Thursday, December 10, 2009
Mojopost proudly presents the Whoopty Freakin’ Doo Awards of 2009. Whoopty Freakin’ Doo’s are awarded for underwhelming performances and embarrassments, that amount to less bang/more whimper. See if your low expectations made our list!
Twitter is soon to be as culturally relevant as a CB radio. It is a diversion from meaningful relationships, invented by Ashton Kutcher and Demi Moore, displayed in 140 characters or less (like this). #loser!
Pres. Barack Obama
Hopey had a crappy summer (birthers, tea-baggers, and Cheney, oh my!). It got even worse when he won a Nobel Peace Prize. Rewarding the new kid too soon is always a bad idea. With the rest of his semester ruined, Pres. Obama will have no choice but to eat lunch with foreign exchange students in the cafeteria. Thanks a lot, Norway!
Everybody got sucked into the balloon, from NORAD to Wolf Blitzer. Everybody except for Falcon Heene, age 6. When it was discovered that Falcon's parents, Richard and Mayumi, staged the hoax to get a TV show, no one was more grateful than CNN. Every little drop of ratings juice counts!
We have never seen the reality program that used to feature Jon Gosselin, his ex-wife, Kate, or their eight children. But we do read the tabloids whenever we’re waiting in line at the grocery store. By all accounts, Jon is a middle-aged, balding chub who likes to put his penis into women other than his wife. When he is not putting his thing somewhere or another, he’s busy spending his children’s education fund on douchebag essentials like Ed Hardy shirts and hair plugs.
Runner Up - Octomom
Most Likely To Fake Remorse
Perhaps you’ve heard the jokes by now. “He’s no Tiger, he’s a Cheetah!” or, “Tiger Woods hit a tree and a bunch of women fell out.” The world’s greatest living athlete will now attempt to be very sorry about having extra-marital affairs with plenty of women, but we know better. He’s just sad he didn’t use a disposable cell phone.
* The term “douchebag” is a recipient of the Most Overused Characterization by Whoopty Freakin’ Doo at an earlier ceremony. Douchebag will be retired, and remain locked in a case alongside of Sheeple, Fucktard and Repukelican.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I have not blogged in a month! Maybe one or more of you wonder why! I'll tell you that and more!
I joined the Y to get my ass down to human size!
I got sick of cable news and politics! Keith Olbermann's noogies! Teabaggers! Balloon Boy! Liberal's fixation with Glenn Beck and FOX News - whatev! I've got better shit to do!
Blogging was taking time away from real-life adventures! Like bowling! And sobriety!
I got my mind on money and money on my mind! So I'm writing a book! It will have actual pages full of sentences to read!
I'm trying to find out what goes into a submission packet for late-night TV writers! Apparently, it is a giant secret! WTF! It's like trying to find a fat kid who DOES NOT smell like Burger King!
Also! The Bermuda Triangle is located off the coast of Twitter, between Facebook and a news feed icon! Unplug when the compass goes bananas!
That's what I'm up to! Hit me back, stranger! Have a happy day!
Jay Reatard - It Ain't Gonna Save Me
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Morally impoverished former presidential candidate John Edwards is dating again. Which community college cutie from night school can win John's heart? Watch Politics Of Love, Monday at 9:00 PM on VH-1.
I spoke with Bret Michaels (Rock of Love, lead singer of Poison, douchebag) about dating on reality programs.
"For me, the experience was complicated by medical conditions I may or may not have. Finding the right women, who may or may not share these afflictions - burning, itching and whatnot - was a daunting task for the producers. Once we got everything in sync, I think we resolved my lack of depth with just the right amount of hair weaves, cleavage and Valtrex®."
Flavor Flav, asthmatic cocksman from Flavor of Love, also commented:
"People said my show could not be real, that is was too much to believe. What is not real about women with acrylic nails and breast implants fighting for the love of a short and ugly, but rich and famous man? I mean - hello? Have you SEEN Ron Perelman? And he had Ellen Barkin, when she was hot. I rest my case."
I asked John Edwards if he's still waiting for his wife to die, so that he can marry his baby mother. Edwards had no comment.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Ground Control to Major Tom…
That’s how the U2 360 Tour at Soldier Field started, with a recording by David Bowie.
Ground Control to Major Tom…
It took four days to build U2’s set. What is that? This is a ginormous set of space claws, expelling gasses and digital images bigger than a swimming pool. I came to the show with a healthy dose of skepticism about that monster, wondering if it would seem like a very big and empty gesture. The thing I noticed first is that U2 were brought down to size beneath this structure - they were no bigger than me or the people I came with. The set design is also about accessibility. You see, U2 are just like you and me. Our only differences are net worth and international fame. And special effects. But really, we're all the same.
Take your protein pills and put your helmet on…
The Olds (people older than me) learned lessons about social activism from Harriett Tubman and Bobby Kennedy. Not me. Back in my day, we were enlightened beneath the cascade of Bono’s mullet, as he sang about war with a beat we could dance to.
This is a picture of me dancing and taking pictures during “City of Blinding Light”.
I missed every preceding U2 tour. At 360 I ended up on the floor near the sound mixers. I could feel "Elevation" in my chest!
This is a haunted photo of my WOO WOO! during “Until the End of the World”.
After School Special Moments
You know there have to be several, right? Green lights for Iran. Singing along with “Amazing Grace”. Wearing Aung San Suu Kyi masks. A robot voice reading Stop All the Clocks by W.H. Auden.
Self-indulgence and idealism are two sides of the same coin. You can’t get to where they are without generous spending.
You will love this.
U2 on September 13, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Friday, September 04, 2009
Some parents are upset at Pres. Obama because he’s going to deliver a message about personal responsibility to school children. I hear them! If there is one thing I can’t stand, its personal responsibility. Further, I feel that children are going to be bored senseless. We don nead no edjacashun - we don nead no thout cuntrole. Leaf owr kidz ALNOE!
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Personal responsibility is bad for morale. Absolutely no one wants to wake up and have to do things. Someone else, I don’t know who yet, usually handles stuff. Make that person watch Obama!
Education is overrated. Take math, for example. The government is wasting millions (billions?) of taxpayer dollars to have some crackpot teach math to poor little kids. This is outrageous! Do we really need to keep these so-called educators on our payroll, when a calculator is much more cost effective? Wake up, America!
I’ve had it up to HERE with Obama’s socialist agenda. Help the sick, help the poor… Jesus Christ! He’s helping himself to my money, is what he’s doing.
Politics are not appropriate for the classroom. If it was, voting would be mandatory. Mandatory voting? Great. I suppose we’ll get fined for not showing up, huh? I’ll sue.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
This is an example of my dreams on Chantix, a medication I'm taking to help me quit smoking. Side effects of Chantix include unusual dreams. My dreams are more focused than the video shown, and as vivid and disturbing as advertised.
Last night's sleep had me living at cellular level, and I was receiving take-out sandwiches consisting of live kittens in mayo.
The night before? It was an all-night argument with family members. Each time I was on the cusp of delivering the best fix-your-ass statement in the history of ever, I woke up. No, worse than that. I woke up to go poop several times, plus my comeuppance denied.
I have all kinds of free space available in my lungs these days. What kind of trick is that? Anyone can breathe in and out. Back in the day I could fill my lungs with two packs of cigarettes and wrap my mouth around an exhaust pipe just to show off. Now what?
I've been adding up the do not's and no more's in my life. No smoking, don't stay up so late, don't drink too many martinis on Fridays... On my horizon is a disturbing sense of normalcy and health. What do I have left? HINT: It's the first tool I ever put in my box.
I'm not right in the head, that's what. I will cling to this one thing for the rest of my life. If you want my crazy, you're going to have to pull it out of my cold, dead head.
God bless us, and especially me!
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
South Carolina is not fucking around. Mojopost just received this ominous tidbit:
For Immediate Release
Lt. Governor to Hold Press Conference Wednesday, August 26.
Lt. Governor Andre Bauer will issue a major public statement concerning the ongoing investigation of Governor Mark Sanford today at 12:00 pm on the first floor of the Statehouse.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Insurance companies are kind of right – death panels do exist. They ought to know because they invented the concept.
Tracy Pierce was denied life-saving treatments by his medical insurance provider. He died on January 18, 2006.
Cigna HeathCare refused to pay for Natalie Sarkisyan’s liver transplant. She was trying to raise $75,000 for a down payment on the procedure when she passed away on December 20, 2007.
In addition to supporting death panels, health insurance companies will refuse to cover patients who have pre-existing conditions.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
I meant to tell you about the chickens. When I came back from Olcott Beach, I discovered that two chickens had taken up residence on the lawn of an apartment complex across the street. Right, OK – but I don’t live on Old MacDonald’s Farm. I live in Chicago.
I took a few photos of the chickens. One is white and one is black – together they were the Yin and Yang of free-range urban life.
Everyone who walked the street stopped to gawk at the chickens in the bushes. Dogs pulled against their leashes trying to get a whiff and a taste. I fed the chickens popcorn and, as a much as I enjoyed the diversion, it occurred to me that I should lend a hand towards getting the chickens off the street. The idea was to have a county employee stop by (maybe in a red convertible) and offer the chickens a ride to a fairyland/coop, where they could raise chicks and live as one. Like a big dummy, I called the local administrative office about the chickens but was told that my neighborhood has no animal control officers and to (more or less) suck it. I thought that was the end of it until the cops came.
The cops beat the bushes with their batons, hoping to scare the chickens out of hiding. This did not work. Also, it was about 500 degrees that day and everyone knows that patience fries at anything above 85. The cops left a young man behind to figure it out. He was wearing official-looking khakis and a polo shirt, so I’m guessing he must have been some kind of trainee with no seniority. The man brought an empty file box with him, just like the kind you have in your office. It was so, so not a convertible.
While the baton swinging and waiting game went on, residents at the apartment complex became agitated. It started with a blond woman in a tube top, who was announcing to neighbors and passers-by that the cops were after the chickens. “Can you believe it? Who would call up on the chickens?”
Other tube-topped people came out to peek and old ladies with dogs stopped and stared. One geezer in a t-shirt and boxers came outside on his walker. “Leave the chickens alone!” he yelled. “They aren’t hurting anyone! Leave them alone!” Ut oh.
I’m watching all of this and I’m thinking, “Holy shit. These people hate me now! They think I hate the chickens!” I cursed my happy daydream about chicken parks with fountains and golden nests. Just then, Khaki Boy caught the white chicken and shoved it into a box.
The young man was growing weary - of the complaints, the heat, who knows? He split and left the chicken of color behind. Poor little dark meat is still on the street. Isn’t that always how it goes?
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
To celebrate my first day of a smoking cessation program I enjoyed a full pack of cigarettes. I’ve begun taking a prescription medication to quit smoking, one that causes some people to develop suicidal tendencies and act violently, but the worst side effect I’ve experienced so far is gas. Not just any gas, but legendary, prolific gas. If I put a kazoo up my rear, I could blow the entirety of “O Fortuna” from Carmina Burana. During the first week of this program, I'm allowed to smoke my face off. If I have one left after the gas attack.
Pardon me. Excuse me. “Life begins as a gaseous cloud,” I tell myself. “These are not farts – these are my nebulas.”
The pill I am taking works like this: It finds the pleasure centers in my brain where nicotine parties, and then refuses admittance to any and all comers. Nicotine is deflected and thus, I lose what I like to call The Ahh Factor while smoking. Without the Ahh I don’t receive a punch of dopamine when smoking, but I am suddenly aware of heaviness in my lungs, the wreaking stench of cigarettes and my overburdened ashtray.
You wouldn't believe what I've done in the past to keep smoking. I've stood outside in blizzards and thunderstorms. I've picked up lit cigarettes I dropped on the pavement to spare my fix, places where dogs poop and bums stew. I have gone out of my way to make time, space and money for this habit because I enjoyed it very much. Turns out I don't really like smoking. I'm just in it for dopamine.
I bought a pair of sandals earlier this summer, and I never wear them because they make a farting sound when I walk. I put on those sandals yesterday and when I got my stride on, I sounded just like an idling tiller. This quit-smoking program is making me famous in ways I could only dream about.
Gotta run now – it’s time for my pill.
Later today: A story about the chickens in my neighborhood. In
Thursday, July 16, 2009
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Please note that I will not be able to participate in the following activities while visiting Mom:
- Fist fighting
- Hard drinking
- Drive-by shootings
- Exposing myself to the neighbors
See you soon!
P.S.: Please help yourself to the tomatoes in my absence.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
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Over the past 45 days I have enjoyed a variety of wise
At first I didn’t understand Republican’s fascination with the subject. Then I got aggravated because it kept coming up. Like many people, I came to the conclusion that it would be a good idea to connect a copper wire to my car battery and bite down as hard as I could. When the embers of my former self were extinguished, I realized that the Wise Latina Litmus Test is really the only test that matters when selecting a Supreme Court nominee.
This is my life now. I have decided to stay on with the festival and travel to cities near you, where the lot of us will sleep in tents and think of new ways to ask the same old questions. If anyone would like to stage an intervention, I don’t think it’s too late.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
You have to understand - Jeff Sessions could not become a federal judge in 1986 because it was determined that he harbored "gross racial insensitivity" towards African-Americans. That's a nice way of saying "Jeff loved him some KKK." How ironic is it that this fathead is parsing the definition of "impartiality" and "prejudice" with a Latin woman?
Sonia is trying to explain to Jeff that he is taking her comments out of context. No matter how many times she explains herself, Jeff can’t wrap his mind around it. He sounds like an Alzheimer's patient who is angry at his shoelaces, and she looks like the nurse who is trying to find him some Velcro fasteners. It takes patience.
One other thing: Every time Jeff time says Puerto Rican, it sounds like "porto reecan". It's on my last nerve.
Oh great. Here comes Sen. Orrin Hatch. Is it time for Bingo and a stool softener yet?
Friday, July 10, 2009
It is important for a garden to enjoy a visually appealing watering can. Personally, I recommend yellow because it reflects all kinds of nutritious light. My watering can will support enough water to straighten out your back every morning, when we make three trips to the balcony to fortify precious plant matter.
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For your viewing pleasure I present my garden. First, here is what was going down in May:
After channeling my agrarian ancestors and consulting Dr. Frankenstein, I made some things happen.
Witness the same plants, two months later:
OMIGAHD! Can you believe it? Me neither! Clockwise from the left are Dad's dwarf gladiolus, impatients and what I believe to be a hydrangea, a mix of lettuce and tomato plants.
Here are the marigolds, pansies, miniature roses and impatients. This is why I get up in the morning, to see what they are doing! BIG FUN during coffee. La la la, I'm growing stuff...with my bare hands...la la laa.
Does it get any better than this? You think to yourself, "Prolly not," and yet we have not even discussed the tomato stand and herb garden. Have you ever read Stephen King's book, The Stand? I have recreated this exciting last fight of humanity, as represented by vegetables and herbs. My tomato stand used to look like this:
Once upon a time, this stand was a sparse lot of tomato plants with a small supply of natural light, and the plants were expected to grow upside down. To compensate for minimal light in the back, I handcrafted foil reflectors. They worked great until the plants took off like rockets and grew too close to the foil and started frying. I had to install a white light reflector (a/k/a "matte board"). Let's take a peek:
See how that works? I wonder how I found out about white light... Oh yes, I remember! It was on Goog, after I typed in "reflectors for plants" and came upon a golden cache of growing information supplied by pot farmers. Those people have a point, because I've already eaten the tomatoes growing on reflected light, while the tomato plants in the sun have yet to ripen real fruit. Yay for pot farmers! They knew that white relfects a full spectrum of joy!
Here is a photo to cherish, of the entire tomato stand and delicious herbs:
Look at that lusciousness! There are two tomato plants in conventional pots in the foreground, which are growing like cray-zay, but this stand is something I am proud of. It came with cheap plastic legs that bowed, and so I had to hammer in shower rods for support, to keep this thing from falling to it's death four stories below. More than one hundred pounds from that height means Mojopost would have an extreme insurance liability. Boo! We hate liabilities! But we love growing our 'maters.
If you look closely, you will witness the wonder of green tomatoes on the vine. I love the anticipation. No less than one dozen 'maters are promising delicious salads in a few weeks, to go with my lettuce. As for that herb garden I mentioned, feast your eyes on the wonder of aromatic beauty...
What you cannot see, because of the intense foliage, is that nine cilantro plants are maturing between the lavender and basil. There is salsa in my future! I love this.