Drugs are bad…for cats too

Apparently, this man didn’t get the memo. He stuffed his cat into a homemade bong in an attempt to get it to calm down.

Reports have the cat, named Shadow, eating all of the man’s Doritoes and Ho Hos while its owner made bail.

The Vast Right-Wing conspiracy begins

They must be signing the first bailout

They even hate our beverages…

What's next? Cereal? Toast? This must be stopped...

The Left’s post-coital snooze

My friend kernunos asked me the other day: Where are the Moonbats? Where are the militant liberals ranting silliness? They seem to have lost their spunk. They just don’t want to play in the blogoshere anymore. I’ve noticed the same phenomena. But I have a theory, and here it is:

First, we need a short sex education class so that people easily understand what my theory entails.

Did you know that before a male horse mates, it can take four people just to control the horny animal while trying to get him to mate? After the stallion’s had his way with the mare, the poor boy can barely stand by himself and can be led away to beddy-buys by a small, adoring child.

And of course, in the laundry list of women’s complaints about men, is that they always want to go to sleep after sex. Guess what, ladies. It’s that weird thing called….BIOLOGY! Yes, we leave the toilet seat up, love video games and fall asleep after sex. That’s just the way it is. See, it’s a hormone. Everything, it seems can be blamed on hormones. Women like to bitch because of them and men want sex because of testosterone (Ok, I’m oversimplifying here. Testosterone levels are only part of the equation when it comes to libido), and we fall asleep afterwards because of a hormone called prolactin. Ain’t nothin’ we can do about it. The hormone introduces a wait period before a man can perform again, and also makes him sleepy. Animals injected with prolactin, immediately become tired.

Biology class is over, so you can quit the giggling and whispering in the back of the class.

Your lesson learned may have a political equivalent. Over the last two years, the media, far-left liberals, women of every hue and political affiliation have been engaged in a giant mega-orgy with Obama. The titanic debauch–which encompassed the whole world–even had all of Europe feeling the earth move. It culminated in a budget-shattering orgasm on Obama’s inauguration day. Feeling satiated, the Leftists, Moonbats, “Socialist-Democrats”, Progressives, Libertines and even Keith Olbermann have rolled over and commenced a good snooze.

But it’s only a matter of time ’til they’re ready to climb back in the saddle. They’re  a lustful bunch. The mating cycle of the Moonbat makes bunnies look like downright prudes. They’ll be back, even more libidinous than before, demanding people’s rights to marry animals or some such thing.

Could Moonbats soon be endangered?

Hug a terrorist today!!

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090204/ap_on_re_us/bat_die_off;_ylt=AuVCYGY1tzmaQLZ2cIDHJyQazJV4

The power of Rainbows!

     Captain Planet used the power of the rainbow to save us from horrible industry! Hoorayyy!                                                                    

Get some

Roger Alpha Niner. I have in my sights. Confirming order to elliminate target

Can we hire this guy to find Bin Laden?

World’s Most Useless Superheroes #3: Northstar

 

     Why must writer’s ruin my favorite comic books by pandering to the most libertine demograph? 

Alpha Flight was cool, and it was created by my favorite comic artist/writer of all time: John Byrne. Back when it was cool to be a Canadian, the Canadian government established its own superhero team, Alpha Flight, which was constituted of the following heroes: Guardian (cool battle-suit), Sasquatch, Shaman, Puck, Snowbird, Vindicator, Marinna, Aurora (Northstar’s twin sister)…and Nortstar.

For one thing, as I’ve made clear in previous entries for this list, one of the things that I consider of prime importance in being a superhero of legitimate stature is the ability to score chicks. Northstar probably could have had more chicks than any other hero. But he blew it. Both metaphorically and physically.

First of all, Northstar was a down hill skier. Have you seen the woman those guys hang out with? It’s un-fricken-believable. He of course became board with the sport, dusting all of his competition because of his super-powers. Powers that don’t leave me too impressed. He can fly at about Mach 10, and can generate bursts of photons from his body, enabling him to blind his foes.

Wow. He’s a flying Mag-Light.

And he was pompous ass, too. Always walking around with a scowl on his face, sulking in the corner and throwing temper-tantrums.

Why so much existential angst? Why, he was gay, of course.

Of course.

So while Northstar pouted in his bedroom, watching the E Channel,Alpha Flight was off fighting for Canada’s socialized medicine program, crossing the Canadian-American border to buy cigarettes at Wal-Mart and leaving very small tips at diners.

For some reason, every time I see the Northstar character, I think of the song by the B-52s: Loveshack. It’s got to be the lead singer’s overt lisp. Geez, even Freddie Mercury could sing without sounding gay.

It gets better than that, though. After Jim Shooter, Marvel Comic’s Editor in Chief left, Alpha Flight’s writers were allowed to have Northstar come out of the closet. What followed may have been the biggest fiasco to ever be inked and word-ballooned onto paper. In a following issue of the comic book, Northstar was voted Canada’s most eligible bachelor. I can’t make this stuff up, True Believers.

Of course.

Then. Then, Alpha Flight’s writers, who must have all dressed very neatly themselves, had Northstar contract a mysterious disease. I wonder what horrible disease this could be? Had the Skrulls performed expiriments on Northstar as he slept naked on his satin sheets? Had Doctor Doom, while on a fishing trip in the northern wilds, thought it a good joke to send North Star one of those beefcake birthday cards, infected with smallpocks? Oh no. The disease was sooo mysterious, it was never revealed what it actually was.

I’ll leave it to Dana Carvey as The Church Lady, to investigate the nature of Northstar’s sickness:

Could it be....AIDS!?

Of course.

Nope. It was fairy sickness. Really. Northstar wasn’t gay, he was just a fairy. Not a fop–a Fae, with pointy ears. Not Oscar Wilde, but a creature like Oberon. And he was homesick. He wanted to go back to fairy-land. Not The Blue Oyster, but a realm of pastel colored flowers.

About this time, the whole character of Northstar was making me sicker than Boy George at a rifle range. His story is pointless, needlessly prurient. The character never did a thing to actually beat up bad guys, besides maybe offer a couple of one million watt candle-power bitch slaps. He was a whiner, sexually confused, and as this essay has shown–one of the most useless superheroes of all time.

Coffee gone wild…

Yesterday, I was walking through a German store with my friend, Annette. I wanted to buy some hiking boots or shoes for my future trips to Austria or Italy.

We crested the top of the escalator and gleaming before me was a coffee maker of astounding capacities.

Or so I’d assumed after seeing the listed price of 1800 Euros (About $2000). I blinked hard and regarded, again, the price tag.

“What’s this thing cost?” I asked Annette.

“Just what it says, right there”,  she said, as if asking if I were blind.

“Does it make sparks fly out of my ass?” I was really interested, now. “Does gold fall out of the spout? Naked women, maybe?”

“No, it makes coffee.”

Surely, the well-regarded German engineers had put something quite special on this machine for it to cost so much. I admit, it had buttons and spouts and all kinds of gadgetry sprouting from its cold, steel facing. But there must be something else, I thought.

Nope. Just coffee. Sure, I’d sell my left arm for a hot cup of Sparky Juice, but I don’t think my arm is worth $2000. Maybe $1500…

Repost: See: I do negotiate with terrorists.

To try to make ammends with pro-Hamas bloggers that are teaming in the blogosphere, I’m reposting a popular article of mine: Me making nice with militants.

Let the hate-mail resume…