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.

Subway Sandwich Artists: Stop Smashing my Sandwiches

I'm a sandwich shop lover and I especially enjoy Subway's Philly cheese steak and ham & cheese with added avo sandwiches. I like them so much for lunch that even though their relentless $5 promo song will be looping in my mind for the rest of the afternoon, I cannot resist spell of the Subway sandwich artist.

On several afternoons during the work week, I can be found waiting patiently in a moderate line at one of two Subways near my office. I look forward to my loafy lo-cal friend on Subway lunch days. I choose my bread carefully, alternating varieties for Philly or ham fixings. I watch the Subway artists keenly as they place the trimmings I request on my sandwich, making sure they don't overlook the extra feta and withhold the salt, but add the pepper.

'Anything else?' they ask. Nothing else. We're home free and I turn my attention to the register as the sandwich wrapping paper crinkles. Out the door, back to the office, behind my desk with my precious freshious at last!

I unwrap the goods and DAMMIT! Again. The fat, fluffy number I last saw before the wrapping process is smashed down to a mere sliver of its former self. Its innards squishing out on all sides, flattened avocado goo sticking to the paper and rogue onions refusing to go down with the ship poking out all willy nilly. Enough. I will Not Stand For It any longer.

I will go back to Subway. This situation is most certainly manageable. I will not stray from my sandwich until it's safely cocooned in its plastic tube bag and we're both on our way, far from the devil hands of the flattening sandwich wrapping Subway artist. You've been warned. Watch your subs.

Kanye West's Fugly Singing on SNL Called Out!

Radio, TV and now print media buzz about Kanye West's horrible "singing" performance of Heartless last week on Saturday Night Live. Dare I hope? Is the media finally prying its lips off of his onion?

Ever since Kanye and his formidible ego arrived on scene, I've been equal parts of amazed and aggitated at the praise and reverence lavished upon him by music critics and other media talking heads. If his perpetual "na na na na, na-na-na-na, naa naaaaa" cadence is within earshot, I bring the hate.

Yes, he writes good hooks, beats and occasionally entertaining lyrics. Yes, he raps alright (and may I remind you I am an expert in urban musicality). But singer he is not. And that's what he mascaraded as on SNL, only everyone but Kanye noticed it.

Shawn Amos of the Yahoo music blog Get Back published an article today exposing Kanye's misguided confidence by making this sensible observation -

Kanye broke the cardinal rule of bad singing. He stepped outside of his preapproved vocal zone.

Oh happy day! Finally someone who has a voice inside proves not everyone is high on Kanye West. Amos goes on to say singers who know they can't sing are always forgiven. True. Consider one of my personal favorites, Mr. Johnny Cash, who said on countless occasions he talked a song more than sang it. But his showmanship and humility hit the bullseye as an entertainer.

Mr. West, on the other hand, thinks he is a most excellent singer and has told us all so on music award shows whether he's at the winners' podium or not. In all fairness, I may take my Kanye criticism more seriously than most. Afterall, he is banned from my blog as you can see over there ---->>. But not without good reason.

Amos' article is a good read. You can browse Yahoo's top list of singers who can't sing and all 11,000+ comments. They take some good shots at Madonna and her carnival arms. I only take issue with Celine Dion's mention. Sure, she's drama and I disliked her odd chest thumping stage, but she can most definitely sing, sang and sung.

Humor Happy Hour Specials for 12/26/08

All that holiday frenzy has driven me to drink and I invite you to join me. Introducing a little experiment here at the Swizzle Stick Lounge every Friday called Humor Happy Hour. Throw back Sip your favorite cocktail and check out my menu of the funniest, cleverist, or snarkiest blog posts I've read this week.

Feeling judgmental? Rate posts in the sidebar poll by dropping olives in their glass. If someone gets a pile of olives, I'll ask them to guest bar tend here. The poll's open until next Friday. Invite your readers over to drop you an olive, perhaps?

So, without further a do, here be the Specials. Open all night. Throw peanut shells on the floor. Tips appreciated.

• William at Dead Rooster squares off with morning hair and self portrait perfection.
• LOBO at Predator Press unleashes a masterpiece and some anger management issues with 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.
• Kirsten at The Soccer Mom Files brings the sexy with a free-range reindeer.
• Chelle B, The Offended Blogger, risks both nipples every winter.
• Kathy fries bacon on top of The Junk Drawer.
• Amy contemplates Katie's situation.
• JD at I Do Things made me burple (you know, a small burp with a chaser of stomach acid often brought on by something kind of gross: burp +hurl=burple.)
• Tom Tomorrow chronicles the end of an error on Salon.

Did you read a funny post worthy of your eyeballs this week? Comment me the links for consideration on next week's Triple H menu. Don't forget to leave your olive in the sidebar! (One vote per reader.)

I'd Like a Little House on the Prairie Christmas Right About Now

As I sit here at my computer at 3 a.m. with burned up monitor eyes, comparing last minute holiday deals on mp3 players and cell phones for family members who will just die without them, I hear Pa Ingalls enraptured with his new flannel shirt sewn for him by little Half Pint.

I like to watch the TVLand channel at this sour hour of the morning instead of "Buy Houses for $300!", or "Get the Barrack Obama Limited Coin Set!". Little House on the Prairie comes on three episodes in a row tonight and each one is a Christmas show.

In the last episode, baby sister Carrie has saved her allowance for an entire year to buy a tin star tree topper from Mr. Olesen's store so baby Jesus will have a present, too. Let's remember chores on the Prairie would likely collapse kids today, so spending your allowance on Jesus back then is nothing short of angelic. Ma Ingalls is giddy with a new bolt of material for a dress. Laura Ingalls has secretly traded her treasured new pony to nemesis Nellie Olesen in exchange for a new wood stove for her mother. Gulp.

After watching the third episode of people going absolutely nuclear with joy over handmade gifts and thoughtful gestures, I have emptied my entire online cart of overpriced nonsense and am going to bed. I've got a lot of sewing, carving and baking to do tomorrow.

Want to Get More Blog Comments? Check the Junk Drawer.

I love blogs that make me laugh. I'm the kind of girl that's jaded enough to roll my eyes at The Simpsons but quirky to the point of laughing into choking fits watching The Office, vintage SNL and Sarah Silverman. Enter The Junk Drawer blog. I love The Drawer for a couple of reasons. First, the junk drawer in my house is sacred. More times than I can count, I've found the essential lost item in my junk drawer--the spare car key, the Victoria's Secret gift certificate from last Christmas, the lone AAA battery (don't ask).

Second, the Drawer's owner Kathy Frederick is a real hoot. Don't believe me? Consider this: where else can you read about loving banana clips, runaway boobs and an ass table? Nowhere but The Junk Drawer. Read Kathy's near daily accounts of life and you'll laugh out loud, or at least snort suppressing it.

But you'll also notice something quite extraordinary. Kathy's readers comment, A LOT. Her posts consistently get upwards of 70 - 80 individual comments, bringing her collective comments to over 10,000 for a blog only 1.5 years old. And they're funny, insightful, clever comments that people who have obviously read the whole post take time to share. It's a blogger's dream.

How did Kathy become the most successful comment breeder this side of Dooce? That's just what I asked her and she was kind enough to respond. I sat down with one of my favorite snacks, a glass of wine and bag of Flamin' Cheetos, and wrote down my questions for Kathy. Here's what she had to say.

How do your readers' comments make you feel?
Like a million bucks! Reader comments are the life blood of my blog, my fuel. I cannot tell you how rewarding it is for me to get instant feedback for my writing. It’s a gift every time someone comments.

Did you get that many in the beginning or did they evolve along with your blog?
Glad you asked. Many people think I got a lot of comments right from the start because they see high numbers now. But if you dug back into my stats, you’d see that comments grew very gradually. Like all bloggers, I had single-digit comments for the first few months. There’s no way around that unless you’re Oprah.

Why do you think so many people enjoy responding to you?
I think it’s because I’m an open book. Some may think I reveal too much about myself and my life, but it may be the key to making readers feel comfortable sharing a bit of themselves with me. Also, a good friend once said I had self-deprecation down to a science. He might be right. Admitting my idiocy seems to generate a lot of comments. I still haven’t figured out if people are laughing at me or with me. Hmmm.

How much time do you spend replying each day?
About an hour, more if comments are heavy. A typical post sees 20-30 comments per day. I like to respond to them in chunks of 10 or 20 to keep it manageable.

Do you comment on other blogs?
Absolutely. I follow and comment on about 30 blogs regularly. If you’re looking for examples of commenting done right, check out a few of my favorites:

• JD at I Do Things So You Don’t Have To: JD writes the best comment responses, bar none. When I read her gut-busting replies, I feel like I’m getting a bonus post. It’s like dessert after a good meal.


• Jeff at View from the Cloud: Jeff has a razor-sharp wit and he makes humor writing look effortless. Trust me, it’s not. As is the case with JD, Jeff’s responses are as funny as the posts he writes. It’s not always easy to write humorous responses, but Jeff masters it.


• Cardiogirl: “CG” writes passionately about a number of personal and thorny issues. By her responses, you can tell that she’s thought long and hard about what her readers say and appreciates every visitor. Commenting for her is serious business.

In all three of these cases, the bloggers are essentially saying “Welcome to my home. I’m really glad you’re here.” There is no better way to build a community and retain visitors than to engage those who took time to leave a comment.

What type of posts get the biggest reaction from readers and why do you think that is?
There are two types: 1) where I admit my stupidity or vulnerability, and 2) where I ask readers for their opinion about something. In the first case, readers react because they’ve either been there themselves, or they are flabbergasted by what I’ll admit to in the blog. In the second case, I’ve basically opened up the floor for comments. People love to talk about themselves or an issue near and dear to them.

Can you think of a particularly funny comment, or one where the reader was offended with your humor?
A funny comment? Oh, yeah. There were many, many hilarious comments left on my post about my grade school memories. Some comments were sad, too. A mixture of laughter and pain, that post and its comments had it all.

Anyone offended? Unfortunately, yes. It happened on a sarcastic post gone wrong. I felt bad I offended some readers and vowed to never to do it again. That crummy feeling stays with me to this day.

Do you moderate your comments?
No, and it’s not really necessary. I’m frequently in touch with my blog and watch comments roll in throughout the day. If someone leaves an offensive comment, I can delete it almost immediately. Luckily, I’ve only had to do that a few times. If anyone wants to leave an inappropriate comment, do it between 9PM-5AM EST, when I’m usually unconscious.

Do ‘real life’ friends comment or only virtual readers?
Many of my friends, work associates and family comment regularly, especially my two sisters and my niece. My Dad also reads my blog, but doesn’t comment. Not online, anyway. He’ll call instead to tell me how much he liked a certain post, which is sweet. Thanks, Dad!

Commenting really enriches a blog's sense of community. What advice do you have for bloggers trying to cultivate more comments and/or readers?
Make it a point to respond to comments. People want to feel heard. Show them you’re listening and that you’re glad they stopped by. You’re glad, right?

Ask a question! If you’ve covered some topic and you want feedback, ask away. It doesn’t get any simpler than that.

Comment on blogs you enjoy. Their owners and their readers may navigate back to your blog and comment, too. Over time, you’ll start seeing repeat visitors. Get to know them. You’ll make connections and the rest is magic.

As for gaining new readers, consider joining networks like Entrecard, and if you’re a humor writer, Humor-Blogs. You may want to try out Blogerella, a new directory run by the same person who runs Humor-Blogs. Bloggers in any niche can sign up there. Some services and networks may prove more useful than others. My advice is to simply try them out and see which ones bring you the most new readers. Happy commenting!

~~~

Thanks for your insights, Kathy. I hereby dub you Countess of Comments. I can't offer you your own kingdom, but I do wish you continued success with your spectacular blog.

This blog, Diva Cosmos, rarely receives comments. Why is that, I wonder? My friend said I sound too mean and people might hesitate to comment. To that, I said shut your mouth awww, c'mon now. I'm all bark and no bite. Well, I bite sometimes but I never draw blood. So please, share. I can only hope to learn from Kathy's success. I refuse to give up. I shall continue to court the elusive comment.

Back to The Junk Drawer. If you haven't opened it yet, I suggest you click over. You'll be entertained, and likely leave a bloody comment.

I Told a Stranger She Wore Too Much Perfume

Have you experienced a perfume fugue before? I have many times--often lingering in elevators or dressing rooms, but not usually in confined quarters. Tonight was different. We were settled into prime seats at the movie theater waiting for "Slum Dog Millionaire" to start. Ten minutes before show time, it was already getting crowded. I heard the show was drawing big at the box office, so we left early so I could enjoy watching people scramble for seats. Good fun!

A couple sat down in front of us in two of the few remaining adjacent seats. My nasal cavity was assaulted with gardenia scent immediately. At first I was amused by the offending aroma; it's funny when someone smell weird. At first.

By the time the movie started, I was nauseous. The gardenia plume was not lifting in the least. I tried breathing out of my mouth but I tasted gardenia. My popcorn lost its seductive butter smell. My hair smelled like gardenia. I couldn't smell by boyfriend's musk (yes, I know musk is outdated, but he wears it for me because it makes me jiggy) even though my face was buried in his armpit. Only gardenia. And I've never liked gardenia.

The theater was too crowded to find new seats. I really wanted to see this movie, so we stayed. It was a fantastic show, by the way, and I highly recommend it.

Back to the gardenia. After the movie, during the credits, I leaned forward and said, "Excuse me, this may sound rude, but I'm fairly certain you're unaware that you're wearing too much perfume. Waaay too much." She turned to her male companion and asked if that was true. He said, "Well, now that you ask. Uh, yeah. It's a little heavy."

Granted the girl looked like she was going to cry, but here it is hours later and my pores are still oozing gardenia. She can't go around having that effect on people! How many opportunities has she missed by gassing people with gardenia? I was just trying to help. Honest.

Miley Cyrus Has a Mouthful of Marbles

Miley Cyrus sounds like she has marbles in her mouth when she speaks. I heard her on TV tonight and it was especially noticeable. If this is true, mystery solved. If not, who cares. I'm just saying.


--->Don't get the cartoon?

"Whatever You Like" by Rapper T.I. Reminds Us Sugga Daddies Are Great

Ladies, is the economy cramping your style some? Listen carefully to rapper T. I. explain why you might consider getting a sugar daddy, at least until the Dow Jones volatility stabilizes a little. His lyrics describe the good life that could be yours if "you da hottest love the way you drop it. Brain so good swore you went to college." Sound like you? I'm sure it's okay if you really did go to college. I think the most important thing is the 'way you drop it' part.

Still not convinced? I applaud you for being cautious, but T. I. sounds like he's livin' pretty large. Think of all the other successful bidness men out there looking for a shawty to lavish their successful lifestyle on (for those not as familiar with rap as I am, you don't actually have to be short for consideration. Shorty is just a term of endearment.) Check it:

From T. I.'s "Whatever You Like"

Ya need to never ever gotta go to yo wallet
Long as I got rubber band banks in my pocket
Five six, rides with rims and a pocket kit
Ya ain't gotta downgrade you can get what I get
My chick could have what she want
And go in any store for any bag she want

Alllllright! I have an obsession with bags. My eyes are bigger than my check book. This sounds like an excellent solution, and then some. T. I. sums it up nicely with this, "... You want it I got it, go get it, I buy it...". And all he asks in return are a few requests that are a bit too direct to post, even here. He does water it down towards the end of the chorus, saying, "...he want my body, need my body, long as I got him I won't need nobody".

Fair enough. Listen gals, with Christmas coming up sugga daddies are in high demand right now. You'll need to make yourself stand out from the competition. Do some research. Watch T. I.'s video below, beyotch. (Just practicing)

Lyrics | T.I. lyrics - Whatever You Like lyrics

I'm a Real Cliff Dweller - Bacon Rice Krispies Treats

Believe me, I love bacon. If I were to someday go chalupas in the mind and find myself on death row for an unspeakable crime, I would request nothing but extra crispy bacon for my last meal. Last summer, one of my favorite blogs for kicks and giggs posted a recipe for bacon vodka. Sadly, my high expectations were flushed away, literally.

'Scuse me while I fetch a drink of water. You won't get that unless you click the flushed away link.

Well, what a wicked web our addictions weave because I tried another blasphemous bacon recipe from the same blog responsible for one of the most violent hurls unleashed in my bathroom to date. This time, a bacon-Rice Krispies treat mash-up.

Aaaaand, I'm still licking the pan! Hallelujers, it was divine. Picture this, all the gooey goodness of marshmellows and the sexy smokey flavor of bacon all wrapped up in the crunchy weightlessness of Rice Krispies. Hello, lover.

If you're licking your chops right now, embrace your penchant for everything bacon . You might even become an abstract food artist if you just let go and let bacon. I suggest you let it do what it do and be ye not afraid to make some of these beautiful bacon bars. I had them for breakfast this morning and they're so undense that I went down the street for a bacon cheese omelette afterwards. Life is good.

Walmart Shoppers are Murderers, Kill Walmart Employee in Stampede.

I wonder how many Walmart shoppers in Long Island, New York, are enjoying Thanksgiving leftovers today after trampling a 34-year-old employee to death early this morning. Get a grip, America. Sheyit. We've now reduced the value of human life down to rolled back prices on plasma TVs and video games?

Crazed crowds took entry doors off the hinges during the 5:00 a.m. stampede for black Friday deals. The male employee was trying to manage the unruly shoppers when he was pushed down and trampled by hundreds of big fat feet attached to bodies whose heads must surely be empty from ear to ear. A 28-year-old pregnant shopper was also pancaked and taken to the hospital.

All I want for Christmas is for police to identify the jackasses who killed this man during the Walmart whackness caught on video tape. Smile, you're on murder camera.

My Home Owners Association Sucks Donkey Balls

Yes, you read right, my HOA sucks donkey balls. I'm sorry if you have virgin ears (eyes?), but there's really no other way to describe it. Granted, it's quite common among my condo-owning friends to hear HOA complaints. I'm not delusional about HOAs, thinking they really are the caring, responsible property management companies they claim to be. Oh hells no. But my particular HOA is in a class all its own.

Where to start. The dues are astronomical. My one-bedroom 900 sq. ft. condo owes $411 monthly. Hot damn! (I've been waiting for a chance to say that.) I live in Southern California where everything is overpriced, but that is pushing it. I am trapped here because I would take a loss selling right now and the HOA has wisely imposed yet another 20% increase for us beginning January 1st. That's the maximum increase allowed each year and they've made full use of it for three years in a row. Hot DAMN! In a time when people cannot even afford to buy extra underwear, it's so appreciated to choke off another $100 to the fascist HOA.

Anyhoos, my main gripe is the insidious ways they go about making extra money. We have a cornucopia of rules with new violations announced in every monthly newsletter. This month? The speed trap. That's right folks, the HOA security staff has radar guns. Radar guns. The speed limit in our complex and underground garage is 15 mph. Have you ever driven 15 mph? It's.......very..................slow.

I can't think of a worse combination than civilian security guards and radar guns. These guys are extreme wanna be police officers and now they're armed with radar guns. It wasn't enough to install speed bumps high as ant hills at angles so that your car axles jar four times instead of two. No. Now we have radar soldiers who I am sure are fully engaged in ticketing contests. It's as close to arrests as they'll ever get, well at least on the giving side.

So, when I get my radar gun speed ticket I'm going to tell him he sucks donkey balls. I've put a lot of thought into this and I think that's the most insulting thing I can say without threatening his life or using my potty mouth.

Those of you not yet in the vise grips of an HOA, save yourselves. Rent, buy a house or just live in your car. Nothing's worse than the wrath of an HOA scorned.

People Going Postal on Parking Wars TV Show are Funny

A & E's television show "Parking Wars" really rings my bell. I watch it every chance I get. If you think you've had a bad day at work, you should watch these parking officers get insulted, attacked and cursed every second of their shifts. The show follows the Philadelphia Parking Authority staff as they perform their ticketing, booting, towing and impounding duties.

Parking Wars is the best reality TV show ever. People come unhinged when they get parking tickets in Philly. The city has one thousand parking laws and aggressively enforces them with expensive citations. I'm not saying I wouldn't react the same way, I just really enjoy watching it happen to others.

The best segments are the booting and impound staff. Once your car is booted, you have 48 hours to pay the huge fines in unpaid tickets you've racked up or they'll come tow your car. Your car can't be booted if you're sitting in it. You've never seen people fly out the house so fast wearing all kinds of interesting outfits just to jump in their cars before the boot's in place. Good times! My favorite booter is Steve. He's the calmest man on earth, even in altercations where I would have removed my earrings and settled it in the middle of the street.

The impound staff happily receives the car owners when they arrive to retrieve their cars. They must provide proof of insurance, which most of them don't have. The stories they come up with are really creative! The staff just smiles and keeps repeating the same line, "I'm sorry mam, without proof of insurance you cannot claim your vehicle. Impound charges incur daily". It's a good thing the employees sit behind plexy glass. My favorite on the impound lot is Barb. She smiles too much and it pisses the people off even more.

The best ticketer of all is Danielle. She's kind of like a Jersey girl, friendly but ready to snap your head off with her fingernails. All the guys try to charm Danielle out of their tickets. She lets them think they're closing the deal and then says, "It's a good ticket. Call the number at the bottom to dispute." Doh!

I wish we had these parking officers in my city. It would make parking tickets almost worth the trouble. The show airs Wednesdays on A & E at 10/9 central. You better watch it.

D.L. Hughley When Breaking the News on CNN Remove Your Pimp Jewelry

CNN is brilliant for hiring D.L. Hughley to break the news; he's brought smart funnies to the network whose best anchors are anything but funny. I respect Larry King's interviewing skills, but lately he's burped odd little leprechaun giggles on more than one inappropriate occasion. I like Anderson Cooper's globe trotting investigations, but his constantly furled brow gives me a tension headache if I watch too long because I'll furl my own subconsciously. And what can I say about Wolf Blitzer? Well, if I can't sleep I turn Wolf on because his monotone lulls me into dreamland.

So, D.L. is a welcome addition indeed. His comedy is original and entertaining and I also like his commentary. Watching him tonight as I've come to do each evening, I caught a glimpse of the timepiece on his wrist. Oh hells no. The damn watch was big as a Frisbee with diamonds prisming aurora borealis lights left and right. And those four-carat diamond studs in both ears? C'mon D.L., lose the P.I.M.P. bling. You don't want those kind of laughs do you, playah?

Rosie O'Donnell's Back : NBC Television is on Crack.

Rosie O'Donnell's obnoxious pie hole will be barking dim-witted opinions and crude blaps on the NBC airwaves weekly starting November 23rd. Well that's just great. I'd rather pour salt in my eye than see her on TV again.

Rosie O'Donnell is a human migraine headache with ocular disturbances. She's professed some of the dumbest opinions I've ever heard from an adult. Remember her 9/11 conspiracy theory based on her belief that the building collapses were the first time that steel has ever melted? Hilarious. I still wonder how she thinks steel is made. DUMB ASS.

All this foulness wrapped in a messy slobadelic package gets you another TV show? NBC is on crack. The same kind of tired controversy can only make love to ratings so many times. She says her comedy will be like Carol Burnett with Ed Sullivan type variety. Please. That's blasphemous. Carol Burnett is so organically funny and genuinely classy. Rosie is like a fart. It's funny the first few times, but after a short while it's just stinky, loud and disgusting.

I Don't Think Michael Moore is a Full Douche Bag Anymore

My previous opinion of Michael Moore as an obnoxious America-hating slobtastic douche has been altered by Moore's appearance on Larry King last night. Moore, a Flint, Michigan native and former General Motors employee, made some pretty excellent points about the failing auto industry on the show. He talked about their failing product line and unreliable vehicle performance as the reasons behind the industry's pending collapse. He opposed the blank check bailout requested by the three stooges on capitol hill yesterday because they'll continue making their bad management decisions with our billions of tax dollars. Instead, he said the government should take the reigns of Chrysler, GM and Ford, replace the management team and direct the companies to produce mass transit and hybrid cars, among other things. Check him out.