Is It Possible To Be An Anti-Woman Woman?

I used to thoroughly enjoy listening to Dr. Laura's call-in radio show but now I've opted to sever all ties to her and her increasingly unhelpful advice.

See, I'm an unabashedly conservative chick who believes in small government, a flat tax, and personal responsibility. As such, Dr. Laura and her espousal of traditional values initially appealed to me.

However, Ive grown weary of women automatically being the culprit for their man going astray. She's adamant that all wives must somehow be abdicating their spousal duties by not putting out enough which in turn leads a husband to go looking for outside action. Or maybe the wife is too fat which is also, in her not-so-humble opinion, an egregious violation of the marital contract.

That's always been her mantra so I just tune out her woman-bashing diatribe when she's on an especially shrill holier-than-thou streak.

Lately though, Dr. Laura is on a roll consistently dispensing eyebrow-furrowing, nose-wrinkling, Whatchoo Talkin' Bout' Willis? counsel to some of her callers.

Case in point was the lady who's been a stay-at-home mom of four kids for the past 20 years. Her oldest is a college student who lives at home while the youngest is 8. Like a lot of familes across the nation, her husband doesn't earn the kind of money he used to and they find themselves struggling even after making big lifestyle cutbacks. She has the opportunity to work part-time while her kids are in school. This seems like a win-win solution to me.

Dr. Laura practically shrieked at this woman telling her "You're going to divert time and energy away from a family that needs you" and "You're undermining your husband. Working will make him feel like less of a man, like he can't provide for his family." She wasn't finished as she concluded her advice with a "You'll come home bitchy and stressed from work and take it out on your family."

Wow. Dr. Laura worked establishing her career the entire time her kid was in school. Hypocrite much? This lady wants to alleviate some of the burden on her husband's shoulders in a way that still allows her to care for her kids. Furthermore, she doesn't have babies or toddlers. I speak from personal experience that this recession is a good time to rally the family and let them know that cooperation is vital and everyone needs to help one another.

I work a couple days a week. Unlike a lot of their peers, my kids know how to do laundry, help their siblings with schoolwork, and get dinner ready. It's not a tragedy that somehow diminishes the quality of their childhood. It's working as a cohesive unit to preserve the family. Duh, Dr. Laura.

Another caller really resonated with me. She's a 30-something mom of 6 kids. I know, right, who's flippin' crazy enough to crank out 6 kids?!!? Anyway, her baby is starting Kindergarten and she wants to go back to school to finish her degree but she stipulated that it would only be during the hours her kids are at school. The lady tearfully said that everyone in her family has advanced degrees and the pursuit of education is important to her. She blurted out that she felt as though something was missing in her life.

Dr. Laura went into hysterical mode as though this woman said she wanted to trade in all her mom jeans for an Abercrombie & Fitch wardrobe and a wild campus co-ed lifestyle.

Dr. Laura's argument was the same as the previous caller I mentioned. She vociferously browbeat this poor lady telling her that her family would fall apart if she took a couple college courses because it would require way too much time and effort. Dr. Laura also said that she should take comfort in her kids and not go looking for outside accomplishments and validation. She then recommended that the caller "get some hobbies" and "read books" to occupy her time while her kids are at school.

Discouraging knowledge? Seriously? This is a major WTF? moment. This lady may need a degree in the future should the unthinkable happen. Aside from that, she wants something edifying outside of being a mommy and wife. As a career woman you'd think that Dr. Laura would understand.

Irritated and murmuring out loud, I hoped that these ladies would stand up and champion themselves against this counterproductive advice. But they didn't. Both women just meekly agreed with every word Dr. Laura bestowed upon them as though it was their personal gospel.

Why would a successful female like Dr. Laura openly discourage fellow females from achieving their own personal successes?

Naturally, she cites "Family First" at every opportunity but the slogan is as hollow as a waxy chocolate bunny from the dollar store when applied to the aforementioned situations where the family would surely benefit from the matriarch enriching her own life and in turn the lives of her family.

It's an easy formula. Trickle Down Mothering, dammit!

Trickle Down Mothering. I'm a genius. Just give me the talk radio contract to sign already.

Houston Ninja Deodorant: Strong Enough For Chuck Norris But Made For A Ninja!

I walked into the kitchen yesterday to see the eldest of my mini-Infidels, Sunbum, standing there draped over the counter clad totally in black from head to toe.

She wore her favorite black basketball shorts coupled with a solid black T-shirt. Black anklet socks adorned her feet while her nails gleamed bright with glossy black fingernail polish. And to finish off the look, she perched a black knit cap atop her pony-tailed head.

I remarked that she must have joined the Houston Ninja Squad because only a Houston Ninja struggling with our extreme temperatures and high humidity would think to eschew the stuffy traditional ninja gear to adopt black shorts and T-shirts as an official uniform.

Sunbum just laughed.

It's no good to camouflage yourself to become one with the shadows during the black of night if your prey can SMELL your stanky self coming at them from a mile away. I think that's something like Lesson #420 in the Ninja Handbook.

You Decide: Extreme Cheapness Or Extreme Eco-Conservationism?

I bought these rolls for the paltry price of $1.00/dozen on the clearance bakery racks at the grocery store.

Yeah, they may be just one step away from entering a crusty state of Crouton-dom, but you can't beat the price tag.

That's one small step for stale bread items......one giant step for the Infidel Family budget.

Nothing is too good for my family.

Except paying retail price for bread products, apparently.

After polishing off the rolls, I couldn't bear to throw away the sturdy aluminum baking pans they came in.

I could have a little Greenpeace member living inside me, fighting to get out. Or maybe I was blindingly hypnotized by the shiny, shiny reflection beaming off the silvery surface........or it could be the temporary loss of oxygen flow to the brain when I about choked to death on a crumbly piece of dried-out roll...........but whatever the reason I promptly cleaned out the baking pans and stored them for future use.

These little beauties have served me well through a Donut Muffin baking frenzy. They also lovingly housed my traditional Thanksgiving rolls this year.

I almost feel like I can never throw them away now we've become so attached.

My mom got a cast iron skillet set and some antiques as her family inheritance.

My kids will likely receive some well-loved and well-worn aluminum muffin pans when I die.

They'll undoubtedly reminisce fondly about their wonderful mother and how she combined a legacy of cheapness, recycling, and family heirlooms all into one cherished gift.

It's a good thing I have 6 aluminum pans to share equally so that none of my six mini-Infidels will have to launch a court fight against each other.

More From The Handbook: "How To Embarrass Your Children By Using The Economic Downturn Plan."

Twice last week, I made my crew of mini-Infidels feel like they wanted to put themselves up for adoption. I think they actually entertained a few fleeting thoughts of hitching a ride to the Safe Haven state of Nebraska.
Yeah, I pulled off these stupefying feats of embarrassment not once but TWICE!
Okay, so I received a coupon by e-mail for a free Blockbuster movie. After agonizing over selecting a couple movies we could all agree on while trying to shield my impressionable children from the outrageously graphic DVD covers they place right at a child's eye level, we marched up to the counter to pay, coupon in hand.
They refused to take my coupon because we were still a whopping 4 hours away from the clock striking November 1. The register totaled up 16 dollars and something cents.
I balked at the price, positive there was a calculation error.
Then I realized that Blockbuster had raised their pricing to a grandiose $4.99 a movie.
I told the guy that I was sorry to trouble him but I just wasn't going to part ways with 16 dollars of my hard earned money for some low-rent movies.
When his mouth dropped open in surprise, I considerately offered to re-shelve the movies for him. He declined.
The older kids flushed red and tried to hide themselves from the world in the darkened safety of their hoodies.
And then we walked out and went next door to the Kroger's video rental kiosk where we rented 3 movies for ONE DOLLAR a piece.
My kids got over the humiliation when they realized the tremendous savings aspect.
See, we're usually so cheap that we only check out movies for free from the Library.
I guess I've gotten spoiled and now by virtue of comparative pricing, everything hits me like heart-palpitating sticker shock.
The oldest Infidel daughter has waged a valiant battle against her acne for awhile, trying every remedy out there short of a clear skin voodoo ritual.
Finally, the Doctor took pity on her and wrote out a prescription for some medicated pimple cream.
We have insurance now so I didn't think anything about it when I left the prescription at the Pharmacy to be filled.
Twenty minutes later when I went to go pick it up and the very cute and very nice Pharmacist smilingly told me, "That'll be 60 dollars, please," I about stroked out.
Seriously? SIXTY BUCKS for a tube of Zit-B-Gone? Whoa.
Again, I sent my kids into Mortification Mode when I calmly informed the Pharmacist that I'd have to come back for it another day and left the prescription with him.
It looks as though bad times are here and are only going to worsen.
I'm so grateful for the opportunities I've had to hone my once amateurish cheapskating skills into a haggle-at-the-dollar-store Grand Champion. I'm the new Scratch&Dent Queen. :)
My kids may hate my occasional Super Scrooge outbursts, but I think they're finally understanding the realization that our days of frivolously spending money without a plan or a budget is a thing of the past.

Provocative Thoughts From My Special "Politico Nonsensico" Files

You can put lipstick on a Smiling Infidel............but it's still a Smiling Infidel!
You can also wrap an old Smiling Infidel up in newspaper and call it "Change".......... but it's still going to stink.......and not even in 8 years either. No, it'll only take about 8 minutes.
As a matter of fact, I just emerged from my weekly newspaper cocoon and I can absolutely verify that yes, indeed, I DO stink.
You can't truthfully call it "change" though, because as a dutiful paper carrier, I'm wrapped up with newspapers practically every single day of the week.

Well good. I've finally purged these ridiculous remarks from my cranial sanctum. I've also wrapped up my episode of feigned outrage aimed at the perceived slight against any and all Smiling Infidels. Now that I'm done with all that irrelevant/inconsequential/unimportant rhetoric, I'm ready to get back to the serious issues that face me as the leader of this great blog.

At ease. As you were readers. As you were.

UPDATE:
Confused? Don't be. American Politics At Its Most Asinine Here:
Presidential Hopeful Barack Obama Talks Pigs And Fish In A Campaign Speech. Maybe He Was Hungry?
In response, the Republicans have felt the need to get their wrinkly elephant panties all in a bunch and demand an apology for the "insult" they deemed as a direct jab at McCain(old fish)/Palin(lip-sticked pig).
Puh-Leeze, people. Grow the Hell up already. Unless Miss Piggy is going to gather up a Pork Ninja Squad to storm Mary Kay Cosmetics in a hostile lipstick takeover and then decides to focus the next porcine reign of terror on Long John Silver's, we do NOT need this fish/pig distractionary crap.
And in a super amusing sidenote, the entire Obama speech captured on that clip was plagiarized from a political cartoon dated 9/5/08.

The Science Of Isolating And Deleting The Hoochie Gene

Nature vs. Nurture: Do you believe in it?
Is it possible to overcome some of our more negative genetic traits and predispositions simply through discipline and corrective behavior?
My answer formerly would have been a resounding YES!!! but now I think it's just much more complicated than that.
We've known a family in our neighborhood for a long time. Their oldest daughter is the exact same age as our second oldest daughter. They used to be good friends as they both shared many of the same classes prior to our decision to withdraw our kids from public school in order to homeschool.
The girl is 12. Her parents chose to let her know from an early age that she was adopted and she's even had limited contact with her birth mother over the years.
Here's the thing.....the mom told me awhile back that the birth mother is the embodiment of all things hoochie including her manner and style of dress. The mom further confided that despite a Christian upbringing in the church and strict parenting their daughter shows a natural inclination towards picking out trashy clothes and acting inappropriately.
Fine, flash forward 3 years and its like the parents have given up all hope. The girl is snotty and shockingly rude as she backtalks her parents and prances around in a barely-there bikini at the neighborhood pool.
The girl has decided that my daughters aren't cool enough to hang out with (YAY!) and snubs them.
Yesterday took the proverbial cake, though.
This girl spent the entire time at the pool hanging out with an obese teenager who also insists on cramming herself into a bikini.
What were they doing together? Why, the jail bait duo were extremely busy FLIRTING outrageously with the lifeguards complete with hair flip sass, sideway hip thrusts, and running their hands over the much older lifeguards . :0
It gets even more appalling. Someone had drawn tattoo-looking pictures all over this girl's body with a Sharpie marker. (Think Goldie Hawn on Laugh In)
I kept waiting for the girl's mom to tell her kid to get her skinny azz back in the pool or they were going home but she did nothing but continue flipping the pages of the book she was reading. Un-Freakin-Believable.
Both of the parents were older and struggling with fertility issues when they adopted the girl as a newborn.
So I wonder if being at a more advanced parental age means they're just too tired to care anymore or if maybe they made peace with the way their daughter is because they want some semblance of serenity at home.
Who's to blame? The sex-drenched media encouraging promiscuity? The public school influence? The parent's seeming surrender? Or do you think there's certain attributes so ingrained in us that we're doomed to be the sum of our genetic quality?

An Infidel Newspaper Carrier's Guide To Training Your Most Beastly Customers

As a newspaper carrier of many years I've learned to endure a lot......harsh weather, crappy pay, getting followed/stalked on my route, extra work for zero compensation, higher gas prices, having to pee in the middle of the night without a toilet in sight, irascible customers. I liken it to hard-core training. See, I'm stoically building up my strength both physically and mentally. It all grows thicker each and every day too because steely carriers like me don't get days off. One day I'll just naturally evolve and my chest will become bullet-proof and I'll sprout a titty arsenal like Austin Power's Fembot mercenaries.

Anyway, there's this one customer in particular on my route who suffers from an extreme bout of A-Hole Entitlement Syndrome. Poor thing. He's quite fond of standing outside in the pre-dawn hours with the express purpose of bellowing at me while waving his arms around wildly. You'd think that balding, middle-aged men residing in half a million dollar homes would have better things to do than harass their paper carriers, but no.

He demands his paper at 5:30 A.M. on the dot. That's not a problem for me because contractually that's the delivery deadline anyway. However, he's such a freakin Hershey Squirt, I purposely re-routed my entire delivery area to ensure that his paper will not arrive even one minute before 5:30. Mr. Hershey Squirts favorite trick is to wait outside on his sidewalk, cell phone in hand, to call the Chronicle the second his clock displays the magic numbers of 5-3-0 to report a 'NO PAPER' complaint. He does this incessantly even though at that same exact moment he can plainly see me making the curve to deliver his house. For those lucky individuals ignorant of the customer complaint system, the carriers get charged for complaints and it affects our overall service performance ratio. Yeah, as though this job isn't sucktastic enough. The least Mr. Hershey Squirt could do is call in a 'LATE PAPER' even though that's as dishonest as his 'NO PAPER' complaints and he knows it.

Our passive-aggressive tete-a-tete has gone on for the past year. Unbeknownst to Mr. Hershey Squirt though, my boss hates his pissy whining and always convinces the Chronicle to erase the fraudulent complaints off my record. So, basically the war between us had reached an impasse as both sides stalled in our obnoxious tacticas de guerra......until a few weeks ago.

The fluorescent green numbering on my truck clock read 5:31 A.M. I had already thrown the paper on the other side of the massive yard to escape the wrath of Mr. Hershey Squirt. He was waiting for me. He stepped out of the shadows and commenced to screaming hysterically while flailing his arms around.

Mr Hershey Squirt: YOU'RE LATE!!!! YOU'RE LATE!!!""
(He was so Mad Hatter-ish in his indignation I almost started singing, "FOR A VERY IMPORTANT DATE!" as a retort.)

After I made sure I had distanced myself enough from him that he could hear me but not box me about the ears with his fists of fury furry, I stopped my truck and frosted him:

ME: "According to my clock I am NOT late. And you know what else? (I began crazily pointing my thumbs to my chest) I'M THE COMPLAINT PERSON! That's right. Every.single.time. you call in a complaint it goes directly to ME, sucka!"

And then I sped away with my heart thudding and my newly woken up 12 year-old daughter, Stef Knee, sleepily rubbing her eyes while saying "Wow, I had this weird dream that you were calling some guy a sucka."

Yesssss, I have reigned victorious. Mr. Hershey Squirt has not called in a single complaint in three weeks. I emasculated him. I owned. I broke his spirit. I said I was going to bring it and I done brought it. I made him worship at the altar of Elastic. You see, Mr. Hershey Squirt is a wild and woolly rodeo beast in dire need of taming. If he was featured on Animal Planet he'd be classified as: a hideous hybrid creature consisting of mostly horse's patoot. I've been training for the big showdown with Mr. Hershey Squirt for nearly a year now. Who knew that the grand finale would boil down to an intense 8 seconds just like something out of a cowboy movie? 8 seconds was all it took to bring Mr. Hershey Squirt to his pudgy little knees. 8 seconds to reclaim my dignity and honor as Houston's number one newspaper carrier. 8 seconds to GLORY!

*As though you needed any further evidence of my awesomeness, here's my ranking as of May 12th. That's right, numero uno, baby! It's now May 27th and I've only received one complaint for the entire month. I told my boss that he should just address me as 'My Number One Carrier Of All Time And Eternity' from now on because it's the truth and the truth shall be proclaimed!


*I actually prefer working at night under the cloak of darkness. It's like a secret club and I can allow the naughty side of me to shine through more than I ever dare during the daylight hours. This------------> is how I "wave" to the select few customers that seem hell-bent on making my already difficult life even more difficult.

Super Stupid Tuesday!

Texans will finally be able to voice their political opinion today when the polls open up at 7:00 A.M. Sadly, not one of my preferred Presidential candidates mustered up enough support to make it to this stage of the game. The only silver lining for staunch conservatives like me is that we'll finally escape the political ad crapfest that's been polluting local talk radio airwaves for months, now.
(Thanks to Lakeland Local for the photo. It's under a Creative Commons License. Do not copy.)
The very worst thing about Texas in a political year is the way the candidates adopt the most corn-pone accent this side of Dueling Banjos. They put on a big production prancing and swaggering around while throwing out abundant 'Hey Y'all's' and 'Howdy's' everytime they speak. Gather them up and as a collective they'd all qualify as final round contestants of every Southerner's favorite reality show, 'Who Wants To Be The Biggest Hick?'

The lady running for the County District Attorney position wins the worst offender prize. Implausibly, her ad campaign people came up with this tag line for her to draawwwllll out at the end of her radio ad spots: "Vote for me because you can't play politics with justice." Sounds like a decent slogan, right? Well, not really when paired up with the ad disclaimer that immediately follows it which states: "Paid for by the Republican Party of Crackertopia County." Right. You can't play politics with justice but you can allow political parties to pay for your candidacy. Contradictory contradiction, much?

Her ads have also included the endorsements from crime victims whose cases she helped prosecute. One dramatic lady declares, "She's a tough little gal like a Bulldog in a Chihuahua's body." Wait, what? Are you saying that the District Attorney hopeful is really a yappy and annoying dog who craves Taco Bell? What if she had curly hair and jumped through flaming hula hoops as a hobby, would she then be a Bulldog in a Poodle's body? What if she had a fugly flat nose and lazy eye, would they revise the ad to announce that she's like a Bulldog in a Pug's body? I mean breaking it down doggy style only tells me that she might have a place alongside Snoop Dogg and Tha Dogg Pound instead of the County Courthouse.

A message to the rest of you political incumbent hopefuls........ just because you run an ad where your pocket lobbyist declares you to be "The Greatest Person In The History Of Ever" doesn't mean I'm going to vote for you. I actually read and I know what your voting track record is and how you betrayed Crackertopia County time and again. I also don't really care that the Frequent Burrito Eaters Club has endorsed your candidacy or that your mom tells everyone that you always wear clean underwear and therefore they should vote for you. I vote based on what you, as a representative, have accomplished for your constituents. I'm just keeping it real, yo.

*Don't forget to vote for ME on Super Tuesday by clicking here on Humor-Blogs.com. A vote for me is a vote for comedic superiority. Let's send a message to those pundits over there who continue wallowing in humor mediocrity by sending me to the top of the ranks.*

What A Bunch Of Freakin Posers!

My mom had this annoyingly competitive friend she left behind in our podunk Indiana town as we joined the Yankee mass exodus to Texas in 1984. My mom used to receive frequent letters from her detailing the very model of perfection and hallowed goodness her two children embodied. My mom's friend delighted in filling page after page with announcements like how the fruit of her loins had just won the Lifetime Golly Gee You're Neat-O Achievement Award and would we please consider sending a monetary donation to ensure that her kids can make their annual summer pilgrimage with the church down to Mexico to show the poor, impoverished little brown children how to change their pathetic lives by becoming super Neat-O mini-replicas of her own fantastical offspring? Yeah.

My poor mom didn't have much ammunition to combat her with, either. I mean, having a slacker daughter who's on the high school bowling team doesn't exactly lend itself to bragging rights. I was also a proud member of Amnesty International- Well, only because I thought brooding guys in black T-shirts that listened to The Smiths and Charlatans UK were teh awesome. They really should have been credited with the title, 'Godfathers Of EMO' and established Robert Smith as their patron saint.

So, one day while driving through the next neighborhood over from us, we both had an epiphany. There, standing before us, like a giant, looming beacon screaming out "Hey, It Smells Like Team Spirit!", we saw it-- a yard filled with signs, and all of them with my name emblazoned upon them. My mom had me pose smack in the middle of the glory field. A few staged pictures later and she could now tell her friend that I was not only a cheerleader, but also the captain of the track team, a member of National Honor Society, and on the Country Club's elite swim team........and then silently pray that her friend would never get a sudden yearning to come visit us. In keeping with my family's shameless traditions, I made my children pose for Easter pictures at our neighbor's house last week because their grass is greener and their azaleas are in bloom. Meanwhile my yard is in some sort of crunchy brown haze and everything but my trusty, no-fail dianthus are on a blooming strike. Yeah, I'm going to pass my neighbor's yard off as my own this year to long-distance friends and family who don't know any better. I gave up lying for the Lent season, but by the time these cards go out, Lent will be over. Keep on moving, there's no sin to see here. Nope, none at all........

(Okay, the Lent thing is a lie. We're not even Catholic.)

*Clicking on humor-blogs.com for me will release all the guilt and stress you've been feeling lately*

The Good, The Bad, And The Utterly Delicious!

I used to have these struggles with nagging doubts and internal conflicts that manifested itself as little outward appendages of my conscience. On my right shoulder lay the voice of goodness and righteous clarity- while the left shoulder harbored the force of darkness who often whispered to me that it was okay to do naughty things like pretend I can't hear Papi when he's in the bathroom frantically yelling that there isn't any more toilet paper or silently wishing that the person giving the never-ending prayer in a church meeting would contract sudden laryngitis and finally sit down and shut up. Anyway, my turmoil has ceased since I had the Little Devil and Little Angel surgically removed from my shoulders....
and replaced them instead with the non-judgmental and perpetually smiling, Little Debbie.
What??!!? What's that you say Little Debbie? Speak up, I'm having a hard time hearing you. Oh, you think I should have another oatmeal cream sandwich cookie? How can I possibly say no to your cherubic self, Little Debbie?

*humor-blogs.com wrote the Little Debbie biography wherein they expose how she turned her inner demons into Devil's Food Snack Cakes*

Huey Haters Of The World Unite!

Ain't No Livin In A Perfect World........
but this in-your-face graphic declaring my blog a magically enchanted Huey Lewis-Free Xanadu is a pretty dang good start towards perfection!

There's a prophecy that tells of a devious and silver-fingered false prophet who will descend down upon an unsuspecting blogging people proclaiming himself as the "preeminent" authority of all things musically good and holy in an effort to lead them away from the truth. That false prophet is already here among us, and his name is Diesel. Don't be led astray by his charmingly deceptive ways because no matter what delusional things he asserts, Huey Lewis still doth bloweth.

Let not your hearts be troubled by this charlatan as he tries to woo you away to The Promised Land Of Huey Lewis. Sure, Diesel will cunningly lure in unwitting victims with whimsical tales of a golden, lite-rock Utopia when in actuality it's more akin to Pinochhio's Pleasure Island where the Huey Lewis-immersed inhabitants eventually find themselves transformed into blandly vanilla azzes donkeys plopped on stools in a seedy old sports bar, mindlessly braying along to the horrors that only Huey's doo-wop vocals, interchangeable melodies, and predictable lyrics can bring. Friends, I am the chosen one to lead you towards musical truth and light.

Me and my posse of Huey Haters have our own slogan and everything.
Huey Lewis And The Old School News: "We hear him singin-- we hatin, he's the original white and nerdy. Holy cow, he's so white and nerdy."

Diesel is a self-admitted radio corruptician who will stop at nothing to sabotage the airwaves with his inane Huey Lewis song requests. The most dreaded words in radio history? "And now we present an All Day Huey Lewis Music Marathon." JT may be bringing 'SexyBack' but Diesel is hellbent on bringing 'HueyBack'--to what end one can only guess. Don't you ever sigh when you hear people phone in to the DJ asking for the same song thats inundated the radio for the past 25 years? I do, and I think "Shazam! Please for the love of all that is good and musically copacetic pack up your Huey Lewis Greatest Hits CD collection and go rendezvous with your Cult of Huey Lewis brethren down at the old roller disco rink turned fall-out shelter . There you can worship freely at the altar of Huey Lewis hidden away behind beer tab curtains and some faded Bananarama posters and spare the rest of us the agony."

Theres a time and a season for everything.......and Huey had joy, he had fun, he had seasons in the sun, but he's an 80's relic better left behind with parachute pants.
Cool is a rule, but sometimes... OK, pretty much all the time... Huey's bad. Personally, I Want A New Drug every time I have to involuntarily allow him to penetrate my sacred earhole.
One that'll make me unconscious-- dreaming of Mountain Dew-- one that makes me deaf when the radio plays yoooooouuuu, when the radio plays you.....

It's no longer hip to be square, y'all. We must march forward and embrace progress because yes, The Heart Of Rock N Roll is still beating. Only now its in the chests of flop-haired EMO boys and rap fusion groups. You have a huge devoted fan base, Diesel but do you really expect the music aficionados among them to stop the world and melt with you? This Huey obsession could lead to the dreaded slippery slope. Today Diesel's using a monogrammed Huey Lewis bib to sop up all the drool that spills forth whenever someone utters the trigger word 'Huey.' Tomorrow we could very well see him banging a cowbell in tribute to Loverboy or talking about a PB&D(Pat Benatar and Diesel) sandwich or he suddenly decides that he 'Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore' and it becomes all REO Speedwagon all the time. Posts about Rick Springfield can't be far behind.

I'm an avowed anti-Huey as shown in this post. In response, Diesel challenged me with a snipey '1 2 3 4, I declare a Huey War.' What could I do? I heeded the call. He's made terroristic threats that if I lose the Huey battle I must display his pathetic Huey Lewis banner for all of 2008 on my blog. The vile thing shamelessly pleads with people to sign a petition to send Huey off to the waiting arms of The Rock N Roll Hall of Fame. I don't negotiate with terrorists and neither should you. We must all unite as one to protest this affront to our auditory sensibilties and make signs that scream out:

LISTENING TO HUEY MAKES MY BOWELS GO ALL KABLEWIE!

ENJOY CHOP SUEY, NOT HUEY!

HUEY LEWIS AND THE NEWS LED ME TO A LIFE OF BOOZE!

MENTIONS OF HUEY MAKES ONLY DIESEL FEEL WET AND DEWY!

(I flunked out of The Academy For Incendiary Protest Sign Makers)

The moment of reckoning has arrived. Choose ye this day. Will you succumb to the mediocrity that pocks each and every grossly overplayed Huey tune or will you rise up and support me in my quest to banish blah and uninteresting music from permeating the blogosphere? VOTE NO TO ALL THINGS HUEY! A vote for me keeps this blog definitely Huey-Free permanently for all eternity. Yippee!

Opinion Polls & Market Research

*Special thanks to Huey Haters President, NCS for her mad photoshop brilliance and to the always pithy, Millie*

And Now For Another Exciting Edition Of Stevie Wonders

Today Stevie Wonders.......
Why the cost of maintaining a Part-Time Lover has skyrocketed so much over the years.

See, his Part-Time Lover joined a Part-Time Lovers Union and they demanded a set of Starbucks-like employee rights that guarantee all workers a comprehensive medical/dental plan, 401K, and bonuses.

Sadly, Stevie's Part-Time Lover isn't even all that reliable either. And I quote:

"Ive got something that I must tell
Last night someone rang our doorbell
And it was not you my part-time lover"

Poor Stevie is still preoccupied with 1985. Back then part-time lovers flowed free and plentiful.

What about all the illegal immigrants we keep hearing about in the media who are willing to do the jobs "that no American will do?" Perhaps thats the solution to the part-time lover inflationary problems. Surely Stevie can find one cheap to fulfill the position of Part-Time Lover, right?

*Knowing its so wrong for feeling so right over at humorblogs.com*

The Monsters Be Lookin At Me As If To Say 'You Don't need No More Candy Today!'

Have you ever noticed how retail stores deploy crafty techniques to keep their candy merchandise safe from the hands of little would-be candy thieves looking to acquire sticky fingers in more ways than one?

Yeah, motion-activated mad scientists and howling skeletons would definitely deter most young Milk Dud addicts from plundering into the sweet stuff. This is no coincidence. The ingenious ploy engineered to prevent people from pilfering the treats and leaving empty wrappers behind as a trick is rooted in the scarecrow technology that farmers have used for centuries to keep their corn crops safe. We nail crucifixes up above the door to keep vampires away, right? [Well, we'd probably make an exception for the vampiric but delicious Edward Cullen.] I intimidate Papi with my astoundingly whiffy gastronomic arsenal that I always have at the ready to keep him firmly ensconced on his own side of the bed. So why shouldn't shopping centers keep a talisman of sorts to ward off candy-taking evil spirits too?

Do you need a candy protector for your Halloween harvest this year? I hear the Boogeyman is available and he's slashing em deep.........slashing his prices deep, that is!

Walking Down The Store Aisle Is Reminiscent Of The Day I Walked Down The Aisle With My Papi

A simple trip to the grocery store always serves to remind me of the boundless love that Papi and I share and how it all came to pass. The aisles, practically brimming with symbolic reminders of our life together.

Papi went looking for some White Snuggles......and he surely did get what he was seeking! Obviously, I trounced the competition who advertises that a golden brown whole wheat equates to wholesomeness. Well, I guess Papi didn't want something healthy for him. Ha! Oh, wait a minute......

Papi and I shared nothing in common except the same employer. So, when he continued persistently pestering me, the resident workplace heathen, to go to church with him, I thought he was full of.......

(Well, not really. But they don't sell crap manure at the grocery store, now do they?)

And then, while only two months into our courtship, and many stomach lurching dates down at Pancho's Mexican Buffet, Papi proposed to me. Yeah, I know, that guy has some big......

Stop that! I can read your calculated little minds. You're putting together and computing short dating time along with a seemingly hasty marriage. Well, I most certainly was NOT ........

Nice And Easy just isn't my style. Rather, I'm more of a......

kind of gal!

Papi and I enjoy a glittery fairytale ending, and it's definitely not a classic boy gets girl yawner like Cinderella And Prince Charming. Neither does comparisons to The Princess And The Pea. Aside from the fact that I do re-enact the story everytime I serve split pea soup for dinner. Our story isn't even relatable to Beauty And The Beast, althoughPapi often calls me a beast. No, ours is a happy union of a salty white cracker coupled with a spicy Mexican tortilla. I'm so very glad that Papi likes..........

JUMBO BUNS!!!!

Don't Say It.....Spray It!

Sometimes I really question the fortitude of our youth. Do they have what it takes to make it in today's world and thrive? We all know that the key to life long success lies in completing your tasks and projects at hand, no matter how difficult.

So, I looked onto these local neighborhood STOP signs with great concern. The one on the left bears graffiti, spelling out an ode to Mr. 2 Legit 2 Quit himself, M.C. Hammer. Yes, the sign reads 'STOP! Hammertime!' The second sign, around the corner from the first, contains the uplifting message brought to the masses by Journey back in the 80's.....'Don't STOP Believing!' Wise words, indeed.

But then the signage stops abruptly, right there, without any further instructions or details leaving me, the casual passerby, to wonder what became of these fine young graffiti artists, determined to maketh their mark upon this world. Surely, two paltry signs can't contain the extent of their vast creativity. I mean, there's so much more they left unfinished. What about:
1. Don't STOP Thinking About Tomorrow- Fleetwood Mac
2. Don't STOP The Dance- Bryan Ferry
3. STOP Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before-The Smiths
4. STOP In The Name Of Love- The Supremes
5. STOP Dragging My Heart Around- Tom Petty
6. STOP! Dimentica!-By The Italian Singer, Tiziano Ferro
7. I'll STOP The World And Melt With You- Modern English
8. STOP That Train- Bob Marley
They could even get lazy and just slap an exclamation mark onto the sign making it 'STOP!' as a homage to the smash hit by Erasure.

One day, I hope my proud graffiti artists learn about the satisfaction that comes from a job well done and they'll re-commit themselves to finishing this great work.

As a funny side note, we here at La Casa De Infidel delight in singing Journey's 'Don't Stop Believing' while we're struggling with the call of nature and looking for a suitable toilet. We sing it "Don't Stop Believing.... HOLD ON TO POOP FEELING!" Sometimes my mini-Infidels will take us by surprise and retort with a comeback tailor-made by the fine folks from REO Speedwagon. "I CAN'T FIGHT THIS FEELING ANYMORE!"

Better Never Sing 'Hit Me With Your Best Shot' To Heather, Because She Will!

Every since my oldest mini-Infidel and I heard news reports about the former Mrs. McCartney, Heather Mills, savagely beating Sir Paul over the head with her prosthetic leg in a fit of rage, we've worked it into an endless amount of jokes. (I bet 64 year old Paul never anticipated this turn of events when he wrote his song 'When I'm 64)

Our favorite? Well, whenever the radio plays 'Legs' by the legendary bearded H-Town band, ZZ TOP, we start giggling about Heather Mills. I always thought that song trite and stupid. I mean, I've got legs, and I'd venture to say that the overwhelming majority of women do. Do I know how to use them? Certainly I do. To stroll to the counter at the Donut Shop. To chase my laughing mini-Infidels in an effort to recapture my bra that they're wearing as a hat. To conduct human hair growth experiments to see how long the leg hair gets in between shavings. For serious things too, like putting both legs in so I can do the Hokey-Pokey and turn myself around. There's just no limit to the uses for my lower limbs.

So, um, Heather Mills also has legs, prosthetic or otherwise, and boy, does she know how to use them! We silently dedicate 'Legs' to Heather each time we hear it, and we even have our own made-up choreography where we flail our arms up and down in a chopping motion. Maybe she was really influenced by John Mellencamp's song 'Get A Leg Up,' well, before she brought it crashing down on a Wing-less man.

(In case anyone thinks I'm grossly insensitive, I thought Heather did an amazingly fantastic job on Dancing With The Stars)

Grand Prize Losers Of The Baby Name Game

Tori's naughtiness has left an indelible stain on my once pure and virginal mind with her many unseemly and raunchy fan innuendos. I'm going to have to listen to at least 6 hours of Christian rock to make penance. I hope you're happy now, Tori, turning my wholesome blog into a veritable den of iniquity! So, anyway, today I'm giving all of you the gift of a threesome. Don't get too excited- I'm referring to three recent sightings of some very craptacular names.

*Now that's some OLD Dick!*------------------>

I can't reveal my confidential source to you, but in the past month, I've run across a man named Peter P. VanDong. Yes, P.P Van Dong. Not since Dick VanDyke has the world seen a more unfortunate name. I'm secretly hoping that the P. stands for Piper or Peck. Anyway, he lives in a million dollar house, but can't pony up money for one of his bills. He's a deadbeat. Worse than that, he's a deadbeat who's complained bitterly every single day about getting his service cut while only coughing up a 20 dollar payment for his delinquent account. You can tell a lot from a name. The double euphemism was likely no accident.

Twas a time when I pined away for Bill Nye The Science Guy and I dreamed of him personally teaching me all about reproduction, and one day getting married to him in a lavish ceremony complete with his and hers matching lab coats. Today I spotted this baby announcement with one super crappy made-up name on it.....Deason Wade Nye. No, not, Deacon, which is legitimate, but Deason. Oh Bill, how could you?!!!?? I would have had your baby and named him something nice too. Maybe, William The Science Guy Nye Junior.

And finally, before naming your precious little one, please make sure to google your top name contenders prior to the birth. You don't want your baby to share his or her name with those who have sullied reputations, do you? Case in point, a lovely family we know through Church recently named their baby something that made me break out of my usually super sugary sweet character to remark to my oldest girls, "Whoa, did they name her after an exotic dancer?" To test my theory, I did a quick google search to confirm my suspicions, and found that all but one of the top ten listings showed various strip clubs and adult movies. It seems that a performer who shares the same name with the afore mentioned adorable baby has appeared in a fine feature film called 'Chocolate Honeys 4.' Nice.

If only I could just smack some people upside their heads with a 'Traditional Baby Names' book, the world would be a much better place.

Let Freedom Ring!

Even in my semi-incapacitated state, I still found a way to celebrate the Fourth Of July with my Papi by infusing my own special brand of Infidel verve.

After we gorged ourselves on a very patriotic, Founding Father-approved meal of hot dogs, baked beans, and apple pie, we sent the kids to bed.......and then the real fireworks show began!
As the loud explosions and crackles rippled through the night air from our many neighbors who chose to take their paycheck and light it aflame; I utilized the festive opportunity to disguise the sound of my own loud explosions and crackles. Surprisingly, Papi didn't react with the oohs and aahs that a good show commands. Why, he didn't even bother to clap or cheer wildly while clamoring for an encore presentation. Instead, he chastised me, and thus, I felt compelled that on that day, of all days, to rise up and defend myself against his oppressive tyranny.
After all, who is he to infringe on my inalienable rights set forth in the Constitution? Neither I, nor my gastric track, will be silenced. We have the right to our freedom of expression and never should flatulence suffer the inhumane bonds of restrictive repression. That's just wholly un-American. Nay, sayeth I, I'm choosing to let freedom ring and give my gas the independence that it deserves. After a day filled with discussion of how much we love this country and the story of its founding that lends itself to an obvious hand of divinity in the process, how could Papi possibly quibble with me?

My Mom Says That Blogging Is Dangerous, And Stupid Too!

I used to regard every word that sprang forth from my mother's saintly mouth as the gospel truth ................. but not anymore. Mama always told me that I needed to exercise fiscal caution with my allowance because money doesn't grow on trees. However, the existence of a veritable orchard of Dollar Trees spread across these great United States proves her wrong. Very wrong. Then I started wondering where else she might have led me astray because my mom also told me:

• "Don't do that, or you'll go blind!"
• "Always put on clean underwear when you leave the house in case you get into an accident."
• "Don't pet stray animals or you'll get rabies."
• "Stop picking at yourself. You'll get a scar."
• "If you don't wear a brassiere, your boobs will hang down to your knees like the tribal ladies on the pages of a National Geographic magazine."
• "You have to sit out of the pool for 30 minutes after you eat or you'll get cramps and drown."
• "Don't talk to strangers or accept candy from them."
  

Well, no more. Today's the day that I defy all that my mother taught me. I'm going to disprove each and every one of her Mom-isms and show the world that Mommy doesn't always know best. So, come on all you strangers- Talk to me! Send me candy! My rebellious spirit welcomes the exhilarating danger! I may have a little trouble typing a response back to you though because I'm spending the day with my eyes crossed and my tongue hanging out to show that my face will not freeze this way forever, and ever.

Songs In The Key Of Golly Gee!

Today's edition of Infidel Freak Secret Of The Week has special audio visual accoutrement provided in the sidebar located to your right and linkies down below. I've implemented its use for the benefit of all you young whippersnapper readers who won't have a freakin clue what song I'm referencing since it likely dates back to a time before time when the advent of MTV had not yet come to fruition. Read about a song you don't recognize? Clickety on the titles for your musical enlightenment.
First off, I'm snickering at the mere title of "Mungo Jerry's Greatest Hits!" Did they really have another chart topping success outside of their groovy 'saltshaker' song, 'In The Summertime?' The eldest of the mini-Infidel daughters vehemently dislike this song because of the sexist attitude displayed within. Most people treat it as a mindless summer anthem, but the lyric "If her Daddy's rich,take her out for a meal. If her Daddy's poor, just do what you feel," really raises the hackles on feminists and caste system abolitionists alike. The girls asked me about their own Daddy and what kind of treatment they could expect on a date. Well, we're not rich or poor. We're just your average stuck-in-the-middle, run-of-the-mill, middle class folk. Mungo Jerry didn't even bother to share his sage words of advise for us middle class people. Whatever shall we do without his prophetic guidance and counsel? I told my girls that we could play a rousing game of fill in the blank. So now, whenever we hear the song played on the radio, we sing it various ways. Including:
"If her Daddy's middle class, she'll have a moustache!" (we can't afford electrolysis:(
"If her Daddy's middle class, you can pass some gas!"
"If her Daddy's middle class, take her out to Dumass!"(<------a local taco place)

Want to know my innermost secret that's filled me with guilt and shame since childhood? It all stems from the country crossover song, "The Devil Went Down To Georgia." When that cocky young Johnny accepts the fiddle throwdown challenge from the Devil, I silently cheer for the Devil. Yes, it's true, I'm one of Satan's Cheerleaders. I can't help it, the Devil's sassy contribution to the fiddle faceoff is smoking hot and dare I say, downright sexy? Whereas, to my ears, Johnny really doesn't demonstrate a fiddle hoedown mastery on a level much above that of a paunchy Oak Ridge Boys cover band playing at a high school square dance. I prefer Devil Food cake over Angel Food cake too. My soul is doomed.

I'm a little musical conundrum. Yes, I am! Resting next to my dark and broody NIN and Korn CD's, Dan Fogelberg's smiling face provides a stark contrast. I adore him. Anyway, my mom harbored a strange fixation for Butter Rum candies; constantly lining our candy dish with them. For years, I sang along with Dan's "Leader Of The Band," wrongly crooning, "And the BUTTER RUMS in my instrument, and a song is in my soul." I always contemplated how messy it must be to play an instrument stuffed full of butter rum candies, but never did I think that I understood the lyrics wrong. Turns out, they read, "And the BLOOD runs through my instrument." Well, that's just downright icky. What? Does Dan know of some kind of Texas Chainsaw Massacre Marching Band? No, I'll always prefer to think of sweet little butter rum yummies nestled up inside their instrument of choice.

It took 20 years and the enlisted aid of an Internet lyrics page to decipher what the heck Chrissy Hynde is belting out in her strangely pitched voice. You know that song, "Back On The Chain Gang?" There's a verse that goes, "Brings me to my knees when I see what they've done to you." I've sung it as "Bring me some MAYONNAISE when I see what they've done to you," for two whole freakin decades! I mean, I like mayonnaise as much as the next gal, but I thought professing a love for the creamy condiment in the middle of a serious song seemed misguided.

And finally, an original lite rock favorite from the original lite rock artist . Not even "I'd Really Love To See You Tonight," could escape my befuddled lyric interpretation skills. When England Dan tells his lady love, "I'm not talkin bout movin in, and I don't want to change your life," I instead heard it as "I'm not talkin bout the LINENS." I just naturally assumed that maybe they had a big blowout fight over the messy linen closet like the one I witnessed my mom and stepdad having. As I got older, I then wondered if possibly an angry spat erupted from one of them messing up freshly laundered sheets with menses or clumpy chest hair. Maybe 'Linen' was code for coming home snockered and three sheets to the wind? Clearly, all the musicians above could benefit from a stint at The Eliza Doolittle School Of Enunciation.

Now your big chance has arrived to gain sympathy amongst those of us suffering from immense music dorkiness too. Share your own favorite misheard song lyric or stroy right here, right now!