friend, they inform me that I have a virus and like the good pal that it is tells me where to get the top of the line popup blocker. Essentially I have a virus that tells me that I have a virus in order for me to buy their new anti virus software. The very concept of this marketing strategy literally makes me crap my pants. They give a virus telling you how to get rid of it. It’s like if Aspirin came out with a new pill that gave you migraine headaches. ‘Try our new and improved Aspirin. It’ll give you the worst fucking headache of your life but it’ll make it go away within moments.” On the one hand I wanna be angry at them for giving me this virus, but on the other I’m just impressed. Damn you, you magnificent bastards.

A well used jingle or mascot will make you buy shit you didn’t even realize existed. Prime example: The Kool Aid guy. Why would anybody ever buy kool-aid? It’s like any other fruit punch but you have to make it yourself. Nobody in their right mind should ever want Kool-aid, but have a Walking Talking Jug of Tropical Island Splash Fruit Cocktail tell you to buy it while wearing those funky Hawaiian shorts and suddenly you fucking need it. What is the allure of the Kool-Aid man? He’s not a nice guy, he’s a jerk. Has the Kool-aid man ever asked how anybody was? Hell no, the Kool aid man doesn’t give a shit. Has he ever walked through the front door and kindly inquired ‘Hello Billy, how are you?’ No! He bursts right through your fucking living room wall screaming ‘Oh yeah, Oh yeah!!’ If a pitcher of Fruit Punch burst through my wall my first reaction wouldn’t be ‘Oh hurray! Let’s drink him.’ It would be ‘Holy Shit, we’re all gonna die.’ The Kool-Aid guy must’ve had a screwed up childhood to think that this is socially acceptable behavior. Kool-aid is basically just colored sugar that you use to make your own drink, but hey, that animated cup told me to buy it and his glasses are pretty fucking cool, so I think I better do what he says.

Cereal mascots also blow me away. Tony the tiger, Captain Crunch, the Trix rabbit, all animated, all creepy. Why is a tiger telling me to buy Bran Flakes? Why am I listening? Why do--- what? The tiger rides a skateboard? Oh… well that’s actually pretty cool. Okay, Tony I can handle but Captain Crunch is where I draw the line. When did we start taking advice on what to eat from pirates? I mean, I understand that it would be pretty badass to get scurvy but it’s just not worth cutting the top of my mouth. Besides a general rule of thumb is to not take advice from people whose eyebrows are attached to their hat. Finally, Trix the Rabbit. Need I say anything? These ads promote racial segregation, distrust of strangers, and general contempt for those different from you. While these are all important values to instill in our youth there was just no excuse for the way those children treated that rabbit. He just wanted some damn cereal, what’s wrong with you children? Where are your parents?

Nicotine gum has a large advertising campaign running right now and it’s surprisingly effective. I find myself wishing that I smoked just so I could quit. They make the gum sound so rewarding and delicious that while I’m afraid I may become addicted to it, I still must try it but I wouldn’t dare just try the gum without being addicted to nicotine, it might be bad for my health. Then it hits me, that camel has been telling me to try his cigarettes, and his glasses are pretty fucking cool so I better do what he says. So I head out in my Mazda (Zoom Zoom) pick up a pack of cigarettes with the intent of getting addicted so I can try that sweet sweet Nicorette gum when all of a sudden a commercial for the anti-smoking campaign ‘Truth’ comes on. These kids are committing mini terrorist acts to promote their anti-smoking propaganda? COOL!!!!!!!!! What was I thinking? I almost let the media manipulate me, oh well, learn from my mistakes right? I throw my cigarettes into my glad twist tie garbage bag, sit back on my La-z-boy recliner, turn the channel to MTV, and pop open a new Diet Pepsi.

There's nothing wrong with purchasing products based on advertisements as long as you realize why you're getting something. Understand that marketeres are way smarter than you and you should be fine. That's what I do, and you wanna be as cool as me, don't you? I've got some really fucking cool glasses.