Yesterday in southern New Jersey, a yet-to-be identified person used the Walmart P.A. system to make this announcement: “Attention, Walmart customers: All black people, leave the store now.”

Predictably, people are quite upset about this. The black community is calling for Walmart to apologize, the Walmart manager is claiming he has no idea who made the announcement, and Barack Obama is gearing up for another beer summit.

I really, really, really, hate to do this, but I gotta take Walmart’s side on this one. Don’t get me wrong–I hate Walmart. I mean I really, really hate Walmart.

But this probably wasn’t their fault. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure it wasn’t their fault. When I was younger, and more of a mischief-maker, we used to go into Walmart, Kmart, and Target specifically to find courtesy phones and announce things over the P.A. system. It was a hoot. Down a few beers, wander around the store, find a phone, and announce something like “Attention Walmart shoppers: All shoppers with children must leave the store because your little brats are demolishing the toy section. Or “Attention Target shoppers: Please refrain from farting in the checkout lines. It’s getting a bit cloudy up here.”

I have a feeling that something similar happened yesterday in Jersey. It’s getting pretty hard to pull this stunt because most newer stores no longer have the phones scattered throughout the store. Employees now carry walkie-talkies so there’s no need for them, but in the older stores you’ll still find those clunky old phones. If you pick up the receiver and start punching buttons, eventually you’ll access the P.A. system. Some stores were so dumb they actually had the P.A. marked on the phone.

As a reformed mischief-maker, I cannot condone this kind of behavior. And there is no way I would advocate the following:

1. Find an older dept. store that still has these kinds of phones.

2. Do a bit of recon: Walk around the store for a bit and identify the largest group of people in the store.

3. Go to the phone you’ve already scoped out and then make the following announcement: “Attention Walmart/Kmart/Target/Bells/JcPenny/Sears shoppers: All (choose one based on your initial reconnaissance: white, black, hispanic, asian, presbyterian, catholic, jewish, obese, skinny, toothless, flip-flop wearing, etc.) people must leave the store immediately. Don’t make us use mace. Thank you for your cooperation.”

4. Go to the front of the store and videotape the reactions.

5. Post reactions on YouTube.

6. LOL.

There’s no way I would advocate that kind of immature behavior. But if you do commit this heinous, deplorable crime, please post a link of your hilarious YouTube video in the comments section.

Since last night’s Daily Show was a rerun, I took the free thirty minute period to write up a “What’s Pissing Me Off Now?” post. So, what’s pissing me off, you may ask?

1. Sexting pisses me off. You say don’t know what “sexting” is? Well, sexting is a portmanteau of “sex” and “texting,” and the practice consists of texting someone, preferably a significant other and not a casual acquaintance, a nude photo of yourself. As I understand it, sexting has become quite popular with high school age adolescents.

Why is this practice pissing me off? Because, when these hot and bothered sexters get caught sexting, the authorities are bringing them up on child pornography charges for sending nude photos of minors. And the nude photos are photos of their own nude bodies. And they’re minors themselves. And they’re sending these photos to other minors. Yeah. I don’t get it either. I always thought “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine” was a rite of passage and not a federal crime.

Leave this poor kids alone, dammit! They want to see nudity, just exactly like every teenager that has ever lived has wanted to do. So what if they’re using cell phones to swap nude photos of themselves like collectors of X-rated high school baseball cards. Got her, need her, need’em, got’em. At least they’re sending photos of each other and not exchanging videos of vomit-inducing rubbish like 2 Girls 1 Cup, which, ironically, is what adults trade back and forth.

2. “Tea Parties” are really, really pissing me off. Select groups of people who disagree with the President’s stimulus package are meeting in various cities to stage “Tea Parties” in protest. If you happen to live in Sacramento, Washington D.C., Georgia, or San Antonio, you are in luck, my friend! That’s right, Fox News is sending Neil Cavuto, Greta Van Sustern, Sean Hannity, and Glenn Beck to liven up the events of the Tea Parties in those respective cities. Us San Antonioians are particularly lucky, as the mighty Glenn Beck will appear in our fair city. Maybe he’ll burst into tears, trip and fall off the Riverwalk, and drown in the San Antonio River during the event.

I’m all in favor of protests, especially violent ones, but I can’t describe how fucking stupid I find these things. First off, has Fox News finally abandoned the absurd notion that it’s even semi-serious about the whole journalism thing? Because their support and organization of these idiotic soirees is by no means fair nor balanced. I mean, I’m fine with Fox outright abandoning the illusion that what they do is unbiased, they’re about as three dimensional as Alfred E. Newman to begin with, but don’t pretend to have journalistic integrity and then help advertise and pay for protests.

Second, do the people participating in these events even understand what the actual Boston Tea Party was about? The goofy fuckers protesting will most likely benefit from the crap in the stimulus bill, so that part is nothing like the Boston Tea Party. Also, the mantra during the Boston Tea Party was “No Taxation Without Representation.” Current day Partiers, you are represented in our government. So again, another fail.

Also, and I’m pretty sure of this, the original Tea Partiers weren’t even citizens of the United States–mainly because the United States DIDN’T EXIST YET! They were citizens of the British Crown protesting unfair taxing by King George. These current day shitheads might as well be burning effigies of Guy Fawkes while they’re at their Tea Parties.

Now, protesting rising taxes might be something that the modern Partiers have in common with our ancestors. I stress might because every colonist experienced unfair taxing practices by the Crown, but right now the only people getting that 2% tax increase are folks making well over a hundred grand a year. So I suppose if everyone at these Tea Parties is making that much then at least they have that in common with the Boston Tea Partiers. If they make under that amount…well, they should probably just shut the fuck up.

These Tea Parties are nothing more than a rhetorically manipulative ploy by rich, white people, motivated by capitalist greed, to rally and enrage average citizens to their defense by tapping into an event that said citizens don’t even understand. The new “Woodstock” concerts were the same damn thing. Those concerts were filled with dipshits that had no idea about what the original Woodstock was about. Hopefully these stupid Tea Parties will turn out just like Woodstock 99.

3. Plagiarism really, really, really pisses me off. On March 24th, I posted an extended fart joke in lieu of an actual post. The second comment on that post was from “unknown,” and it was ironic, hilarious, and totally awesome.

And then Tank, my hetero-lifemate, conducted a little journalistic research and discovered the comment had been cut and pasted from a “Best of Craigslist.”

My disappointment was palatable.

That was an update on the things that are pissing me off. I hope you enjoyed it. I know I feel better.

So I was trying to think of something to write about the economy when I came across this article . I immediately archived my economy draft because this story is much, much more interesting.

A Florida teenager was recently suspended from riding the school bus because he farted to make his bus-mates laugh, and his fart, according to the bus driver, “creat[ed] a stench so bad that it was difficult to breathe.”

The article goes on to say that farting is not explicitly listed as inappropriate behavior, but that “disturbances” on the bus are suspension-worthy offenses. I can’t even imagine what that kid had to eat to achieve that level of fart-win.

This story made me think of an incident I witnessed in my High School. Big surprise, I know.

We used to relentlessly terrorize our chemistry teacher, Mr. Oliver. Terrorizing Mr. Oliver wasn’t a past-time–it was a competitive sport. Mr. Oliver was an older gentleman, and he was a bit of an odd duck. He would get insanely upset if a student called him “dude,” which, of course, prompted us to call him “dude” whenever the opportunity arose. On one occasion, one of my friends wrote “dude” in huge, capital letters on the chalk board, and then pulled down a map so the word was obscured. Mr. Oliver came in, asked why the map was pulled down, and then rolled it up revealing the gigantic “dude” on the board. It was like a curtain at a theater rising to reveal a magnificent set design. He just stared at it, unbelieving, for what seemed like forever.

One day another friend of mine, Paul, asked us if we dared him to go up and fart directly on Mr. Oliver. Of course we said yes, and Paul walked up to Mr. Oliver’s desk with a worksheet to “ask” him a question. Paul kept sneaking glances up at us as he presumably cropdusted the clueless Mr. Oliver’s workspace.

When Paul got back to our desk, it was high-fives and congratulations all around. Another guy in the class, Roy–who was in fact not my friend but a clingy dickhead who merely sat next to us to absorb and bask in our awesomeness–said he wanted to give it a go. Even though we thought he was a clingy dickhead, we encouraged Roy to spray Mr. Oliver as best he could.

Roy walked up to Mr. Oliver, who was still sitting at his desk, and without pretense, without even pretending to be up there for any legitimate reason, Roy positioned his ass mere inches from Mr. Oliver’s shoulder, looked over at us, clinched his face up in a grunt, balled his hands into fists as he squeezed, and proceeded to rip the loudest, nastiest fart I had ever heard. You could almost see Mr. Oliver’s hair waving in the breeze.

It was truly a beautiful thing to behold.

Mr. Oliver exploded in fury and drug Roy out of the room. And despite the fact that we thought Roy was a complete dimwit, that day, as he blew Mr. Oliver the most bodacious butt-kiss I had ever heard, Roy became our hero.

Anyone familiar with this blog will know right off the bat that I’m a vicious proponent of liberty. I view defending my, and your, personal liberty and right to privacy as a sacred duty, and I will stand guard against the tyranny of totalitarianism, authoritarianism, fascism, and damn-near any other -ism that pokes its nose where it doesn’t belong.

Supreme Court Justice Louis Brandeis wrote in Olmstead v. United States:

Experience should teach us to be most on our guard to protect liberty when the government’s purposes are beneficent. Men born to freedom are naturally alert to repel invasion of their liberty by evil-minded rulers. The greatest dangers to liberty lurk in insidious encroachment by men of zeal, well-meaning but without understanding.

No truer words have ever been written.

The government, in a well-meaning way but totally without understanding, is now, yet again, insidiously encroaching on our Constitutionally guaranteed liberties.

The New Jersey state board of of Cosmetology and Hairstyling is now attempting to ban Brazilian bikini waxes.

Yeah, you read that right. Banning bikini waxes. The humanity.

For those of you unaware of the Brazilian, a cosmetologist will pour burning hot wax all over your genitals and anus. After the wax has cooled and the burning, searing pain in your anus and all over your genitals has just begun to disperse, the cosmetologist will yank and tear the dried wax off your skin, which in turn, pulls with it all the hair covering your anus and genitals.

After the swollen, irritated, and nasty-looking rash that will inevitably appear all over your genitals heals, you’ll look marvelous in a bikini. Or completely naked because remember, the cosmetologist POURS HOT WAX INTO YOUR ANUS!

Apparently two women in New Jersey have gotten an infection from this gentle, elegant procedure. And now the state of Jersey is attempting to ban the whole damn thing.

Look, what we do with our anuses and genitals should be our business. It should be my right as an American to pay for something that in medieval England would have been considered a viable torture technique, all in the name of looking like a prepubescent, naked child.

…anus.

As much as I love technology, I’ve never really been one of the book-alarmists that’s concerned about some technological innovation making the book format obsolete. There are just certain things that books are really good at that handheld devices aren’t. To begin with, books look impressive and awesomely elitist when they’re stacked neatly on a shelf. Just try making a pompous remark standing in front of a bookshelf that’s filled with Kindles instead of actual books. I guarantee you won’t sound like a classy gentleman. No, odds are good you’ll sound like a total d-bag.

Sadly, there is one area where books seem to be losing ground to technology. It pains me greatly to type this, but I believe that in five, maybe ten years time, we’ll cease to see books resting in the shadows of toilet bowls all across the world. Yes, I think that people will stop reading on the potty and will instead surf the internet, read their email, or watch videos via the tiny screen of their smart phones.

Before high speed internet became available on smart phones, it was simply impractical to work on the computer while relaxing on the old throne. Sure, you could haul your laptop into the loo with you, but those damn things get mighty hot, and there’s nothing worse than scorching your pubic area (I would imagine, anyway).

But now smart phones, like the iPhone or the G1, allow just about anyone to sit, shit, and surf the net without the fear of burning off pubic hair, which does not bode well for the codex. Before long, instead of your loved one yelling “Bring me something to read for God’s sake! This is gonna take a while,” you’re likely to hear “Hey! HEY! Is the router down! ‘Cause I’m not getting a signal and I’m just beginning to turtlehead!”

I would finish this post with some kind of pun or flashy ending, but I don’t really have time because I desperately need to go plug in my iPhone. The battery is almost dead and we had steak tonight.

I think I’m gonna need all the charge I can get.

For a male who doesn’t like football, this time of the year totally sucks. To be frank, I didn’t even realize this last weekend was the Super Bowl until Sunday morning. I was bitching because there were so many people at the mid-morning church service, and Leigh reminded me that they probably wanted to get their praying out of the way before kick-off.

I don’t even want to watch the stupid thing for the commercials. First off, they’re commercials. I don’t like commercials on any other occasion, and coupling them with an idiotic game of catch and steroids doesn’t make me like them any more. Secondly…well, there is no secondly. I have a DVR so I don’t have to watch commercials, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna waste a whole friggin‘ Sunday night in the hopes of catching a few funny commercials. Besides, some ambitious interweb-nerd will post’em all up on YouTube. Problem solved.

Everywhere I’ve been this week, dudes have been asking me what I thought about the game. Here’s what I thought: It was just as moronic and Valiumesque in its borningness as it has been since the very first Super Bowl.

Then yesterday, I find out that I actually should have watched the big game. More specifically, I should have watched the Super Bowl in Tuscan, Arizona. Why, you ask?

Not for the game, obviously.

Not for the stupid commercials.

No, I should have watched the Super Bowl broadcast in Tuscan, Arizona for the gigantic dong and the blowjob.

You see, the Tuscan-based Comcast had a bit of trouble with their feed of the Super Bowl. For some reason, right in the middle of the game, the feed of the Super Bowl screwed up and Comcast started broadcasting a porno instead of the Super Bowl.

I’ve spent some time thinking about this, and if the NFL started randomly inserting porno clips into the football games, then I might, and I stress might, watch football. Probably not, but I might.

Thankfully, some ambitious interweb-nerd videotaped the glitch so I didn’t need to watch the dumbass Super Bowl after all. It’s amazing the internet can still do anything productive, what with all the porn.

Oh, that link is obviously very, very NSFW. Don’t blame me if you click it and immediately get fired.

As a Texas citizen, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the citizens of Alaska.

In Texas, we’ve got Matthew McConaughey and the McConaughey Clan, which includes such esteemed citizens as Rooster and Miller Lyte McConaughey. Texas is also the birthplace of Jessica Simpson, and unfortunately, I have to assume that it was here, in the Lone Star State, where she learned that chickens are underwater-dwelling creatures.

Mount Carmel, Texas, was home to David Koresh and his merry band of party-goers. What wonderful Texas representatives those folks were.

The Texas Congress showed the world how to vote with integrity.

It was the Houston Police dept. that invaded a home because of an erroneous “weapons disturbance.” In reality, the apartment belonged to a gay man who just happened to be having sex with his partner when the police unlawfully entered his home. Thankfully, the police apologized profusely to the law-abiding couple for barging in on their love-making. Just kidding. They arrested the filthy, filthy sodomites and took them to jail, just like any good Texan would do.

Despite the fact that Barack Obama has been a member of a Chicago Presbyterian Church for nearly twenty years, 1 in 4 Texas citizens still believes he is in fact a Muslim. We can sniff out those damned dirty Muslims here in Texas.

Baylor University, one of the most prestigious private colleges in Texas, offers a post-graduate degree in Creationism.

Yes, I’d like to take this opportunity to thank Alaska because despite Texas’s reputation as the land of idiocracy and general douchiness, the spotlight has been moved to shine on that wonderful state north of Canada.

Thank you, my friends, for making us Texans look a little better in comparison.

P.S. I have some friends in Florida that would like to send their thanks as well.

Today while reading the comments in a forum about the “Transformers” sequel, I ran across one poster who seemed to think that the mere fact that Megan Fox would appear in the new movie justified actually paying for, and sitting through, another Micheal Bay atrocity. This guy wasn’t alone, either. There were many other posters that indicated that they, too, would watch the film, no matter how awful, simply because they liked looking at Megan Fox.

Now, before I start bashing the ever-living shit out of Megan Fox, let me say that I don’t find her unattractive. She’s easy to look at, I suppose, but take away the makeup team, the designer cloths, the cadre of hairdressers, the personal trainers, the nutritionists, the Photoshop experts, and she’s no different than the half-drunk, junior college girl on “Ladies Night” that tries to con guys into buying her free drinks in exchange for a little dry-humping while dancing to Nelly’s “E.I.”

I question the sanity of people that seem perfectly content to sit through a movie simply because one or more of the actors or actresses are sexy. Salma Hayek and Lita Ford notwithstanding, I can stare at a beautiful woman for about three and a half minutes before she has to do something remotely interesting that does not involve her beauty, or I’m gone. The woman needs to be able to act or sing or dance or do something for God’s sake. Just standing there looking pretty? Shit, even a mannequin can do that.

In the interest of full disclosure, I’d like to reveal that on my first draft of this post I tried to make a list of Hollywood starlets that are only famous because they’re beautiful, but frankly, I find them so boring and vacuous that I couldn’t even make a list off the top of my head. I had to resort to Google, and I eventually figured “why bother?”. And I also would like to acknowledge that I know this happens with male actors, too. Shia LaBeouf is a one trick pony himself.

The only good thing about actors or actresses in this vein is that they typically have a very short shelf life. And then, thankfully, something bad usually happens to them, which, as I’ve said time and time and time and time and time and time again, puts a big old smile on my face.

“I don’t have kids, but if I did I’d never allow them to….”

“I seriously can’t believe Bush is President. I mean, I don’t vote, but he’s the absolute worst…”

“You see that lady? Yeah, her. She’s got a dog, and it’s the most ill-behaved creature I’ve ever seen. Well, I don’t have dogs, but I watch “The Dog Whisperer” and that woman definitely…”

I know some people who would claim that statements like those are invalid because the person making them doesn’t have any first-hand knowledge about the situation on which he or she is commenting. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying “Well, if you don’t vote, you don’t have any room to complain.” Poppy-cock I say. There’s no better place to comment from positions of ignorance and non-involvement.

Even Leigh and I don’t have any children, I have no problem criticizing and deriding parents for their poor parenting skills. In fact, I’m convinced my judgements about their parenting are in fact more valid than their self-assessments. I can hear my readers retreating. Look, their love for the fruit of their loins (why doesn’t anyone ever say loin-fruit?) has obviously corrupted their ability to proffer non-biased judgments, so I’d argue that they need someone like me to skillfully critique their children.

Likewise with politics–a Republican or a Democrat is far too invested in his or her own particular party to fairly judge the party’s actions as a whole, so someone like me needs to come in and call bullshit on all the bullshit.

So the next time someone tells you that you have no idea what you’re talking about, simply look that person in the eye and tell the buttinski, “Oh yeah? Well, my ignorance of your child’s chemical imbalance makes me far more qualified to categorize him as a ‘mop-headed little spaz’ than your so-called empirical ‘knowledge’ of his medical history. And by the by, who did you vote for?”

This video made my inner-Beavis sit up and say ehehehehehehehehehehehmmm: