Tongue of Dog’s Breakfast has moved!

Posted in Geeks/Nerds, Pop Culture with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 14, 2012 by Nicole Chardenet

If you’re looking for all manner of weirdness and snark, Tongue of Dog’s Breakfast has moved to its new location at www.nicolechardenet.com. Well, more specifically at www.nicolechardenet.com/blog.

Click to buy on Amazon

And hey, while you’re at it, check out my humorous fantasy novel Young Republican, Yuppie Princess. It’s about a Young Republican college student and her three nerdy D&D-playing friends who must travel through to an alternate universe opened up in the dorm room shower by the computer geek. While searching for a missing college student (not to mention a missing floppy disk which they must reclaim, long story there) they meet up with a feminazi witch, a heavy metal sorceror, Conan-style barbarians (but only half as bright) and a prince who sounds suspiciously like he’s from New Jersey.

It’s only $2.99 for the e-book. And guaranteed to entertain you for way longer than, say, Jersey Shore.

And oh, if you’re looking for the lesbian thing, it’s right here.

You Can’t Say V****a in Michigan

Posted in Politics/Current Events, Sexy Stuff with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 19, 2012 by Nicole Chardenet

PARENTAL ADVISORY ALERT: There are no dirty, filthy, embarrassingly medical terms for human genitalia in this post. There are, however, dangerous opinions rendered by a v****a-packin’ uppity beeyotch which could make your Teabagging Uncle Robert blow a gasket at Thanksgiving when the talk turns to politics, as it inevitably does, despite your mother’s plea every year to PLEASE not mention Obama in front of Robert, or, for that matter, Rush Limbaugh to your extremist cousin Lydia who can be counted on to yell, “PLEASE PASS THE SWEET POTATOES TO THE SLUT!” while loudly declaiming any interest in the main event on the menu since it was apparently tortured, starved, caged, beaten, stomped on, waterboarded, and anally electrocuted at length before it plopped on the center of the table.

You can’t say v****a in Michigan. You know what I mean <wink wink, nudge nudge>. This is because of something Democrat state representative Lisa Brown said during a lawmaking session last week. I’ll paraphrase here for the delicate sensibilities of Michiganders (and by ‘delicate Michiganders’ I mean those lawmakers in possession of a li’l winkie who were nevertheless trying to pass laws controlling what Michigan women do with their tee-tee maker), who will pass out like Miss Pittypat with the vapours if I say the word v****a).

What Rep. Brown said, during a debate over legislation to impose more restrictions on abortion clinics was, ““I’m flattered that you are all so interested in my tee-tee maker [remember, I'm paraphrasing], but no means no.”

However, Republican (of course!) Representative Mike Callton, after he was revived with a lot of fanning and some smelling salts, said, “What she said was offensive. It was so offensive, I don’t even want to say it in front of women. I would not say that in mixed company.”

Thank you for your sense of propriety, Rep. Callton. Because most women have *no* idea what a v****a is and would have just gone and asked embarrassing questions of their mothers.

“DOOOON’T say chicken brzzzzzzz! Say chicken CHESTS! There are ladies present!” – Republican Rep. Mike Callton at home

Boy!  All that over the medical term for a lady’s tee-tee maker! Usually it takes the synonymous “C” word to send little old ladies – and Republican men – into a swooning fit.  One wonders if Rep. Callton covers the legs of his pianos and blushes at the indelicacy of allowing books by male and female authors to inhabit the same shelf.  Together!  On the same shelf! Oh, the indecency of it all!)

Quicker than you can say, “Pass the KY jelly, I wanna get Princess Leia’ed tonight,” all those lawmakers with li’l winkies banned Ms. Brown and another female lawmaker from the chamber.

So of course, now that you can’t say v****a in Michigan, all Michiganders can do is shout about v****as.  Let’s remember, the state isn’t all red, and as we all know from the antics of Bill Clinton, Anthony <snicker!> Wiener and John Edwards, liberal Democrats aren’t the slightest bit afraid of tee-tee makers.  Republican politicians, on the other hand, as is demonstrated over and over again every time they step into a legislative session, are so deathly afraid of a woman’s tee-tee maker that the bulk of their sex scandals involve other men.

(A few notable Republicans such as Governor Mark Sanford and Arnold Schwarzenegger have been involved in sex scandals with women, but that just makes them deeply weird and maybe just a little bit perverted.  They put their li’l winkie in her tee-tee maker?!?!  EWWWWW!!!  Gross!!!  Girl cooties <snicker> of the very worst variety!!!)

Anyway, thousands of protesters showed up at the Michigan state capitol Monday evening for the express purpose of yelling vag–er, I mean tee-tee maker–at the top of their lungs and to demand the reinstatement of Rep. Brown as well as Democratic Rep. Barb Byrum, who did not say tee-tee maker in front of people with li’l winkies, but who nevertheless insisted on being heard while said li’l winkie possessors were busily working on yet more tee-tee maker control. It’s interesting to note that Rep. Byrum had already sponsored an amendment requiring any man who wanted a vasectomy for his li’l winkie to provide proof that it addresses a life-threatening condition or a medical emergency. I hope it also states that the decision to allow the vasectomy shall be rendered by an all-female panel, since obviously it’s a ludicrous idea that men have any right to decide what to do with their own bodies.

Hey, I promised I wouldn’t *use* the word v****a; I never said I wouldn’t include pictures of v****a-shaped cupcakes!

Eve Ensler, the famed writer of The Tee-Tee Maker Dialogues was there to read from her infamous ode to the yawning yoni while women waved placards that read Mitts off my bitts and I Didn’t Come From Your Rib, You Came From My Tee-Tee Maker (well okay, you know what she meant!)

Camille Paglia believes that the mighty muff’s ‘cosmic sexual power’ is what men truly fear and which has given women the power all throughout the ages, even if it doesn’t look like it, with purdah, burqas, red tents, female genital mutiliations and the whole ugly morass of misogynist history. And she may well be right, since all of these, clearly, are men’s historic attempts to control that which they all most desperately desire (well, except for the gay dudes anyway) and which as any straight women will attest they are constantly trying to get into.

Most men, it seems, can’t control themselves around ladies’ tee-tee makers, and men always want to be in control, so I guess it makes sense, in some weird twisted sense, for the more insecure ones to think they need to control access to those cunning crescents.

And if that’s going to be the case, boys, then from now on WE decide who is worthy of receiving Viagra.

Step away from the little blue pills, Mr. Limbaugh. The panel has rendered its verdict.

Do You Believe In Jews? I Do!

Posted in Canada, Politics/Current Events, Pop Culture, Religion with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 6, 2012 by Nicole Chardenet

Do Jews actually exist? Have you ever seen one? Or are they some elaborate conspiracy theory, like the Moon landing? I myself am quite convinced Jews exist because I’ve seen many, not just one. I’ve been to their synagogues. I’ve hung out with them at parties. I even dated a few, none, thankfully, who made it onto my Top Ten Things Guys Should Never Do On A Date.  But hey, I used to live in Connecticut, which is close to New York which, according to the May 28th issue of Time magazine is the home of the Biggest Bunch of Jews Anywhere In The World, slightly edging out Israel, by half a mil (6.5 million to 6 million).

Why would I even question the existence of Jews, do you ask? Well I don’t, but I’ve recently come to the curious realization that anti-Semitism is universal, but that it’s extremely unlikely that most anti-Semites have ever actually met a Jew.

Here’s why.  My most recent Google searches guesstimate anywhere from 13 to 15 million Jews worldwide today.  My search also revealed that if it hadn’t been for the Holocaust there would probably be about 32 million Jews (only slightly fewer than the total population of Canada, actually!)  Y’know, come to think of it, we have room for Jews.  Lots of them.  We’re very big on immigration here, y’know, because native-born Canadians have some bizarre aversion to reproducing.  We don’t have problems with pushy immigrants like the U.S.  We don’t erect giant fences surrounded by crazed armed Teabaggers and Republicans to keep Mexicans out.  We’d be thrilled to let the Mexicans in; believe me, Hispanics don’t have the aversion to @#$%ing that Canadians have.  Hell, if we were their next-door neighbours we’d be standing at the border with candy skulls and tamales and waving the Mexicans over.  We’d glad-hand them and invite them to stay, like, forever.  We’d offer bribes and prizes and pinatas stuffed with loonies and toonies and coupons for Molson’s beer to move here.

“Yeah, sure, this is what Canada really looks like. Don’t believe all that crap you hear about ice and snow and hockey. We’re totally into surfing and extreme tanning, just like you!”

And if they still refused, we’d probably force them at gunpoint to move awaaay from the border, send parties across it to kidnap a few zillion more Mexicans, and drag them back kicking and screaming.  We’d kidnap welcome Jews, too! I mean, eventually a tiny little rock like Israel’s gonna run out of room and the Jews are gonna need another homeland, and maybe they should think of Canada, eh?  We’ve got lots of room and they’d be right next door to the U.S., which is one of the few countries that doesn’t actively want to nuke the Jews back into the Stone Age.

“Shit, we missed. How’re we gonna explain this to Jordan?”

Maybe Israel’s fortunate it’s so far away or we might be kidnapping Jews and forcing them to live here too.  That’s how desperate we are to increase our population!  Don’t give me that look, like you think Canadians are far too polite and peaceful to pull a stunt like that.  Don’t you be fooled for a minute.  Mars Needs Women.  Canadians Need People.  Preferably people who like to have unprotected sex. Anyone, not just careless or impatient Mexicans and Jews.)

Anyway, I digress.  If there are only 15 million Jews in the world today, and 80% of them live in New York and Israel, where are the rest of them?  That leaves only two, two and a half million of them scattered everywhere else.

Hello? Other Jews? Where are yoooooou?

Which led me to ponder why, exactly, anti-Semitism was such a problem everywhere around the world when, if there are only two or three million Jews scattered across a planet of seven billion humacritters, how many anti-Semites have ever seen an actual Jew?

There are, like, only 1,500 Jews living in China, for example, a country not exactly famous for its dearth of humacritters.  You could live your whole life in China and never come within 100 miles of a single Jew, and yet a book alleging they run the world and have all the money was a best-seller there three years ago.  Now you hate someone you can’t even be sure exists, I mean you’re taking it on total faith that there are Jews, you’ve only ever seen the pictures and caught the occasional CNN video during some security lapses in the Great Firewall of China, but you really can’t be sure that this whole Jew thing isn’t all being faked on some secret sound stage in California with the former cardboard lunar module now cleverly re-taped and repainted to look like the alleged Dome of the Rock in alleged Jerusalem.

“Houston, we have a–er, I mean Salaam Alaikum!”

(Look, I have my doubts too. Except they’re not about Jews, they’re about Madagascar.  I’ve never seen Madagascar.  Granted, I’ve never schlepped on down to the Indian Ocean to have a look-see myself, but I kinda suspect that Lunar/Dome thing can also be squooshed down just as easily to be some big goofy-looking island.  I’ve never met anyone from Madagascar, have you?  I’ll bet you haven’t.  And I don’t “hate” Madagascar either, and you know why?  Because it doesn’t exist!!!  It would be like hating Lilliputians or the Avengers or Bigfoot.)

So anyway, to sorta misquote the Cowardly Lion (himself a Jew!), “I do believe in Jews!  I do believe in Jews!”  I may never be able to convince some hick Chinese farmer deep in the heart of Meizhou, but then he’s probably such a backwards dumbass he still believes in Creationism and Madagascar and that JP Morgan didn’t do anything wrong.

If you ask me, I’ll bet it was Madagascar who was behind 9/11.  Can you name a single Madagascaran who died in New York that day?  Can you? Can you??? I heard someone called all the Madagascarans (or Malagasies, as Wikipedia claims they’re called, since they clearly buy into that whole Madagascar-is-real nonsense which just goes to show you that Wikipedia is only slightly more reliable than Fox News for actual “facts”) and told them not to fly to New York that day.  Coincidence? I think not.

Malagasies. If they were real, they’d be totally evil and would try to eat your brains.

I heard no Lilliputians or unicorns died in New York that day either.

Top 10 Things A Man Should Never Do On A First Date

Posted in Geeks/Nerds, Sexy Stuff, Top Ten Lists, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on May 27, 2012 by Nicole Chardenet

10.  A man should not show up drunk and an hour and a half late.  You’d think after 32 years of MADD threats and all those scary gross movies they made us watch in Driver’s Ed that no one needed to be reminded of brains and gore and guts splattered all over the highway like some horrendous Jackson Pollock road pizza.  Well, apparently you do, and you know who you are, even though I doubt you’ll ever read this.

What showed up. And about 40 lbs heavier.

What he texted me.

9.  A man should never send a picture of himself looking like a young Richard Pryor and show up looking like Morgan Freeman.  (Yeah yeah, I know you guys don’t like it when women send pictures of themselves 35 years and 200 lbs ago!  Hope they end with the first date too!)

8.  A man should never turn everything I say into a double entendre.  Him: “I’m hungry.”  “Me: “Well why don’t you order something to eat.” Him: (Giving me what I assume he thinks is a smoldering look) “That’s not what I’m hungry for.”  Well I hope you’re hungry for your twelfth viewing of Debbie Does Duluth with a handy jar of Mazola at your elbow because my amazing psychic powers tell me that’s in your immediate future tonight.

7.  A man’s online profile photo should look enough like him so that, when he feels an attack of the guilties and emails saying, “Here’s a somewhat more updated picture of me,” I should be able to pick him out in a photo that shows only two people. If he has gained so much weight and gotten so much scruffier that I have to squint and mutter, “Is he the guy on the left or the guy on the right? How can he be the guy on the left?  It doesn’t even look like him, but the caption says it’s him.  He’s not the stuffed grizzly bear in the background, is he?  Or the big desk lamp?” then really, just post the most recent picture online.  You’ll get fewer first dates but you’ll never wind up on anyone’s Top Ten list. 

6.  A man should never say on a first date that he thinks rim jobs are fun.  Ewwwwww.  (No, I’m not gonna link to an explanation.  I might get, like, contact cholera from it.  Google it, or ask your mother.  No, wait, just Google it.  And no good-night kiss for you!)

5.  A man should never end every sentence he utters with, “…and stuff.”  As in, “I went to work and stuff, and I had a meeting with the boss and stuff, and we went over this big project and stuff, and then I ate lunch and stuff…” (Okay, my bad for going out with a 28-year old and stuff. It was several years ago and stuff.)

4.  A man should never throw himself at me on a first date and whine, “But I need affection and cuddling!” when I fend him off with a nail-studded clue-by-four.  I don’t want to hear about your physical needs on the first date.  I do not want you diving down my blouse like an estrogen-seeking testosterone missile.  Guaranteed you will never learn the colour of my underwear.  You might learn what a restraining order is, though.

I promise it won’t hurt. You won’t even bleed.

3.  A man shouldn’t look terrified (even if he is) and mumble something about whether I understand how the Catholic Church feels about premarital sex.  Dude, you’re 37 years old.  You’d BETTER not be what I think you are! (Okay, my bad for going out with a Toronto guy.)

2.  A man should never ask me, I repeat, on a first date, if I’ve ever had sex with a woman.  And I won’t ask him if he’s ever had sex.  Period.  Which I will ask purely out of curiosity since he will never get past the first date regardless of what you answer.

GRAND PRIZE WINNER

What’s the all-time Number One thing you should NEVER

do on a first date?  Drumroll, please!!!

A MAN SHOULD NEVER ANNOUNCE, OVER DINNER, THIRTY MINUTES AFTER MEETING ME FOR THE FIRST TIME, THAT HE’S KILLED 59 PEOPLE.  Yes, this really happened to me!  Of course my first thought was, Oh my God he’s a serial killer! Then my second thought was, Okay, he’s probably in the military.  Which he was, a sniper in South America in the ’80s.  Fair enough.  Still, a lot of women won’t regard that as something to brag about. War is like politics and sausage.  Both are necessary but you don’t want to know how it’s done. (That was only the first example of his appalling lack of common sense.)

Men, I’m sure you’ve had some truly appalling experiences with women on first dates.  By all means, please feel free to bitch, moan, whine, rant, complain, and threaten to never go near anything in a shorty shirt and a g-string ever again.  Since I don’t date women I can’t speak from personal experience.  (Lesbians/bi’s, please feel free to bitch moan whine blah blah blah away too!)

Longer, Thicker, Harder, Massive!

Posted in Geeks/Nerds, Pop Culture, Sexy Stuff with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 4, 2012 by Nicole Chardenet

I have a dirty little secret.  I miss penis enlargement ads. Between the successful takedown of several large spammers and my own efforts, I get almost no spam any more.  Believe me, I don’t miss 99.999% of it.  Just the best of the make her long for your schlong ads sent by people in countries for whom English is not to be speaking the language of primary. Many of these foreign fraudsters possessed all the communication skills of the friendly folks who brought us All Your Base Are Belong To Us or Engrish.

I adored the way they tried to find new and unique ways to refer to a man’s pride and joy without actually using the clinical term for it. (And I have to admit the cleverness lacking in calling it a ‘man’s pride and joy’ would not make it into Nicole’s Hall of Sham(e) below.)

Big enough for ya?

I don’t think anyone went broke underestimating the number of males who suspect they’re under-endowed, or who believe that having a perfectly normal ‘love cannon’ is simply not acceptable to modern females who want it to be no less than the size of the rod in a Tom of Finland cartoon. What was a wank fantasy for post-War gay males, apparently, is only good enough for today’s voracious woman.

“Smilin’ Bob” from the old Enzyte commercials. Bogus penis pills that were actually advertised on American TV for awhile in the early ’00s.

As much as we might laugh at the ridiculous claim that some miracle pill can produce three inches in a month or a thicker girth in seven days, articles I’ve read over the years indicate that not only men respond to these, but women as well. I am so curious about this! Do you hand them to your lover, a tacit admission that he’s not satisfying you? Or do you tell him they’re “vitamin supplements”? Or do you crush them into powder and mix them in with his mashed potatoes?

Every once in awhile some spammer’s servers got hacked and customer data was exposed for all the world to see just how massive and imposing some men’s…….gullibility really was. Several years ago I read of a case where an enlargement spammer’s customers included men with college educations and prominent jobs on Wall Street. (As Xaviera Hollander, the Happy Hooker once put it, “When the stocks go up, the cocks go up!”) You’d think these people would be smart enough not to fall for one-eyed trouser snake oil, but apparently the fear of not measuring up, as it were, overrides any logic circuits in the male brain and they whip out……..the ol’ credit card.

For awhile I kept a list of some of my favourite enlargement spam headlines. A few are more for, er, performance issues rather than size.

NICOLE’S MASSIVE MANDINGO HALL OF SHAM(E):

Make your love torpedo drive all the way to her tanker

Your girl very likes to be engaged in love! And can not you do love long?

Would you like to be a sculptor of your own penis?
(Does this involve plaster-of-Paris?)

Literally become a monster snake in my pants
(This just scares me. I don’t want to be a monster snake & I’m very sure if I was I wouldn’t fit in your pants even if your name was Michael Moore!)

Hoist your darling sexual times

The One Secret to Giving Your Woman Paralyzing Orrgasms That Will Have Her Brainwashed
(Does that mean I’ll turn into a Teabagger?)

Capture rapturous girls’ looks on your zipper protuberance!
(Jim is bustin’ out all ohhh-ver!)

Deeper in her shaft

Doping for your porksword…Be her mighty night predator!
(H1N1 isn’t now an STD, is it, you swine?)

2 Steamy Small penis sex Positions – Supercharge Her Pleasure No Matter How mSall You Are!
(Not an enlargement ad, obviously, but if all else fails…)

Don’t let porksword rust – Support your custard launcher – It’s like having a female catcher
(Three utterly unrelated mental images. I mean WTF is a ‘female catcher’?)

Make your tentacle work well – Prosperity in banging – Cures bed fast finish
(Attention all hentai lovers!)

Negroes admire with the of the size – we will surpass them!
(I have read that the real reason many men want bigger you-know-whats is to impress the guys in the locker room. Yes really. You can draw your own conclusions about the Average Male from that.)

Rasputin’s alleged preserved ding-dong, or just a giant clam?

Power up your pork rocket – Neither rod will stay so long – Nail her like a youngster
(How many rods do you have, exactly?)

Harder banging is real
(Good to know. I was afraid it was all a fig newton of my imagination!)

Your wood will be prefect for her fornicator – Lite your bedroom with fire once and for all!
(We’re gonna have to hurry before we die of smoke inhalation!)

Stop repelling your manliness – Get hot in a while – Make your intruder the best for her – If she is tired of your night games you can rock her world using our products!

You’ll brake walls with your boner
(Does this mean you can use your boner to brake your car so you don’t hit a wall?)

Your shlong can be shlonger
(Oh, that’s original.)

Virtual Sax can not be compared with real pleasure!
(Sex is still better than jazz music)

Make your weapon of love shoot twice more at one night! With our goods it isn’t a limit!
(Hope you’ve got a permit for that thing)

Your unstoppable love force will be all about you
(May the Love Force be with you, young Skywalker)

Desire will literally circulate in your wang
(That’s gotta feel weird)

Do not let your intentions in love go flop anymore!
(Heaven forfend)

Three girls at one night? It is easy for your manhood when you know our address in Internet!
(Because, like, the women who will agree to ménage-à-quatres live at your place?)

Get incredible sizing profit in pants
(Ironically this was for a thyroid drug!)

You can drill ladies better! Faster rod boosting!

The dangers of addiction.

Women will see your talent in drilling and banging
(Who knew carpentry was so erotic?)

Breakthrough in wang-liftin!
(Is this an Olympic event?)

Impulse for manliness ideals of bed-marathons

You’ll be able to invade so deep into woman, she’ll scream and shout like crazy
(“OW, MY STOMACH! OW, MY LUNGS! OW, MY THR–AIIGIIGGHHHLLLLLEEE!!!”)

Be her wild banger!
(But don’t mash her potatoes)

The quicker pecker picker-upper!
(Someone’s showing their age)

You’ll fap with eager on it
(WTF? I’m fairly certain ‘fap’ is a reference to masturbation, but why would you want to get bigger if you’re by yourself?  Maybe you need to shoot over a few of those Hot Filpnio grils who are dying to meet YOU!!! spams)

If you aren’t American you may have missed the classic “Smilin’ Bob” Enzyte commercials:

Don’cha think if it was possible for medical science to give you a longer, thicker, harder, more massive Pied Piper that most men today would be forced to go everywhere pushing a wheelbarrow in front of them? Believe me, the marketing success is guaranteed. As soon as a REAL enlargement pill works, Pfizer and Eli Lilly will be all over it like a banker on a bailout!

Now if your problem is erectile dysfunction, and you’re short of cash, there is an alleged cure that’s a lot cheaper than Viagra…however, you’re not gonna like it…

4/20 Day: A Brief History Of Weed, Maaaan…

Posted in Geeks/Nerds, Politics/Current Events, Pop Culture with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 20, 2012 by Nicole Chardenet

It’s 4/20 Day! Stop whatever you’re doing on April 20th, at 4:20pm, and light up a joint just to mellow out, show the world that reefer smokers are way nicer people than drunks, and really, really piss off Republicans and other incurable tightasses.  While you’re waiting for the mellow to set in, here’s a brief history of weed, from those tuned-in stoners in early China to the present day – that’s 4/20 Day 2012, baby!

10,000 B.C.: (Before Cannabis, not British Columbia!) The Chinese are, thus far, the most likely first humans to discover and use weed. They brew it into a tea and call it ‘green’.  China doesn’t invade anyone for 800 years.

1300 B.C.: India invents the pot brownie.  Indians believe weed encourages sleep, lowers fevers, cures dysentery and improves the mind and judgement.  It also makes them very horny.  Pretty soon there’s more than a billion Indians.  They’re so mellow and laid (back) they barely notice when the Mughals invade in 1526 A.D., but boy oh boy do they have some really mind-blowing art and statuary to show them…

4th CENTURY B.C.: Alexander the Great smokes a pipe full of weed and puts off conquering Asia Minor for at least three weeks while he contemplates the intricacies of his favorite concubine’s testicles.

610 A.D.: Islam is invented.  The Prophet Mohammed decrees that alcohol is prohibited, but weed is not.  Hashish becomes popular in the Middle East, which remains to this day the only place on the planet where smoking weed fails to mellow you out.

History's first recorded Republican.

1787: America’s Constitutional Convention, held in Philadelphia and attended by 55 delegates and 189 hookers, wraps up in September when the delegate from Virginia passes around some weed he brought back from his recent trip to Jamaica.  That day they write out the plan for something they call the electoral college.  The next morning, after sleeping it off, no one can figure out how the hell it works.  Or what they’re all doing in the belfry of the Old North Tower.  Or why they’re naked.  Or why Steve is grinning like George III on Tax Day.

1936: The movie Reefer Madness is released, horrifying Americans with its depiction of what kind of movies are made by people who’ve clearly never smoked weed before.

1966: Marijuana is popularized by drop-out long-haired bell-bottomed Communist hippie weirdoes who never shut up about Ginsberg and Camus and Che and who listen obsessively to a terrible racket they call ‘psychedelic music’ and which their parents call ‘sound of cats being tortured .’  The new ‘reefer madness’ works to many new rock stars’ advantage as, for example, no one notices that Jim Morrison writes lyrics like a mentally-challenged banana slug and that Canned Heat guy can’t sing for shit.  In 1967, Timothy Leary urges people to turn on, tune in, drop out.  Everyone’s far too stoned to realize Leary is 47 years old and waaaaay past thirty, which means they shouldn’t trust a damn thing he says.

1996: Famed astrophysicist Carl Sagan dies, and it comes out shortly thereafter that he liked to smoke weed while taking a shower with his wife.  This comes as a giant embarrassment to marijuana critics who contend that weed wrecks your brain and turns you into a total underachieving slacker loser.  “Toldja,” says Harrison Ford, eyes half-mast.

2001: Canada becomes the first country in the history of the world to legalize weed for medical use.  Conservatives complain that those damn godless socialist lefties will legalize anything.  What’s next, gay marriage?

2002: The Canadian Special Senate Committee on Illegal Drugs issues a report saying, in essence, marijuana should be regulated like tobacco because it’s less harmful than alcohol, which comes as no surprise to anyone who’s ever been to a Jimmy Buffett concert.  Canadian conservatives, like, completely freak out totally all over the place prompting the Committee to issue a second report saying, in essence, chill, dudes.

2010: California Proposition 19, also called the Regulate, Control, & Tax Cannabis Act, becomes a statewide ballot initiative.  It would allow certain types of non-medical marijuana use although still prohibit the sale of it.  Supporters argue it would help reduce the budget shortfall as well as force vicious Colombian drug cartel overlords to start shopping at Dollarama.  It’s defeated by a powerful group of Republicans who object to the fact that the new law doesn’t negatively impact the poor, illegal Mexicans, old people, baby bunnies, and children dying of leukemia.

Have a totally groovy day, amigos!!!

Crikey! It’s The Giant Spider Invasion!

Posted in Science/Technology with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 14, 2012 by Nicole Chardenet

Good gods.  A town in Australia called Wagga Wagga (and that’s pronounced WOGGA WOGGA, not WAGGA WAGGA, as my Ozzie friend Libby archly informed me, despite the fact that it’s spelled WAGGA WAGGA and not WOGGA WOGGA and is without question the world’s stupidest town name) has been invaded by giant horrible evil brain-destroying monster spiders from hell, because, I think, Wagga Wagga must have been a very, very bad town in a former lifetime, and its karma is coming back on it.  Another explanation has it that the horrible beasts relocated to higher ground after a flood, but that’s just silly.

Just to put things in perspective, this apocalypse was prophesied in what was once thought to be a cheezy horror movie but what is now understood to be an insightful documentary, 1975′s The Giant Spider Invasion, set in the mythical state of Wisconsin:

Not to put too fine a point on it, but there was a more recent “horror movie” (read: explosive documentary) on what happens when spiders go all Hell’s Angels on an entire town, 2002′s Eight Legged Freaks:

Pay special attention to the spiders mummifying a human, arachno-style, and then compare this to what’s happened in Wagga Wagga:

And now for the REALLY freaky s**t!

When the little @#$%s are building SKYWAYS, for frack's sake, just kill me now!!! Or buy me a one-way ticket to Hawaii, where all I have to deal with are volcanoes

Crikey, some might argue that Wagga Wagga’s Boschian nightmares aren’t exactly giant spiders, they’re merely wolf spiders (that jump!), but it’s only Australians who say that, because they actually think big futhermuckers like that are normal!!!  Listen, I grew up in Florida where we had big ugly spiders (some of which had pretty colors but I maintain that any spider bigger than a dime is a Big Ugly Spider and I don’t care if he’s got a friggin’ original Picasso on his huge tank-like back).  My mom said there was a I don't know if this was that spider, but you have to admit it would be pretty creepy if it wasspider web between two trees outside my bedroom window when I was a baby, and she tried to hose it down, but it was too strong, and then she tried a flame-thrower but it was too strong, and it even survived her small tactical nuke.  So she sent out the big guns – or rather, the big pole – in the capable hands of my father, who made short work of the lair and the vicious lemon-sized beast that Mom swears had glowing eyes and giant fangs.  But, you know, Mom’s even more arachnophobic than me, so she might have exaggerated a wee bit.

I used to watch something like the little dude to the left hanging off a bush outside our church while the sermon was going on and I thought that was a really big-ass spider but clearly I’ve never been to Wagga Wagga.  And I will never, ever, visit Australia, because you just know this mass invasion is just a rehearsal for their next stop: SYDNEY!!!

The people, in case you were wondering, evacuated the town before the spiders even realized the roof was leaking, but I doubt they’ll ever return.  Would you?  OMG THEY GOT THE DOG!!!

And here’s the REALLY scary thing (yeah, like this isn’t enough nightmare material to send you into therapy for like the next 45 years): Australia is JAM-PACKED CHOCK-FULL of vicious, evil, horrible, killer spiders and junk!

Libby told me they have horrible poisonous killer spiders that hang out in your swimming pool and I’m like, you’re freaking s**tting me, spiders that swim, with, like Jaws music playing in the background (except on didgeridoo) and, like, latch on to you and KILL you?  She’s just messing with me, right?  Right???

No, she’s NOT messing with me.  Here’s a really stupid freaking Australian who’s not the Crocodile Hunter swimming in a pool with a FREAKING DEADLY FUNNEL SPIDER in it, a beast which can swim, sink, float on the water, and apparently KILL YOU IN FIFTEEN MINUTES WITH A SINGLE BITE, and he’s talking to the farking camera while this farking spider is sizing him up for a torpedo kill!  Someone please enlighten me: Are all Australian men this stupid?!?!

Now, I know Australia’s one of the most dangerous places on the planet.  Like, everything can kill you, even otherwise benign creatures like toads and lizards and baby octopi. The only animal that’s widely regarded as relatively non-fatal is the sheep, but I have my doubts about that because since everything else that flies, crawls, walks, or slithers across Down Under can kill you, why wouldn’t the sheep have developed lethal superpowers too?  I offer you Exhibit A: My ancestor from England who wound up in Australia on a family sheep farm.  He died there when he was thrown off his horse.  Why?  My theory is the sheep attacked the horse just to get to the human.  Goddess only knows what happened after that but I will tell you, the New Zealanders recently made a movie that I suspect tells the real story:

To make matters worse, Libby tells me about something called “bluebottles” which exist, she assures me, to do nothing more than kill any human unfortunate enough to step on one.  “What are they,” sez I, “houseflies?” And she looks at me like I’m farking brain-dead while I’m thinking they’re probably Australian houseflies the size of opossums with giant fangs and a hate-on for humans.  She wasn’t quite sure what they were, “just ambulating bags of goop and spines,” which, as it turns out, wasn’t all that accurate, as bluebottles are actually Portuguese Man O’ War jellyfish, which have no spines, only very rarely kill you, and do not ambulate (if they’re on the beach for you to step on, they’ve washed up there by mistake and are in the middle of dying, which is why they so deeply resent your squishing them with your big fat foot, although frankly, if I was a big blob of goo about to dehydrate into a sticky pancake on a New South Wales beach, I think I’d more than welcome instant death from some lumbering human).  But never mind, the point is, those farkers can farking put you in a world of hurt and make you wish you were dead.

What you’ve got to worry about more, rather, are stonefish, which look like stones and if you do step on it it will try to farking kill you, and box jellyfish, which can kill you in less time than it takes to scream, “OH F**K, I’VE JUST BEEN STUNG BY A BOX JELLYFISH!”

So anyway, my point is, whatever you do, DON’T GO ANYWHERE NEAR F**KING AUSTRALIA!  It can kill you.  Just by looking at you weird.

And the sheep will eat you, if the spiders don’t get you first.

What Wagga Wagga needs - John Goodman, the exterminator in Arachnophobia: "ROCK & ROLLLLLLLLLL!"

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