When Diva and Tony tied the knot in September, I couldn’t help but remark at the one photo which really stood out:

     “…from the looks of it, Tony is actually able to handle her.”

     But this post has absolutely nothing to do with that.

     Well…

     Other than a wedding.

     Earlier this week in India, a deeply superstitious farmhand was married, as well.  In fact, Mr. P. Selvakumar has finally found his perfect bitch.

     He says he was “cursed” after killing a couple of canines, and hopes this action will help lift it.

     Me, I’ll just sit back and laugh with a Top 10 list:

1. She’s on his crotch as soon as he walks in the door!
2. She can smell a rat a mile away!
3. He really keeps her on a short leash…
4. When she gets pissed, she’s absolutely rabid!
5. He’ll be in the dog house for the rest of his life.
6. Well, isn’t she just the pick of the litter?
7. Bet they’ll make some beautiful pups.
8. She lies like a dog!
9. Wonder if she likes it doggy-style?
10. Truly, this man knows how to handle his bitch.

     Man, you just can’t make stuff like this up…

Note: Selvakumar Photo Copyright © 2007 Associated Press, All Rights Reserved

     Just say “No!” to hotlinking.  It’s a bad habit.

     This has been our hotlinking image for a long, long time:

     Nobody wants to see that, now do they? 

     Rob Ullman over at Atom Bomb Bikini, after being contracted to caricature the campaigning Clinton, quickly crafted this bit of cartoony goodness:

     [ Side Note: How’s that for aliteration, Sam?  I feel empowered! ]

     Why, seeing Photo vs. Caricature, it’s rather clear where the inspiration came from, isn’t it? 😉

Tip: Doug @ Reality Me!

My youngest clone is 16 years old.

She and her friends are so much more “grown up” than me and my friends were at her age.  All we really cared about was ditching school to go to the beach, sneaking a cigarette now and then, and other stupid crap.

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These guys talk about saving the world, like the little tree huggers they are.

They talk about saving the rain forest.  They talk openly about so many things.

I guess I’m the type of mom who, for better or worse, never kept any secrets from my kids.  I’ve never pretended that smoking, drugs, alcohol, or sex don’t exist in their worlds.  I took the preemptive approach of actually telling my kids the pros/cons – good/evil of these things…. and from a young age.

All of these things were unthinkable and taboo in our house when I was growing up.

Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t encourage my kids to smoke it up, drink it down and knock boots.  Quite the contrary.  I encourage them not to do any of it, at least the youngest one and her friends (who still listen).

I just think it to their advantage if they know they can talk to me about anything and that I will be there for them and they won’t be treated as if they have the plaque and be banned from my sight for being human.

With that in mind… the youngest and her lil friend designed and baked me a penis for my bachelorette party.  Dear Lord.

I am the type of person who requires some sort of white noise in the background at all times.  The news on while I’m cooking, the stereo on while I’m scrubbing the toilet, or even just the radio on while I’m driving. 

I was transporting my 16-year-old daughter to school today when Timberland’s, “The Way I Are” came piping through the speakers.  Have you ever listened to the words of this song? It’s a duet about a scrub and some skanky chick’s acceptance of his scrubiness.

I would like to take a moment to address Timberland and clear the air about what is acceptable, and what is not. 

It goes a little somethin’ like this:

*Verse 1* (Timberland)
I ain’t got no money
I ain’t got no car to take you on a date
I can’t even buy you flowers
But together we’ll be the perfect soulmates
Talk to me girl

Ok, first, if you have no money and no car, what are you gonna do?  Are you gonna walk to my house with the intentions of gettin’ a little lovin’?  And trust me, even if you were lucky enough to hitch a ride with a homey, even if you hit the bell with flowers in your hand, you still ain’t gettin none.  And to even consider that we might be soulmates is blasphemy.  Soulmates are connected.  I gots a job, I gots a ride.  Accept your destiny, pal,  walkin and beatin off.

*Bridge* (The chick)
Oh, baby, it’s alright now, you ain’t gotta flaunt for me
If we go there, you can still touch my love, it’s free
We can work without the perks just you and me
Thug it out ’til we get it right

Now, I’m no gold-digger by any means.  But, if the boy ain’t got a job, money, or car, what hell would he have to flaunt in the first place?  And to think she’s gonna consider “going there” with him… for free… without the perks?  What perks?  Massage oil?  Happy Jack Rabbit?  Sweet Jesus.  I am going out on a limb here… she’s got to be very horny and/or very desperate to reproduce.

Let’s skip her part from here on out.  It’s repetition of the previous desparation and her forgiveness of his slackeristic nature.  Let us explore the remaining 2 verses of this mockery of man-li-ness.

*Verse 2*
I ain’t got no Visa
I ain’t got no Red American Express
We can’t go nowhere exotic
It don’t matter ’cause I’m the one that love you best
Talk to me girl

I wouldn’t care much that there is no plastic, so long as he has a J-O-B that results in some sort of cash flow.  It’s nice if a man has the money to give birthday and Christmas presents that aren’t from a Cracker Jack box along with small tokens of his affection through-out the year.
No exotic trips?  It’s mandatory to go somewhere to have sex, other than ones own bedroom, at least occassionally.  A trip to the Keys.  A trip to Vegas. Sex is good in Vegas.  But, still he spouts that he’s the one she loves best.  Again, most likely her poor self image.  Get therapy.

*Verse 3*  (The finale)
Baby girl, I don’t got a huge ol’ house
I rent a room in a house
Listen baby girl, I ain’t got a motorboat
But I can float ya boat
So listen baby girl, once you get a dose of D.O.E.
You gon’ want some mo’
So listen baby girl, when I make it
I want you back, want you back, yeah

He rents a room.  Nice.  A room in a house where other people live.  Which means either the home owners are going to hear the headboard bangin’ and the naughty sounds coming from the room or we’ll only be gettin busy in my house.  Uh, No.

No boat floating from  you until you get a job, a car, flowers, some select pieces of jewelery.

Thanks, Mark!  Looks just like me!