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Everyone knows that I’m carnivorous to a fault, but I think the new cologne, Flame, takes things a bit far.

First of all, it only costs $3.99. Any cologne that only costs $3.99 probably isn’t worth the bottle in which it’s packaged.

Now, on to the truly disturbing part. This cologne, created by Burger King, is described as “the scent of seduction with a hint of flame-broiled meat.” Really? You have GOT to be joking. Seduction with flame-broiled meat?? What the hell???

And the final *creeped-out shudder* that I was blessed with came from this image, found on the Flame website:

Flame

*GAG!!!!!*

According to this news story from the BBC, Dec 10th (today) was the “Day without Gay” protest. My problem with this is that, to my knowledge, no one but a few people in California knew about it!!

Yes, I understand that it’s similar to the email forwards we all got calling for people to not get gas on such and such a day in protest of the high gas prices. However, this has pointed out the major flaw in almost every “gay” campaign I’ve ever seen: there is NO unity of purpose in the slightest bit.

If there were unity, there would’ve been pamphlets in the mail, commercials on TV, ads galore on the internet… I just don’t get it. While i’ve heard plenty of people theorize about it and how effective it COULD be, this is the first time I heard about it actually happening and I didn’t hear about it until TODAY! What the hell???

A perfect example of what unification can do (as is pointed out quiet frequently by my husband) is Ohio’s recent Nazi efforts. I refer to the ban on gay marriage as well as the ban on smoking. The marriage ban was so effectively passed because the churches preached it from their pulpits and the terrified people who are convinced that society will crumble if Jane and Joan get married UNITED. There were of course many other factors in that particular one, but still, unification was the underlying reason.

As for the smoking ban, again, the people that were so boneheaded that they insist on taking away personal freedoms and hand over the wheel of the car that is their life to the government banded together to tell us all how second-hand smoke kills! (Could anyone provide a proven, blind clinical study showing that it does?? Trust me, I work in the healthcare industry and I know ALL about those studies. I’ve never even HEARD of one.)

So once again, the gays, who can’t even settle themselves to decide what color the sky is and which way is up, have fucked up. PEW I SAY! PEW! Makes me ashamed to be a gay!

The most vile, hate-filled, disgusting, vicious, rotten, nasty, unpleasant, bad, disagreeable, horrible, dreadful, abominable, atrocious, offensive, obnoxious, odious, unsavory, repulsive, disgusting, distasteful, loathsome, hateful, nauseating, sickening, disgraceful, appalling, sorry, shameful, dishonorable, execrable, heinous, abhorrent, deplorable, monstrous, iniquitous, nefarious, depraved, debased, contemptible, despicable, reprehensible, gross, godawful, lowdown, cunt (indeed, I believe that she is the embodiment of that powerful word!) to walk the planet at this time is none other than most-pitiful-excuse-of-an-”author”-ever Ann Coulter.

For those who are unaware of who this positively hellish woman is, consider yourselves truly blessed by some higher power to have been able to avoid her noxious spew.

To call her an extreme conservative is to be seriously nonchalant about her behavior. To my mind, and many others that I know (who are liberals, moderates and conservatives), she is the very same type of extremist that has created the current politically/religiously charged situation that has taken us to war half way around the world.

She is rude, to the point where it has even been misconstrued as sarcasm or a farce. Trust that she is neither sarcastic nor farcical. She is completely serious about everything she says and believes which makes her even more unbelievable, taking into the consideration what she says and believes.

She is misogynistic, which is a true talent, as well as misanthropic . (The definition of “misogynistic” can be found here, the definition of “misanthropic” here.)

And currently, it is reported that she had to have had to have her jaw wired shut!! Praise every being that despises piggish cunts! Currently there isn’t any factional account as to why she had to have it wired shut, so one could only assume that either someone was attempting to do humankind a favor and pushed her down the stairs or that she finally lipped off to the wrong person and they gave her a good right hook to the jaw.

Of course, the down side is that now she has more time to write what she would refer to as a book (while the rest of the civilized world would call it the mad ravings of someone in need of serious mental health assistance). Then again, I’m sure they can be recycled into something useful, such as toilet paper or paper towels.

**Caveat** I did say there may be a god, but I still doubt it… unless tomorrow morning I wake to find that Rush Limbaugh has been found dead, with a four-foot dildo shoved up his bunghole after snorting coke, having been gang-banged by illegal mexican immigrant boys while under a wall sized altar to President-elect Obama. THEN I would most definitely believe in a god of some sort.

This is just a fucking favorite!

She’s just to freakin hilarious. She truly says “That is one crazy bitch!” I won’t tell you who she’s talking about because that’d ruin it for you.

Last night, the old man and I, with another couple, went all the way to Bradford, Ohio (i.e. Bumfuck Nowhere!!) for their annual Bradford Pumpkin Show. Now, I’d called my parents to see if they’d ever been and was assured that it was one of the larger festivals in the area, that they’d always enjoyed it, lots of fun, blah blah.

One of the gimmicks for the festival is that one of the local charities sells bags of confetti, which everyone then throws all over each other. (The fact that the festival even has a No Confetti Night should have been my first clue that this wasn’t going to be the best of times!)

The result is several days (if not weeks) of cleaning up the confetti. But that wasn’t my problem with the festival. The confetti concept has been going on so long now that by the end of our stroll through the festival, I felt like I’d walked down a beach. The confetti on the ground was that thick. Once again though, that wasn’t my problem. IN THEORY, the confetti throwing is a wonderful idea… everyone having fun, lots of pretty confetti like snow in the air and sand on the beach, etc etc.

The problem: 94% of the “people” (and I use that term very loosely) at the festival were 1) of the average age of 16-17 years old; 2) ignorant, backwards redneck hillbillies (and I’ll never understand why anyone would think being a redneck hillbilly is something to be proud of! I come from a whole family of them and I just don’t get why it’s now “the in thing” to be raging proud of the fact that you’re ignorant, backwards, socially inept and rude!); 3) throwing confetti with all their strength directly at people, particularly at their face. No, I’m wrong… they weren’t throwing confetti, they were hurling it like a baseball.

The remaining 5% of the people: 1% were old people that were under the same delusion that I was, that it would be a fun little festival; .04% represents the four of us; and the remaining 4.96% were the redneck hillbilly parents of the ignorant rude hillbilly children.

You wouldn’t think confetti would be painful would you? Well, I’m living proof that it is! That shit hurts!

To add insult to injury, just like every other “festival” I’ve been to in the past few years (The Sweetcorn Festival, Popcorn Festival, Sugarmaple Festival…) the theme of the festival -pumpkins- was barely made known. When I go to a PUMPKIN festival, I expect to see a goddamn ballgown made out of pumpkins! When I go to a POPCORN festival, I expect there to be popcorn falling from the fucking sky! But no, last night, there was a small vendor selling pumpkin ice cream, someone selling “pumpkin donuts” (probably bought at the local Kroger) and a farmer with a few pitiful pumpkins. The rest of the place was nothing but nasty food, deep fried until the taste was gone (and trust me, I am a fan of deep frying, when done right), cheap gaudy junk and a few carnival rides. Oh, and I forgot, a cheap wooden tree display with pumpkins sitting on it, of the type that you’d see sitting on the side of the road at some farm selling pumpkins for Halloween.

Finally, while strolling through the festival (which we only did twice, once up the street, once back down heading for the car), I was called a faggot a grand total of four times - that I heard, although I’m sure there were more - and yes, I was dressed appropriately (jeans, polo, hooded sweater) and not like a screaming sissy. (Before any of you say one word, yes, I also realize that regardless of what I’m wearing, I still just have “that look” that brings the word fag to the lips of every suppressed closeted redneck highschool boy.)

So, in essence, SKIP the Bradford Pumpkin Festival.

Let us pray that the Circleville Pumpkin Festival, which I took time off of work to go to, will be better. (I’m betting it will as we’re going during the day on a Thursday that is also a school day, which means no screaming brats and better yet no annoying fucking highschool herds roaming the streets polluting it with their angst and over-blown hormones raging.)

Oooooh I just LOVE this!

Particularly piquant for me is the suggestion that a person’s religion is a accident of birth in most cases. A very very interesting theory, one which I find pretty damn accurate.

Sunday August 31st I’m passing on the title of Miss Dayton.

Miss Dayton Gay Pride flyer

An explanation on meaning:

1) The number 37 is my lucky number. It has been my lucky number since I was about 12 or 13. My brother, who is 11 years my junior, would hear my mother telling me to be home by a certain time, such as 7:30 or 10:00 and, being only 3 or 4 years old at the time, he would always tell me to “Be home at 37″ which is the equivalent of saying “Be home on time.” for a 3 or 4 year old. After the first time he said that, 37 showed up in everything I did. I’m wondering if 37 is the age I’ll be when I kick off from this Valley of Tears. Creepy…

2) The brass plate concept is a nod to the character Tik-Tok, the Mechanical Man from the movie “Return to Oz.” (For those of you that are movie fans, this movie is Fairuza Balk’s first film. She’s the gal that played the bad crazy witch in “The Craft.”)

3) The location (my left breast-icle) is tribute to a song by one of my favorite bands, Pixies. There is a song by Pixies called “No. 13 Baby” from the album “Doolittle.” One the lines of the song is

Black tear fallin’ on my lazy queen
Gotta tattoo tit
Say number 13

Obviously, I opted for 37 instead of 13 since 37 is my lucky number (and, let’s face it, 13 is rather cliche these days).

For the record, I feel like someone has taken a meat tenderizer to my boob. FOUR HOURS of being poked and jabbed for my first tattoo… just my luck.

In memorial of one of last century’s dinosaurs of politics, that man that lived to be over 100 years old fueled by pure spite and viciousness, the one and (thankfully) only Jesse Helms, I post this blog entry from a long time AIDS advocate and victim.

In Memory of Jesse Helms and The Condom on his House.

Additionally, I submit this article from one of my favorite political blogs, The Rude Pundit, which gives us a fantastical view of what the vile Senator may have experienced shortly after his anxiously awaited departure from the remainder of humanity.

Jesse Helms in Heaven (A Fantasia)

My dear Senator, if there is some way that you can see all the people posting blogs voicing their joy at your passing on from this world, then justice has been served. I gleefully, joyously, maliciously, viciously add my voice to theirs. Rest in Distress, Senator. May you never know peace.

PS! Thanks to Crystal for sharing the link to the POZ blog story!