Today is Valentine’s Day – the day for spouses and fornicating significant others and side pieces and online sex hook uppers. Today is the day when 90% of the planet’s population get cavities or lose their teeth altogether; when cupids all over the world are gunned down by water guns filled with bleach or B.B. guns loaded with anthrax coated pellets; when dogs in residential neighborhoods hop the fences of their backyards to hump any bitch with four legs; when single people hide under rocks or disconnect their cell phones or purposely not log onto FaceBook.
To some people today is the day of love, romance, sugar, spice and everything replicated on the all-Triple X channel (which of course means humping until you drop). To others it’s the day they are reminded their sex appeal lacks what it needs to get them laid.
Whatever today is for you, make the most of it. Celebrate your love – even the ones you rent by the hour. Feel yourself up if you don’t have anyone to share this day with, and eat a lot of chocolate.
Because everybody knows Valentine’s Day means nothing at all without chocolate.
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Washington DC is experiencing frigid temperatures this week as a result of Mother Nature’s bitter wrath, leaving some with frozen water pipes and nipples and others without heat or hair dryers. Well what more can we expect? It’s winter for Christ’s sake. Hell, it was winter back when summer was packing it’s bags for the season. We just skipped over fall all together.
Personally, I rather enjoy the winter season. Granted, this cold temperature has my balls drawing up, but that’s no comparison to the dozens of women skating the streets with frozen hair weaves and limp lashes.
Ladies, this cold weather can’t be doing much for your social lives. You can’t rely on your extended faux lashes or your silicone breasts and butt implants to grab the attention of some old, decrepit, deep pocketed, 40 ounce beer guzzling, gullible guy to keep you and your yak fur warm at night.
Fret not, chicas! Soon the weather will break and the sun will shine bright enough to melt holes in the underarms of your blouses while getting you all scantily clad so you can be the skanks you were before hell froze over. That’s something to look forward to, right?
Everyone looks forward to the weekend after a long, grueling week of schmoozing with a bunch of coworkers at the workhouse (usually against one’s own personal will) for five days, forty hours and two and a half hours worth of fifteen minute breaks. But no matter how much everyone psyches themselves up for an abbreviated two-day weekend, the weekend is almost always two days minus thirty hours. Most working class citizens spend more time in a company staff meeting.
Never the less, even though the weekend is over by the time we complete a single blink of an eye, there’s no denying that the time away from the office is dedicated to excessive drinking, inhuman amounts of grease and sugar consumption, and unforgettable sex with strangers that are picked up behind an oversized trash dumpster of any Pizza Hut restaurant chain.
Oh, wait. Is that what weekends are for or any day that ends in the letter “Y”? Same thing.
Quote of the Week: “There aren’t enough days in a weekend.”
SAN DIEGO, CA – Violence erupted at the first ever all-midget clown convention Wednesday night after a gang of half-pint jesters got into a brawl in a bathroom stall.
The convention, comprised of clowns no taller than 3 ½ ft, started off on a high note with several performers from the comedian community taking to the circus-inspired stage. Things took a turn when a commotion erupted in a nearby restroom.
According to several eyewitnesses, the brawl broke out when a farceur urinated in a private stall without closing the door behind him. The sound of the pint-sized picador’s urination pouring into the commode annoyed the other occupants of the restroom so much that they threw bars of soap at him and began screaming expletives, followed by brutal punches.
San Diego police were called to the scene as the war between the little people exploded into a big mess.
A spokesman for the convention had no comment on the matter itself but expressed with much conviction that bathroom etiquette is a big deal in the midget community.
Monies raised from this year’s convention registration fees will go towards the purchase of a nursery of baby tree bushes for next year’s assembly so all of the little people can pee publicly in private.
Quote of the Week: “When a clown dies, everyone arrives at the funeral in one car.”
Hollywood, CA – Some of the hottest celebrities in Tinseltown have been spotted with shopping carts full of expired foods from their local grocery stores in a strange effort to get on board the latest weight loss epidemic – food poisoning.
According to one popular highly publicized blond divorced “Friends” star who wishes to remain anonymous, the noroviruses in unhygienic products are just the right amount of contamination, resulting in nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea, to lose a noticeably photogenic amount of weight. Though the star has once been very open in the past about using the Atkins diet to maintain a Hollywood-approved slender frame, she admits Atkins is the most unhealthy diet of all, “unlike food poisoning,” she says, “which also serves as a full body cleanser. It’s the best of two worlds.”
The new unhealthy diet plan leaves hundreds of overly paid celebrity nutritionists, personal trainers and plastic surgeons out of work. U.S. Bankruptcy Court documents in California reportedly show multiple jumping jack specialists and counterfeit medical companies filed for Chapter 7 bankruptcy and estimated loss liabilities at $100 million to $600 million, about the cost a celebrity pays per week to get snapped with the body they want for a picture they pray will never show up on a “What Were They Thinking” list in a tabloid on a grocery store shelf.
Quote of the Week: “It is after you have lost your teeth that you can afford to buy steaks.”
In every office, 9am is close to the time when the supervisor makes his rounds to see who is at their desk slaving away on the work he is too good to do himself. He walks around with a golden clipboard checking off the names of those employees that are present and those that aren’t. He doesn’t say anything to or about those particular “slack-offity” individuals that spend more time at the coffee machine, loitering in front of the bathroom doors like hustlers on street corners, or lollygagging at their neighbor’s cubicles, but rather waits until an all-hands staff meeting to inconspicuously pull his staff’s card(s) or employee evaluation time to lay it all on the line one last time before sending out pink slips in the form of singing telegrams. This ritual has not changed since the days of Ebenezer Scrooge. What have changed over the years are the levels of concern from the ostensibly invincible employees.
Today employees don’t care who know about their late night romps, midnight bubble guts, or domestic squabbles. They believe their personal talk is part of the daily flow of business. Not considering that they are being mentally recorded by the man who signs off on their paychecks, they hold no regard for their fellow coworkers who either don’t give a damn about their after-5 lives or are too afraid to be clumped in the category of slackers by mere association.
This observation was brought to me some time yesterday between my travels to the copier machine and the giant catapult that hurls me home at the end of every day, when I found a petition krazy-glued to my swivel chair collectively signed by all the employees that are insistent on disassociating themselves from that one bad apple that lowers the property value of the underpaid subordinates in the office; specifically that one employee that gallivants up and down the office halls like a regular on a hoe stroll; or that one employee that eats potato chips with their mouth open while engaging in an uninspiring face-to-face conversation; or that employee that tells and laughs at all of his own humorless jokes; or that employee that doesn’t know the meaning of using his/her “inside voice.”
The petition was easily summed up in a single word: HELP. Help us, Hottywood, to make this employee change his ways or go away. Help us to make him understand that he is one step below the definitions of unwanted, unneeded and unnecessary. Help us to pretend harder that he is not making a bad name for those of us that stand on the ladder of his pay scale. Help us not to beat the living crap out of him at lunch time.
In response to the senders of the petition, I must warn you all that you can not treat this nuisance quite as simply as you would a bad cold. These office annoyances are not made. They are born. They multiply. They are eternal. However since Hottywood Helps, I have but one suggestion…
If this doesn’t change the atmosphere, nothing will.
Quote of the Week: “Don’t look at me with that tone of voice!”