Tuesday, February 28, 2006
Our refrigerator that's only 18 months old, broke yesterday. So, this morning I called the Sears home repair line, to schedule an appointment to fix it. The customer representative on the phone, Cameron, had a wonderful, dreamy voice. It was soothing, and even. Cameron also proved to be an articulate and helpful service rep. too, a rarity in this day and age.
I knew our phone time together was rapidly drawing near to the end and I wanted to let Cameron know that I considered him a rare jewel and a Prince among men. I casually remarked, "Oh, you have such a superb speaking voice, especially over the phone". To which, Cameron replied, "I've often been told that. Thank you very much". Thinking that I would make his day even sunnier, I just had to add, "With a voice and personality combination like yours, perhaps you would have a bright future in broadcasting". After a moment of hesitation and a clearly audible sigh, Cameron told me flatly, and a little sarcastically, "I've already tried that, and I failed miserably".
Man, I felt like such an azz for the remainder of the day, today.
Monday, February 27, 2006
In the late 1980's, I was about 13 and had two friends named Melanie. Yes, just exactly like the Spice Girls, except we didn't wear platform shoes and sing craptastic songs in slutty mini skirts while screaming out about GUUUURRRLLL POWER! Other than that though, just the same, two Melanies. Melanie H. and Melanie C. Melanie H. and I decided to go over to Melanie C.'s house one sunny Saturday afternoon to hang out. When we got there, her older brother told us that she was upstairs and to go on up.
We did, but Melanie wasn't in her room. That's when we heard it. Singing, that seemed to be coming out of the bathroom. So, we ventured down the hall and stood outside the bathroom quietly listening, with our ear to the door and our hands over our mouths to stifle the giggling. Melanie C. was singing Berlin's, 'Take My Breath Away', in her best voice, but it sounded exaggerated and squeaky. Still seated on the toilet, she performed acapella with her only musical accompaniment stemming from the occasional turd hitting the water and splashing with a giant, PLOP sound, blissfully unaware that her two "friends" were standing in the hallway dying with laughter. Finally, she finished up and walked down to her room to find us sitting in there cracking up. Melanie C. asked what was so funny, and we started singing, "I know, take my breath awaaayyyy, PLOP, PLOP". Poor Melanie C., she was mortified, and we never let her forget it. Truly, between her voice and her stink, it really did take our breaths away.
Now, my daughters and I went grocery shopping last week, and the absolutely horrific Jessica Simpson version of that song started blaring over Kroger radio. To which I couldn't control myself. Like a tribute to my past glory days, I started singing with gusto along with Jessica, "Take my breath awaaayyyy", but I had to add the PLOP, PLOP, much to the confusion of the people on the aisle with us when we erupted into uproarious laughter.
To most, that song represents a number one hit, a song that they slow danced to at their first formal, or the tender love song from the movie, 'Top Gun'. Not me, it reminds me of poop and tormenting a good friend. Ahhhhh memories.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
A few years ago, a Mexican husband-wife team started to work at the same warehouse as me. Thinking that I would dazzle them with my Spanish word power, I tried out a few simple sentences in their native language. I told the husband,"Me gusta tu pelo pecho, esta muy guapo", thinking that I just said that he had a nice hair cut and that it looked good on him. He immediately blushed and crossed his arms over his chest. His wife seemed to get irritated at my remark, and I noticed an increasing redness spread furiously across her face. Then, just like now, I was too hopelessly clueless to know why. Until he informed me that my perceived innocent remark was actually translated as, "I like your chest hair, it looks handsome".
So, now the wife thought that I had the hots for her husband and she narrowed her eyes at me everytime our paths crossed. She lacked English proficiency, so that deepened her distrust of me and my wily American ways, even further. The husband, Bernardo, told me one day that he didn't sleep in the same bed with his wife because she was a restless sleeper. Again, I tried out a Spanish phrase on him and asked, "Ustedes dormir en la estufa"? To which he just looked really perplexed, and replied, "NO! I don't sleep in the oven". I intended to say SOFA, not oven, and estufa sounded plausible as a word that might mean SOFA, in my limited Spanish thinking. Who knew that SOFA in Spanish is SOFA?
After that, I gave up all hopes of Spanish communicado with these fine people unless it involved discussions of Pancho's Mexican Buffet, chupacabras, Menudo, or Montezuma's Revenge.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
The incriminating photo that they didn't want America to see.
Apparently, our President has denied any prior knowledge to our Port security being handed over to the United Arab Emirates. Recent revelations of secret meetings and agreements prove otherwise though. Loss of credibility among even staunch supporters, like me? Ummm, yeah.
By all accounts, President Bush got along smashingly well with our Middle Eastern brethren, while trading away our sovereignty and security. That is, until the bitter argument over which hot dog tasted better. Spicy Miami hot sauce style or New York style, topped with sauerkraut. I recommend they try Philly cheese on it at their next rendezvous.
It won't be long now, subjects of the American oligarchy. Total and complete globalization, here we come!
*No hate mail please. The hot dog pictured is comprised of turkey lips and anuses, and meets stringent Halal standards*
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Here's six of our U.S. port cities as represented by hot dogs. Who knew that New Jersey could look so plump, juicy, and delicious?
Surely, the United Arab Emirates and President Bush wouldn't concoct secret agreements underneath our noses, and then use his spokesperson to lie to the American public about his involvement. That's just crazy conspiracy theory stuff to think that there's more to this than what's on the surface. I mean, the government is here to protect us, right? Why would we negotiate our safety with a country that housed and financially supported 7 of the 9/11 terrorists? Why are they so interested in acquiring the Beaumont and Corpus Christi locations? Why would we potentially jeopardize our sea ports by having a country owned company patrol our National seaports? Dubai is a country that doesn't even recognize our ally, Israel, as a sovereign state. This is also a nation who has only been our friend and has maintained a clean track record for THREE out of THIRTY YEARS of existence. Hmmm, this clandestine contract likely won't have a good outcome.
Yep, my tingly Spider senses were correct! As soon as the U.A.E was turned loose to protect and monitor our hot dog cities, they were gobbled up, reportedly with a side of ketchup, and is currently being turned into crap. Who could have foreseen such a catastrophic event? Who knew this would happen when we turned our Port Security over to a country that sympathizes with terrorists?
We the people knew, and rose up to stop it, but ultimately found a government that turns a deaf ear to the concerns of its citizens.
Monday, February 20, 2006
This is an inspiring tale of the plight of crackers to forge a cohesive, effective unit against a common enemy... a large woman looming closer and closer, with a nefarious can of Cheez Whiz in hand looking to terrorize the peaceful community of Crackertopia.
Crackertopia is a wondrous place located in the state of Serving Platter. They have a long sordid history that goes back many hundreds of years. As time passed, crackers from other places, countries and cultures came to live in Crackertopia. Sensing the difference between them, all the crackers divided themselves into their own little groups and refused to mingle with crackers not of their kind. They even taught their children history in accordance to their COLOR. What? That's crazy, you may be saying to yourself, but it's true. Much strife ensued as there was mutual distrust among the many cracker varieties of Crackertopia.
Having never been truly threatened with imminent death, the crackers became complacent. That is until one day when terrorism came to strike at the heart of their beloved community.
The strange creature in the shape of a Bromdinagian woman was relentless in her attacks against them. Her hunger insatiable. They knew that in this time of great emergency, that they must forget from whence they came and think of themselves as simply the brotherhood of crackers. The residents of Crackertopia formed a great alliance that swiftly defeated their foe.
It was then that they realized that they shared a commonality that transcends variety, shape, color, and culture. They vowed to never again be divisive in their ideology and teaching of their young.
Look at this picture of them in happier times. A Jewish matzo next to a Christian fish next to an African wafer. Wealthy 'ritzy' crackers next to generic brand. Round crackers next to ovals and triangles.Brown crackers peacefully coinciding with white and orange crackers. They truly learned to love one another and look out for their neighbors. Too bad we can't all live in the state of Serving Platter. Beautiful story, right? You may be wondering why Crackertopia has an invader located right in the middle of their town square. That would be me, the narrator, a giant slice of WHITE CHEESE!
P.S Before you feel all happy and warm inside, time passed and they forgot their camaraderie just as another enemy was revealed to be bent on their total annihilation. Can they band together once more or will they perish at the hands of wicked radicals?
Sunday, February 19, 2006
My Mother complained to me that my 23 year old brother had no idea who Condoleeza Rice is when it came up in conversation. I find that unfathomable myself but I decided to test the knowledge of my own kids.
So, at my Mom's Valentine's soiree last week I asked my 10 year old daughter Sunbum if she knew who Condoleeza Rice is. I expected an answer like, oh, she works with George Bush or something similar but not title specific. Imagine my delight when she rolled her eyes and said, "Dur, Condoleeza Rice is only our Nation's Secretary of State". My family who thinks our decision to homeschool is a grievous error were amazed as well. I asked her how she knew the answer without any hesitation and she cited all the hours we spend together listening to talk radio and studying politics and world events. This may be slightly immature but, HA! In your face naysayers. My kids do have the ability to learn without a full time teacher.
YES, SCORE ONE FOR THE MIGHTY PARENTING SKILLS OF THE SMILING INFIDEL!!!!
On a side note, my 9 year old daughter, Monkey commented when she saw the anti-war activists in the paper that she didn't understand why some people don't realize that in order to keep our freedoms and peace sometimes war is necessary, and that in time of war we need to support our leadership. Then she connected her statement back to a quote by George Washington about the need to fight during the American Revolution. Don't ever tell my kids the tired cliche, 'fighting never solved anything', because they will burn you with the fact that without fighting we would have never gained our sovereignty from England and would most likely be speaking German because we would have lost WWII.
I'm a fairly butch woman, but sentiments like this make me want to sob with pride. I didn't have to indoctrinate, lecture or preach to my kids. Their own beautiful little minds and prevailing common sense in their thought process and decision making is astounding.
Friday, February 17, 2006
When I was 13, my Mom left me home alone while she went to the grocery store. It was the middle of the afternoon when the phone rang. We didn't have all the new fangled technology like Caller I.D. back then, so I picked up the phone and heard a very low and deep voice on the other end. I thought he was asking me, "Where is your Mom?", so I responded, "Oh, my Mom went to the grocery store. May I take a message?" Again, he repeated the initial query and again I responded the same. This went on for at least three more rounds, each time the man sounding more and more agitated. Finally, I lost my patience too and said, "Are you deaf? I told you my Mom's at the store"! Then I heard a click and realized he hung up on me at the same moment I deciphered what he was actually saying. The pervert was asking me, "What turns you on"? I had inadvertently frustrated a grown man over the phone, and it felt satisfying.
My Mom and I had a big laugh over this when she got home and then being the bearer of great wisdom she proceeded to instruct me on how to handle obscene phone callers. Armed with my new knowledge I waited anxiously for some hapless sucker to call. Unfortunately, this took a few years. Where are all the good chauvinist swine when you really need them? My patience paid off, it finally happened when I turned 19. The phone rang and the voice on the other end was demanding the most unspeakably graphic sexual favors. I remained composed and just kept saying in my breathy voice, "MMM, Wow! That sounds fantastic!" Clearly the guy was befuddled by this approach but he continued on, as did I. Then I told him, "I can't wait for you to come over! Do you have my address"? To which he called me a sick, messed up ****, and hung up on me.
When you take away the power of someone to exert control and fear over you, it really ruins their day. I pity that poor guy having to dial more random numbers, one handedly, the rest of the afternoon just to find some other chick to terrorize. Maybe I'm not much of a 'team player', after all.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
When you give somebody a gift, you want to ensure that it's something special and meaningful. Something original that they'll undoubtedly think of you every time they see it. After much searching, I found that unique gift for my favorite warehouse guy in the whole wide World, Major.
Since we are paper carriers by trade and that entails long, lonely stretches in the middle of the night with nary a toilet in sight, I naturally thought that a portable urinal would be a superb item to have. Yes, it is a female urinal, and the rounded shape is perfectly contoured to a woman's anatomy. However, that's the beauty of it, the urinal conforms to a man's needs as well, making it suitable for both genders in the VERY RARE event that Major has a female passenger in his vehicle.
Because, Major enjoys things of beauty as much as the next macho guy, I painted bold, colorful ditzy flowers all over it. Now, it's perfectly camouflaged as a vase. Not just any vase but a dual purpose masterpiece. As you can see, it's ergonomic in design, breathtakingly beautiful, and above all else functional.
Truly, I have outdone myself. It feels good to be such a wonderful human being.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
I didn't want anyone to think that The House of The Smiling Infidel had joined some weird cult that worships sauerkraut. The picture at the left is evidence that we are a truly diverse family when it comes to Valentine's treats.
I don't like to boast but I'm also the inspiration behind the fabulous NERD cookie. If you notice, it was strategically placed next to the SUPER cookie, thus making me a SUPER NERD. It was also discovered that SHIZNIT contained too many letters to fit. We dedicate these treats to you blog readers and we'll think of you while scarfing them down!
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Flowers and candy are the Valentine’s presents of an uncreative mind. What better way to show love than providing the touted prevention and cure for the dastardly avian flu? We are bestowing upon you the timeless gift of sauerkraut because we really care about YOU.
Just last month our household thwarted the flu. I started hearing an intense ringing in my ears that sounded like irritating polka music and had to fight the uncontrollable urge to flap my arms and clap my hands. Turns out it was the nefarious CHICKEN DANCE FLU. A jar of sauerkraut cleared it right up though. So, we are the living embodiment that sauerkraut will ward off ALL the various types of bird flu. What a close call that was! For more scientific proof of the virtues of sauerkraut go to http://www.biopeer.com/biopeer/2005/11/sauerkrautpossi.html
I'm not only The Smiling Infidel but I also double as the Valentine's Fairy delivering acidic cabbage to all the good little boys and girls throughout the land. Please note that we only use 'Bush's Best' Sauerkraut as opposed to 'Bush's Worst'.
For those of you that I missed, you either:
a)Live too far away to drop off a gift
b) Wouldn't give me your address for security reasons
c) Last on my list and I already ran out of sauerkraut budget money
d) Not worthy of such a spectacular gift
HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY ANYWAY!
Consider this a lovely virtual version and know that The Smiling Infidel is sending you a shout out with much love!
Sunday, February 12, 2006
A couple years ago my husband, Papi and I were faced with the dreaded task of purchasing a new vehicle to accommodate our ever increasing brood. While at the dealership and waiting for the unscrupulous salespeople and managers to stop haggling and slipping us pieces of papers with random numbers that they called their "best offer", Papi needed to use the restroom facilities.
Papi was in there quite awhile. When he returned to the office, he didn't say much. However, while walking out the door he told me an amusing but at the same time wretched tale of what transpired in the bathroom.
Papi said that when he opened the door, the putrid smell was so overpowering it almost knocked him backwards, but he had to urinate, so he bravely soldiered on. Whilst standing there, he noticed noises emanating from the handicapped stall and incessant flushing. Papi looked closer and saw articles of clothing strewn all over the floor, sopping wet. Even the man's socks were laying in little puddles. Then Papi realized the awful truth when he spied something unmentionable on the floor. The man had suffered a debilitating bout of explosive diarrhea and now was hand washing his clothes in the toilet by flushing it over and over. This included a tie and dress pants, so it's obvious this was likely a dealership employee. Papi stood there a minute not knowing what to do or if he should do anything so he turned and walked out.
After I got done laughing, I felt immediate sympathy for this poor man. I almost ordered Papi to go back and help him, but Papi mentioned that might make for an awkward introduction to a stranger. "Uh, pardon me, you don't know me, but I noticed you crapped yourself, can I be of some assistance?" I guess he had a point. Even after a few years, I still think of that guy and what an awful day that was for him. I wonder how he got out of the bathroom with his dripping wet clothes and I'm sure that he probably had to field a million embarrassing questions from his co-workers.
So, what would YOU have done, and what if YOU were the one in the same situation as this man? Here's a few things I suggested to Papi in case this ever happens again in the future.
a) You knock gently on the door and offer to call someone that could come and help with a fresh change of clothes.
b) You offer some of the spare clothes you tote around in your car, provided they fit. (yes, we do have extras in our car).
c) You ask if there's anything that you can do to help, like drying the clothes under the hand dryer.
d) You feel pity, but escape as fast as possible, and remembering Lot's wife and her mistake, you NEVER look back.
Papi is naughty. Sometimes when we pass by the dealership, he says, "I wonder if that guy is still in there". As though diarrhea is so shameful, the man just decided it would be easier to live out the rest of his days in the bathroom of Lone Star Ford.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
This is our Ambassador/Spokesperson for National Poop Week. Monkey won because of her timeless quote: "Poop is good, I do it every day". That, and the sash also fit her just right.
People have mentioned that perhaps we could be better stewards with our time than celebrating little known holidays. To them I say, PSHAW! This, my friend, is creative expression at it's finest. I'm sure I can make it work out as an art credit for her homeschooling curriculum.
We have featured some stories borrowed and new, but none old and blue. Today, that will be rectified.
My Science teacher in 8th grade Middle School was a little odd. The lady resembled Big Bird due in part to her large beaky nose, long neck, multiple chins, and a rotund body shape. She lived alone with her copious amounts of cats. That tells you all you need to know right there about strangeness. So, she wore some very offbeat, funky outfits and her accessories were always garish and tacky. Her favorite necklace/bracelet set that she wore frequently looked like brown stone chunks under a glossy veneer that was then linked together to make jewelry. We covered the different eras of the Earth and fossils when during the lesson she suddenly said, "Oh, did you know that THIS(holding up her bracelet) is real fossilized dinosaur poop?". GAW, what can be said about a woman who wears dinosaur poop as a fashion statement? I'm willing to guess that she will never make any best dressed lists, and would probably get a wincing smack from Mr.Blackwell's cane if ever they encounter one another.
Wednesday, February 08, 2006
It appears that Madonna has forsaken her newfound religiosity in the Kabbalah, and the name Esther. She has indeed sold her soul to the Devil. How else can a woman look as good as she does at 47 and spout evil, anti-American platitudes at every turn? I wonder what her new Satanic name is?
Gwen Stefani is nominated for Grammy prizes based on the strength of the most craptastic song of the year, Hollaback Girl? Now, that really is B-A-N-A-N-A-S!
'My Humps' could easily be the second worst song of the year. Thank goodness for XM Radio and my husband who gave it to me for Christmas.
I see my musical tastes and favorites grossly under-represented and this begs me to ask the question, does anybody plan on watching the antiquated, hopelessly out of touch Grammy ceremony?
In a shameless attempt to boost ratings I'm going to steal a page from the promotional acumen of television networks. Whenever the Discovery Channel hosts 'Shark Week', it really brings viewers in. Poop is also a natural wonder, is it not? With the rise of the Farrelly Brothers and the rousing success of their revolting sense of humor, I naturally thought I could capitalize on a tie-in to my many stories involving excrement. Oh, what a fun week this is going to be! Today I would like to share two tales of intrigue, surprise endings, and poop.
My husband, Papi, served as a missionary in the state of Veracruz in Mexico. Most of the time though he was assigned to small villages skirting the jungles and the Gulf of Mexico. Many of these places lacked indoor plumbing and that is the perfect setup for all kinds of classic, comedy gold, poop stories. So, him and his companion were visiting with a family in the Church when the call of nature struck. Papi asked to use the facilities and the lady told him it was out in the back of the house. Papi looked all around and couldn't find it so he came back and asked again. The woman gave him a guided tour to a place located right on the side of the main road that ran through the village. Yes, it was their privy but it was nothing more than a hole in the ground surrounded by a structure holding a shower curtain for the maximum "privy privacy". Well, Papi completed his mission and went to reach for the toilet paper. After finding none he took out his missionary schedule book and then proceeded to memorize an entire weeks worth of appointments so that the pages within could go on and serve a higher purpose. Talk about recycling paper!
The other one involves my brother. For a couple of years he went door to door with a team of guys selling home security systems. A member of the crew got the irrepressible poop urge at a most inconvenient time. Since nobody was at the house that he had just tried to sell to, he decided to just squat down in the yard by the bushes and poop there. It was only about 6:30 P.M., dusk, so he couldn't even hide under the cover of darkness. Can you imagine, a grown man crouching and crapping like a dog in the front yard of a suburban home? The van with the rest of the guys pulled up just in time to see him scooting across the grass with his pants around his ankles in a futile attempt to clean his rear. Every since that day, a day that will live in infamy, they have nicknamed him, "Scooter", and "Grassy Ass", (Gracias), because of his ethnicity. I wonder if that's how Scooter Libby got his nickname also?
Monday, February 06, 2006
Here's a message for all you would be thieves and criminal types. There's a new security force at the House Of The Smiling Infidel, and you don't want NONE of this, homie. As you can see by their impeccable squatting skills and facial grimaces,they are trained in the ancient moves and stylings of Kung-Poo.
They are also incredibly dangerous foes, utilizing the elusive giant spork as lethal Ninja weaponry. Forget nun-chucks, and samurai swords, gigantic plastic sporks are much more fearsome tools. My team has dubbed them ,'Three-Pronged Death', and 'Potato Salad Servers'. Yes, I'm proud of my latest recruits hired to thwart danger at every turn. They replace my last CRACK security team, because the neighbors kept complaining about indecent exposure.
As an added bonus, the instruments of death known as sporks also make dang good backscratchers.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
My 10 year old daughter, Sunbum was miserable in public schools. The oldest child tends to take on a 'people pleasing' characteristic, and that perfectly describes her. Sunbum was a teacher's pet but often tormented by her peers. She only had 3 or 4 really close friends, and she was introverted, shy and easily overwhelmed. WOW, what a difference 1 year of homeschooling has made. Now, she has really cultivated a wicked sense of humor. Whereas teasing would have reduced her to tears just a year earlier, she now has a snappy, caustic remark for anyone who dares try to mess with her. I don't have favorites among my kids, but sometimes I love her the most. Especially, when she burns someone who really deserves it. Not a Christ-like attribute I know, but neither is being stomped on and abused.
Here is her current favorite joke, and she tells it flawlessly, but not to the Catholic side of our family.
A drunk staggers into a Catholic Church, enters a confessional booth, sits down but says nothing. The Priest coughs a few times to get his attention but the drunk just sits there. Finally, the Priest pounds three times on the wall. The drunk mumbles, "ain't no use knockin mate, there's no toilet paper over here either."
Mothering involves teaching your children everything that you know. I couldn't be more proud!
Thursday, February 02, 2006
There's a new eating establishment in town and Chewy Balls be thy name. As you can see, it also has a somewhat unusual moniker. Okay, forget unusual, it has a , 'WTH were they smoking when they named this place'?, kind of name. I snapped the photo as evidence under the cover of darkness because how awkward would that be to have to tell someone that you're taking pictures of Chewy Balls? Nice girls just don't do that.
*I just noticed that the picture actually has the words, 'GRILL CHEWY BALLS', so amusing for the immature among us, like me*
Admittedly, I didn't earn a degree in marketing but I've always assumed that businesses use focus groups to come up with names and product ideas and reactions from the public before investing in their venture? Chewy Balls is in reference to Asian smoothies, teas, and other drinks that are served with tapioca spheres in the bottom of the cup. Yes, they are delightfully refreshing drinks that soothe the palate, but couldn't they have given their store a better name? What, was Love Juice already taken? Then at least it would give people a connection between the name of the place and what they sell, like an offshoot of Jamba Juice.
My kids are all under the age of 10. They homeschool and I know that they haven't been tainted in the wicked ways of the World (like I have, hee-hee). In other words they don't know about body part euphemisms, and dirty connotations. Even so, upon passing this place, they say, "Chewy Balls? EEEWWWWW, that sounds nasty", every single time.
In this household 8 out of 8 Smiling Infidels agree....... the name is horrid.
Those are some big statistics considering only 6 out of 8 Smiling Infidels agree that Trident gives you clean breath and shiny teeth.
I don't watch T.V. but I know the basics about Dr.Phil and his teachings since he's practically become a pop culture icon. He seems to pride himself on his Christian perspective and moralistic advice so that's why I found the article about his upcoming movie appearance surprising. Dr.Phil has a significant role in the upcoming R rated horror spoof, Scary Movie 4.
What??!!?? I know that he's trying to show himself as a fun loving guy who doesn't take himself too seriously but, crap does he have to do it in a sex drenched, raunchy movie? Am I the only one that thinks this is poor judgment and out of line?
In other news, his son Jay is set to marry a Playboy Playmate. I wonder what kind of marital advice Daddy will set forth knowing that countless men have seen his skeezy daughter-in-law cavorting butt naked with her other two triplet sisters? Who wants to bet pervy Dr.Phil has sneeked a peek at her himself? Regardless of how much women say stripping for money is "liberating", I still think its demeaning and signifies some major psychological issues. I surmise that this would make for an awkward family relationship, but I can't say for sure since nobody has ever offered to pay ME to strip down. Although I did play strip checkers once, because after all I DO live AND die by the GEEK code of conduct.
I have more sins than you can shake a stick at but America revering and seeking out the opinion and counsel of this man and his son just seems wrong when they are making flagrantly poor decisions in their personal lives.
Oh yeah, and where is the outrage over Kanye West's revolting imitation of Jesus Christ on the cover of Rolling Stone? I can't wait for his 15 minutes of fame to be up so he can retire with his bevy of hoochy gold-diggers, and stop plaguing us with his idiotic opinions. Kanye also admitted a severe pornography addiction. Mr. West embodies more living proof that porn literally rots your brain and alters your perception and thinking ability.