Honking Donkey

To the donk who laid on the horn for a full 30 seconds as I let someone merge into traffic jammed Pacific Coast Highway from the In and Out parking lot: It's the holiday season you undeniable tool. Spare 10 seconds for your fellow man and LET PEOPLE MERGE INTO LANES already. For your bad behavior, I hope your karmic punishment includes at least two of the following: a spectacular toe stub (of the pinkie) on your way to the bathroom in the hours of darkness, nuclear intestinal gas once you get there, a carpool lane violation ticket the next morning or a rogue nose hair noticeable to everyone but you as you lay on the rico suave to your date. The End. *thumbs nose at said donkey*

Does California Octuplet Mom Nadya Suleman Want an Angelina Jolie Sponsorship?

Nadya Suleman, the beaming California mother of eight new babies, looks a heck of a lot like Angelina Jolie, dontcha think? Juding from her actions and some of her baby love intensities, the sleuth in me doesn't think her appearance is a coincidence.

I was shocked into double takes when I first saw Suleman on TV talking with Ann Curry -- you gotta love Ann; you know she's sitting there thinking ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND and yet she's so calm and professional. The Oct Mom looks so much like Angelina I don't see how anyone can deny it. The hairstyle, the lips, the skin tone, the nose, even the black top, the eight babies, it's Angelina! Except the real one can afford a hundred babies, this one not so much it seems.

Nadya Suleman assured Ann that her finances will improve significantly once she finishes her "schooling". Is she going to brain surgery school? Because even a brain surgeon's income would be stretched caring for 14 children. But she'll, "find a way to make it". Yeah, and my tax dollars will be helping her do that, I'm sure.

Suleman claims she's never been on welfare and won't accept it now. She hasn't worked since 2007 and lives with her parents. Her mother filed bankruptcy last year. Unless she poops dollar bills I don't see how one can sustain themselves and their 14 little 'uns on thin air. I read her hospital stay alone cost over $200,000 and the babies continue to rack up their bill times eight. And here I am stressing over a root canal. Life is hilarious.

This woman claims bringing eight lives into this world without an appropriate financial foundation is not selfish. Well, I and all the other grown ups think it is. She reminds me of my seven-year-old self who wanted to take all my stuffed animals with me in our station wagon family road trip to Las Vegas. All 20 of them. I wanted them with me. What's the big deal?

Luckily, my Mom made me choose two. I wailed at the unfairness of it all. My rant fell on deaf ears and the terrible injustice was forgotten about 10 miles into the trip. Isn't this how we all start learning we can't just close our eyes and do what we want? If it were that simple, we'd all be clicking our heels like Dorothy in the middle of the work week.

Maybe Nadya here will catch Angelina's eye on TV and she'll swoop to her defense and set her up in a big mother goose house. Can you say master plan, anyone?

World to Caylee Anthony Doll Maker: You're a Filthy Tool

The Caylee Anthony Sunshine doll was to be launched for sale online at CayleeDoll dot com for $30 until tonight's media expose of the worst exploitation of a murdered child in my recollection. The president of the manufacturing company says we've got it all wrong. The doll is a tribute to Caylee and it will comfort her family as they hold onto it and grieve, he told Mike Galagos on CNN. Yeah. And Bernard Madoff made an honest mistake.

The family can push its belly button and hear it sing You Are My Sunshine in a little girl's voice. Shoot, that would make me feel so much better after my grandchild's been murdered. You?

The doll with "Caylee" on her shirt is no longer available on the site. Now the dolls have three other girls' names. It's a Blogspot blog with the commenting turned off, but there's a menu link to several crazy "comments" pasted in.

People sure suck sometimes.

California Tax Refund IOUs? Bite Me, California!

Okay California, it's ON. Living in one of the most liberal states in the nation is hard work for hard working peeps like me. We have all kinds of cozy social programs for people who'd rather stay home and have lots of babies instead of go to work. In my city, such persons can get subsidized waterfront housing for about $100 a month if the property owner would like some sweet tax breaks for taking in Section 8 tenants.

Now me, I'd rather give a quarter of my paycheck to the State of California and the rest of it to my mortgage lender instead of living the high life on the waterfront for one Benjamin. And today, as an added screw off, the State of California has informed me that if the budget is not approved by February 1st, which is highly unlikely the pundits say, I will be getting an IOU instead of my state tax refund.

Bite me Cali-frickin-fornia! How 'bout I send an IOU instead of my property taxes? How about you make all these loafs living in free housing take back their 52" plasma TVs and Cadillac Escalades with 22" chrome rims and use those millions to give me my damn refund, eh California?

Sweet dreams to me. I better go to bed. I have to work in the morning. Effffff it all! And a special giant bird to Hollywood who thinks it's so politically savvy. Ass wipes.

Metrosexual Smack Down: Are You Still a Guy?

I called my friend a metrosexual after he returned to the office with waxed eyebrows and he went completely Marlboro Man on me. The ensuing days weeks have been a fascinating experiment in the organics of machismo, culminating in the most fantastic declaration of manhood I have ever read, heard and fell asleep to. More on that later.

For those unfamiliar with the term metrosexual, it describes men who are very concerned with their appearance and engage in services or use products traditionally marketed to female consumers--At least that's my definition of it. Turns out, if you Google it, words like "dandy", "feminine" and "queer" appear in search results as synonyms of metrosexual. Three....two....one.....KABOOM!

Evidently teasing my friend about his waxed brows and neon white teeth ignited a masculinity challenge the likes of which may never have been seen before. Nothing against feminine dandies and queers, but that's not what I intended to call my friend. Too bad my word on that's just not good enough for him.

Since being labeled metrosexual, he has started each morning by telling me all the burly, rugged, manly things he's done the previous night: chopped firewood (we're city dwellers, mind you), worked on his TRUCK, popped bottle caps with his teeth. And on. He's been ordering medium rare steaks for lunch a lot more frequently. He even came to work with some stains on his pants, oil from changing the car's that morning. Down, boy, down!

Well, before he comes to the office with splinters in his teeth from eating tree trunks for breakfast, I'm happy to say it seems the metrosexual smack down has culminated to a deserving end with his sending me the video to a most apropos song, Brad Paisley's "I'm Still a Guy".

Nothing further need be said on my part, really. Just take a listen and read the rugged lyrics. I've fallen asleep to this wonderful tune for the past two nights and consider it the manly man's lullaby.