Darth Bubba: Modern Educatin'

Consarn it, but that Foxy News network is gonna be the death of me yet. They done and interrupted the Megyn Kelly for 'nother clip of Obama speechifying. Now our Commander in Chief is spoutin' off about how education's so bad on account of we need to have less tests in the schools. The correct vernacular, Mr. President, is 'fewer' tests in school. Boy howdy, but I's havin' a might hard time takin' this guy serious when he don't even speak english good.

Rightly seems like his self esteem has far outgrowed his achievements. Reckon that may be why he keeps hidin' all his old report cards. Musta he went to one of those touchy feely new agey schools where they don't have no tests at all and everyone's a loser and feels might good about it. Could splain much. I'd like to see me some o' those reportin' cards. Bet he got a smiley face in art, a star in gym and probably a "poo-flingin' monkey" in Econ 101. Splains a lot.

Bet he went on lots of field trips, though. Probably to that den of iniquity, the museum. Shouldn't be a legal place at all. All those drawrings and statues of nekkid folks, those busts of busts. Kids shouldn't oughta be seein' that junk til they gots kids o' their own. Gone and warped his fragile little mind, I'll tell you what. No wonder he was havin' those dreams o' his father, dreams I don't want no details of no how. Then, if'n the nekkid folks ain't bad enough, the museums put up those plaster things and call them dinosaurs. Can't be showin' this stuff to the youngins. They ain't equipped to tell fact from make believe yet. They don't know yet what that those dinosaur fossils was just a hoax cooked up by those Knights of Columbus to fool the Rotaries. It all just got out of hand. Everyone tryin' to one up tother. Then they have the gall to claim unicorns is fictitious. Boy howdy, which of those is mentioned in the King James? Dinosaurs or unicorns? I know which ones I believe in.

But I tell ya, field trips nowadays ain't what they was when I was a youngin'. We didn't go to no museums or ballets or dramatic readin's. They took us out to a field, duct-taped us to a tree, beat us with a pillowcase full of hard boiled eggs and left us to find our way back. Good, useful life lessons, and no nekkid folks and mythical beasts and tootoos. Learnt something new every year. Course, if'n I did this to Mr. Obama, he'd probably just cry. He couldn't even understand "My Pet Goat" when Misha read it to him at bedtime, so I don't rightly 'spect he's mentally up for such an elementary school challenge as a real field trip.

But you know what, Mr. President, is the real problem with schools today? I'll tell you what. Way too much of that sexy education. Boy howdy, but it seems like every tother day another teacher is gettin' in trouble about havin' relations with a student. What do you 'spect would happen when the sexy young Health teacher is talkin' all erotic like to the class full o' sexy young teens? Showin' them sexy videos and stuff. Pass out some rum and coke and it's a right old bachelor party in the classroom. I mean, shoot. I send Ellie Sue that one sexy video, and they put me on a list. And these 'teachers' is gettin' paid my money to corrupt our youngins. Not like youngins need any help with the corruptin'. These teenagers know just what they's doin'. With all those teen pregnancies, I reckon they must be doin' it 'xactly right. Shoot, when I was seventeen, I knew just what I was doin'. Absolutely nothing. I was one ugly son of a gun. And this is Darth Bubba, beamin' out.

March Madness

Contrary to popular belief, I absolutely love March Madness!  Fabulous!  Honey, there's nothing more satisfying than lounging around eating a bunch of unhealthy meat and watching other men exercise.  Now if only they still wore those short short uniforms from the 80's.  Come on fashion cycle.  Come around again.  Don't let me down.

Darth Bubba: Makin' That Love Connection

Well, it turns out some folk what I know was tryin' to meet womenfolk with these newly fangled intertube dating establishments. It also turns out, I reckoned, that these folk need a bit more than a womenspeak dictionary to make that love connection. I've perused their pictures and their little intro thingies, and I ain't too surprised at why the womenfolks are a runnin' in the wrong direction. They need some of our expertness. Take a gander at these and let them know what modification they would be requirin' to make good and sure they will be barkin' up the right tree in the future.

Lovelorn #1
Am ridiculously handsome, 28 year old male. Looking for women, 18-22, for snugglebunnies, cooking and housework. Lugging and toting skills are a plus, but lack would not constitute a rejectable offense. Only call Monday-Friday from 4 PM -12 AM, when my wife is at work. French maid outfit preferred but not required.




Lovelorn #2
36 year old, 8th level paladin looking for woman to go adventuring and fight the forces of evil. Must bring own costume, spellbooks and spell components. No hobbits or dwarves. I don’t swing that way. Would be willing to go to dinner or a movie (totaling under $20). If you want to contact me after 8 PM, don’t call since you might wake mommy. Knock lightly on the basement window and I’ll let you in.




Lovelorn #3
Am Tarooq. Tarooq’s one friend says of me, Tarooq, that am handsum and working hard and would make good in sacking. Have greencard but no visa. Need many womens for sex harem. Must be good look in burka. No fatties or infidels.




Lovelorn#4
18 year old male. Looking for that special girl who shares my interests in iCarly, Justin Beiber, finger-painting, sticker books, coloring between the lines, candy, Spongebob and playing outside. Do not like to clean my room, do my homework or take naps, but I can count to 20 if I take off my shoes and 21 if I unzip my trousers. Wanna wach me count?  Also, I have a cool van.




Lovelorn #5
Mysterious, 150 year old male seeking boring, angst-ridden teenager for melodramatic relationship. I've been described as tall, dark and pretty. I'm 6’0” tall, 6’10” with the hair. Prefer to go out at night. While I do have a minor drinking problem, I’m not an alcoholic. Slight Viagara-resistant sexual dysfunction due to lack of heartbeat and blood flow. And most of my friends and enemies will want to kill you. Allergic to canines. No Slayers.



Lovelorn #6
Single White Male looking for playmate who shares my love of rollercoasters. Must like bubbles, monkeys and monkeys named bubbles. Open attitude toward necrophilia a plus.

Oh Momar, You Can Dictate to me Anytime

Finally, after weeks of goings on in Libya, at last there is some good news out of that poor, poor nation.  In the name of Tyra, it's true.  It has just been reported that back in the 90's Momar Gadaffi had some much needed work done.  He brought in a special plastic surgeon straight from Brazil so he could have some fat taken from his belly and injected into his face, sort of for that dictator on the go look, and then, if that wasn't enough, he got some hair plugs.  And I always thought Brazilians were supposed to remove hair.  It's true.  For the love of Oprah, it's all true.  Just check out the before and after pics below and tell me that it wasn't money well spent.

When asked to comment upon this discovery, our beloved Momar had the following to say.  "I blame the Jews.  It is all a conspiracy.  The moon, you know, it is not real.  That light we see in the night sky, it is just the back side of the sun.  It is the sun mooning us all.  It is the sun bending over and slowing dropping trou and giving us the full moon.  Month to month.  The dogs and the wolves.  They know this.  That is why they are always howling, holwing, howling at the insult to us.  Death to America."

Oh Momar, why can't I stay mad at you?  But all this talk of full moons and dictators has me all in a tizzy.  I can't help now but think of Momar in those Booty Pop Underpanties, and I like the image.(http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/beauty/fashion-that-makes-us-sad-booty-pop-panties-157721).   If you're reading this, Momar, I'd be willing to put on a burka for you.  And what happens beneath the burka stays beneath the burka.  A burka built for two.  Note to self: patent the idea for a burka built for two.  It's like a muslim version of the fundies (http://fashionablygeek.com/underwear/fundies-underwear-for-two/).  The jingle writes itself.

It won't be a stylish marriage.
I can't afford a carriage.
But you'll look sweet beneath the sheet
Of a burka built for two.

Call me, Mo Mo, when you get tired of this whole rebellion thing.  I can help you drown your sorrows.

Before Surgery

After First Procedure

Work Completed

Darth Bubba: Men are from Earth, and Women are from Out There

On account of I’m done tuckered out watchin’ little Jimmy and Hank wrasslin’ with their troubles with the womenfolk, and on account of I reckon all you other manly men could do with some advisin’ from a more sensitive soul like yours truly, I reckon I’ll hep yall out a piece. As you can rightly suppose by lookin’ at me, I’ve had some fair bouts of experience with the fairer gender. Whether it’s through my binoculars or the intertubes, I’ve had lots of free time to spend studyin’ these fascinatin’ primates. Just sit back and think of me as Darth Goodall, for a spell.

Now, most of the troubles what we encounter wrasslin’ with the womenfolk comes from the fact that womenfolk don’t speak proper English. The words keep spewin’ out in a constant stream, and the bubblin’ of the stream sounds a lot like English, but sure as shootin’ it ain’t. After years a studyin’, I reckon I’ve picked up a few things and am now learned at speakin’ woman as a second language. What we have here now is a Reader’s Digest condensed womanspeak to English dictionary. Hopefully with this as a guide, it will make yall’s encounters with these beautiful creatures more stimulatin’ and less stupifyin’.

Women Speak ::: English Translation

Yes ::: No
No ::: Maybe
Maybe ::: No
We need ::: I want
We need to talk ::: You better listen
Sure, go ahead ::: You’ll pay for this later
Do what you want ::: You better do what I want
No, I’m not upset ::: Of course I’m upset you freakin’ idiot
You’re very attentive tonight ::: Do you think of anything else but a roll in the hay?
Stop stalking me! ::: I’m just playing hard to get
I have a boyfriend ::: You don’t meet my standards
I’m just not ready for a relationship now ::: You don’t meet my standards
I can’t. I need to get up early. ::: You don’t meet my standards
I'm not interested. I'm gay ::: There's not enough alcohol in the world
Here’s my number. Call me. (giggle) ::: Here’s the number for Domino’s, you hick freak.

Now, granted, I don’t reckon most womenfolk can read what I’m writing here, but for the benefit of those few what can, I’ll impart of my know how to the womenfolk as well on account of they seem as stupefied as the rest of us. Now, first and foremost before all else, let me give you this crucial piece of advice. Don’t ever ask a man what he’s thinkin’. He don’t want to talk about it, and you’ll just make him a liar. This is somethin’ we all know. Most times, if women knew what we was ponderin’, they would never stop slappin’ us. But, for other needs, here is a condensed translation from regular English to womenspeak so’s you can know what we’s talkin’ about.

English ::: What a Woman Should Hear

I’m hungry ::: I’m hungry. Make me a sandwich.
I’m sleepy ::: I’m sleepy, so quit your yappin’ so I can sleep.
I’m tired ::: See above
I’m watching the game. ::: Quit your yappin’
Nice dress ::: Nice rack
I love you ::: How about a roll in the hay?
Care to dance? ::: How about a roll in the hay?
Can I call you sometime? ::: How about a roll in the hay?
How about a movie? ::: How about a roll in the hay?
Would you like to go to dinner? ::: How about a roll in the hay?
Love those new pumps. ::: I’m gay
Those shoes don’t match that outfit, dear. ::: I’m gay
Just who did your hair? ::: I’m gay
Can we just cuddle tonight? ::: I’m gay
I’d like to talk about our relationship ::: I’m coming out of the closet and leaving you.

Hopefully, this will assist yall in workin' out the mixed signals twixt the sexes, and transmogrify that verbal wrasslin' into the more beneficial hay-rollin' sort. This is Darth Bubba, beaming out.

Horton Hires a Ho

One night in the land of Kara-magandy,

Horton was feeling a little bit randy.

Since his old lady ditched him for being a booger.

He slunk down to Ho-ville to find him some sugar.

But all the hos down in Ho-ville, the tall and the small

Weren’t to be seen walking the streets, not at all.

To Horton’s ill luck it had happened, you see,

He’d been beaten to town by Thing A through Thing Z.

The hos were all taken.  There were none left for him.

But who did he hear among the dark and the dim.

Why, it was little Cindy Lu Ho:

“Ten dollars a lay, or five for a blow.”

I have only one rule, and you’ll abide or get bent.

Protection’s required one-hundred percent.

For you see I once worked a convention of Sneetches.

They had come far and wide from their secluded beaches.

And whether plain-bellied or adorned with their stars,

Each Sneetch came to town with crabs upon thars.

You don’t want to be like those terrible Sneetches,

Plagued night and day by those fiery eetches.

So, I meant what I said, and I said what I meant.

Protection’s required one-hundred percent.

But I’m clean, pleaded Horton. You will see.  You will see.

There’s no need for worry.  You’ll catch nothing from me.

Oh no, said little Cindy, Many times I’ve heard that.

The last one I trusted was that Cat in the Hat.

And you see, that darn cat, he lied to me too.

Turns out he left behind germ 1 and germ 2.

Those germs were plain bad, and they played nasty tricks.

And the doc had to prescribe yucky antibiotics.

So, I meant what I said, and I said what I meant.

Protection’s required one hundred percent.

So unless you can find a less discriminating ho,

To the drug store with you.  Go, go, go, go, go, go!

But at the end of the alley was a transient named Moe.

He opened his jacket and had something to show.

He had Trojans aplenty.  All priced for him to buy.

Sizes: medium, large, extra large and OH MY!

Oh no, muttered Horton, these won’t fit at all.

A person’s a person, no matter how small.

Excuse me there, Moe.  I don’t mean to sound whiny.

But do you happen to have some a little more tiny?

Of course I do, lad, one size don’t fit all.

A person’s a person, no matter how small.

But I’ve something else here, that might do the trick,

And keep things from ending a little too quick.

If you want to have things get really intense,

This stimulating gel’s only ninety nine cents.

Horton grabbed the tube and paid him a dollar,

And ran back to Cindy Lu Ho with a holler.

You meant what you said, and you said what you meant.

I’m back with protection.  One hundred percent.

And he took care to remember before donning his hood,

That he got out the tube and lubed it real good.

Then what the heck, he lubed the inside for good measure.

Shoot, he’s paying her, why should she get the pleasure?

But then as he started, he found with a shout.

He found with a shout, that he couldn’t pull out.

He found he was stuck.

Stuck, stuck, stuck, stuck, stuck, stuck!

Then in the dark light he saw the print on the tube,

And it turns out, the lube in the tube was not lube.

The tube did not contain tube lube, it is true.

Instead of tube lube, it was super strong glue.

Oh dear, oh dear, Cindy said with a glower.

You understand in this case I'll have to charge by the hour.

Best get an ambulance quick.  There's no time for funning.

And remember, dear Horton, the meter is running.

And all the nurses and doctors within the ER

Exclaimed that the occurrence was very bizarre.

So bizarre that they called in the night camera crews,

And Horton’s bare butt made the national news.

So children, remember if you ever encounter a ho,

Be sure to take heed of Horton’s sad tale of woe.

And be sure to check all your tube labels with precision,

Unless you also want an extreme circumcision.

Remember, it’s best to just  say no, no, no, no, no,

But if you can’t, never buy from a transient named Moe.

Oh the Wonderful Things Mr. Brown Can Do (Revised Edition for the Modern Preschooler)

Oh the wonderful things Mr. Brown can do.

He can go like a ho’.

He can go “Hey, baby, yoo hoo.”

Mr. Brown can do it.

How about you?

He can go like a cop.

Mr. Brown can fuzz.

How about you?

Can you go fuzz fuzz.

He can go like Snoop Dogg.

Rap rap rap rap.

He can go like pimp hands.

Slap slap slap slap.

He can plead “no no” like that rat fink Lou.

He can go like yo’ mama.

Any cock’ll do.

Like Lou’s mistress at the funeral.

Boo hoo hoo hoo.

No no no no.

Any cock’ll do.

Boo hoo hoo hoo.

How about you?

He can go like a meth lab.

Bubble bubble bubble pop

Bubble bubble bubble bubble bubble

Pop pop pop

He can go like Skoal.

Chew chew chew chew

Oh the wonderful things Mr. Brown can do.

Hey, baby, yoo hoo.

Fuzz fuzz.

Rap rap rap.

No no.

Boo hoo.

Slap slap slap.

Bubble bubble pop pop

Any cock’ll do.

Mr. Brown can do it.

How about you?

Mr. Brown can whisper very soft….very high.

Like the last soft sigh you make as you die.

Maybe you can too.

I think you ought to try.

He can go like a whino.

Burp burp burp burp.

Like yo’ daddy when he’s bonging

Glurp glurp glurp glurp.

He can go like a club.

He can crick.

He can crack.

He can go like a bat on a knee.

Whack  Whack.

Crick crack crick crack.

Whack  whack whack.

Oh the wonderful things Mr. Brown can do.

Burp burp.

Glurp glurp.

Any cock’ll doo.

Whack  Whack Whack.

And boo hoo hoo.

He can even sizzle sizzle.

He can do that too.

Like a tazer against your brain pan.

How about you?

Mr. Brown is smart.

As smart as they get.

He can do Mrs. Robinson trippin’ on meth.

Blech blech blech blech blech blech blech.

Mr. Brown is so smart.

He can even do this.

He can even make a noise.

Like a knife blade’s kiss.

Snick.

Boom boom boom.

Mr. Brown’s got some gristle.

Boom boom boom.

Mr. Brown makes a pistol.

He makes blood splatter.

Splat splat splat.

And it’s very, very hard to make a noise like that.

Oh the wonderful things Mr. Brown can do.

Hey, baby, yoo hoo.

Fuzz fuzz.

Rap rap rap.

No no.

Boo hoo.

Slap slap slap.

Bubble bubble.

Pop pop.

Any cock’ll do.

Blech blech blech blech.

Chew chew chew.

Boom boom.

Splat splat.

Crick crick crack.

Sizzle sizzle.

Burp burp.

Whack whack whack.

A glurp and a whisper and a knife’s kiss too.

Mr. Brown can do it.

How about you?



Lactose the Intolerant: Driving While Being Intoxicating

You may be wondering where I’ve been over the past little while.  Or maybe not.  How knows?  My latent, yet much warranted, narcissism would like to think I’d been missed.  Since I used my one phone call to cancel the appointment for my full spa treatment (Ramon will not receive payment for another missed appointment, darlings), I’ve been stuck behind bars for a while.  Given that I was swept up in the St. Paddy’s day dragnet, it’s taken some time to process all of us in the drunk tank. 

I’ve got to tell you, girlfriends, do not believe what they tell you in the TV and movies.  Oz, Caged Heat, Bare Behind Bars, Lusty Chains, Escape to Alcatrans… they all lied to me.  This was not the vacation getaway I was expecting.  Those films didn’t say anything about a bunch of sweaty, tubby, drunken, ginger Irishmen.  Or their curly, orange back hair.  It was like a full body, orange, Irish afro.  It was like they’d slaughtered Ronald McDonald and all of his kin and made coverings for themselves by sewing together all those hideous little clown scalps.  Let me tell you, there aren’t enough lasers in the world, dearies.  The power needed to do the electrolysis would overload the grid and plunge the entire emerald isle into total blackness.  At least it’s obvious that they’ve stockpiled their wax, so they’d still have candle light.  It must be some survival of the fittest thing.  Without that hair suit to protect them, their pasty white skin would burst into flames at the first touch o’ sun.  And then, each time they got hosed down for fighting, the wet, orange, matted hair made them look like they’d spent too much time in a malfunctioning fake baker.  Unless you’re on Jersey Shore, honey, that look is so ‘00s. 

But anyway, I finally understand why green is the color of St. Paddy’s day.  The sights and smells of the native Irish left me nauseous.  I was green through and through, and it wasn’t from envy, darlings.  Seriously, all those ‘Kiss me I’m Irish’ T-shirts need to come with a warning label.  I’m super serial.  Warning: The Surgeon General has determined that kissing the Irish can cause chronic halitosis, mental illness, nose pimples, bulimia, shrinkage, loss of libido, brain damage, severe loss of appetite and suicidal tendencies.  It was SO not fabulous, and I think I broke three nails and I’m going to have to start all over again with my new cleansing and exfoliating regimen and, oh, these split ends, but on the fabulous side I did lose three pounds.

But how, you may ask, did I allow myself to get stuck in the drunk tank with a bunch of drabulous brawlers?  Well, St. Paddy’s day started pretty much the way it always does.  I donned my green leather and headed over to Crackatoa’s Cock-Tails for their annual St. Paddy’s day bash.  They always have open pole night on St. Paddy’s day, so anyone who wants to can get up on stage, give the pole a twirl and shake their booty for the crowd.  After about two green Cosmopolitans and a Velvet Hammer, this asiany midgety person hopped up on stage wearing a shiny green suit, and he reminded me instantly of a leprechaun version of the asiany fellow in Good Morning Vietnam who was so proud of his shiny green suit.  As the shiny green suit came off, it was readily apparent that he wasn’t a little person at all but that he was just missing his legs just above the knee, and he was missing his left hand. 

After the show, Julio kept nudging me, saying the little asian fellow was giving me the eye.  I said, “Naw.  Their eyes always look like that.  Anyway.  As if.”  But after a while, he came over to introduce himself.  Upon a closer look, it turned out he wasn’t just missing both legs and a hand, but one of his eyes was glass and half his left ear was gone.  He said his name was Lucky.  (Of course, pronounced in his native tongue, it was Ruckee, but being culturally sensitive as I am, I was able to understand).  “Ew,” I said.  “Yucky is more like it.  I’m not that drunk yet.”  Of course, after three more Velvet Hammers, I was exactly that drunk, and he wound up sitting on my lap in the front seat of my mini-cooper as I was driving for home.  He couldn’t reach the pedals on account of his disability, so I let him steer.  Before we knew it, we were being pulled over by the cops.  It wasn’t our fault, really.  They were profiling.  The cops were stopping absolutely everyone who was driving through the elementary school playground.  It’s profiling, and it’s wrong. 

The cop said I was being stopped for suspected DUI.  “DUI,” I slurred.  “You’re pulling me over for being a dirty, ugly Irishman?  You insult me, sir.”  The officer was not amused.  Turns out, he was both Irish and stone cold sober.  I know, who would have guessed either of those?  Lucky just started singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” and offered to take the officer to his pot o’ gold.  The officer just gave him a breathalyzer test.  Lucky passed, and the officer let him go, which leads me to wonder why he steered me into the swingset.  Maybe it is true what they say about asian drivers.

Darth Bubba Beaming Out

Been watchin’ that Foxy News Network again. That Megyn Kelly warn’t on, but since Ellie Sue done and gone back into the house again, I reckon I had no choice but to stash my binoculars and watch anyways. And boy howdy, but I can’t rightly git that thinkin’ what comes out o’ them burrocrats’ noggins. Guvment illogic strikes my groin yet again. Turns out that great state of Georgia (by gum, but that state turns out some mighty fine, plump peaches, if you know what I mean) executes killers usin’ lethal injection. Whiles I’ve always been partial to a good lynchin’ myself, I won’t fault them for being too soft and merciful. They are burnin’ the trash, after all. But it turns out they use a drug called thiopental to painlessly send these murderers straight into the bowels of Hades wheres they belong, and the great state of Georgia don’t use this drug for nothin’ else. Though, on account of it’s also used as a truth serum, I reckon we ought to be usin’ it nonstop and round the clock on all politicians, side effects be hanged.

But anyways, first, the guvment holds up all the drug Georgia was waitin’ on in customs. Then, when the guvment still wouldn’t let the drugs out o’ customs, Georgia finds a new dealer, a bunch of filthy Europeans, but I reckon that was their only choice. Problem is it seems the guvment heard tell that Georgia was getting’ their stash o’ drugs from some filthy Europeans, and the guvment didn’t like the filthy Europeans on account of they hadn’t yet allowed the FDA to have its way with them. So’s the guvment goes and confiscates all o’ Georgia’s drugs on account of they might not be safe cause they was cooked up by filthy Europeans. I reckon the guvment is worried that a drug use to kill people is unsafe.

Now, I’m not a doctor, but I pay the one what Ellie Sue visits a monthly stipend to put those hidden camera thingies in her waitin’ room, and boy howdy, unless the harmful side effect of the drug is violent zombification, I’m not too worried bout what may or may not happen to the corpse what took the drug. Rather akin to worryin' about whether the bullet you shot the trespasser with will give him lead poisoning. I aint worryin' bout it. So’s, here’s my plan, Georgia. You go on and just go ahead and call yer dealer and have him deliver the goods to me. In exchange for just a few o’ those fine, squeezable Georgia peaches, I’d be more than happy to scoot them drugs up my scooter and then scoot them right cross the border for you. It’s the least I can do to ensure justice is served. And if you disagree with me, you must be an atheist serial killer who don’t like soft, supple peaches. And this is Darth Bubba, beaming out.

Uncle Lactose's St. Patrick's Day Trivia

As Julio pinched my tush this morning for not wearing green, it reminded me that it was St. Patrick’s Day (actually, I remembered it was St. Patrick’s Day, but I just really like getting my tush pinched), and I realized that I don’t know squat about St. Patrick’s Day.  Since I kind of like to know stuff, I diddled around on the internet a bit.  Here are some little known facts I found out about St. Patrick’s Day.

1)      When an Irish lad turns 16, he’s given his first pint of ale on St. Patrick’s Day.  It’s officially the first time he’s had alcohol since he was breast feeding.

2)      St. Patrick was first credited with using the three-leafed shamrock to describe the Trinity to the Irish pagans around 436 AD.  However, it only really made sense to him as well when he was as drunk as his audience.

3)      Of course, when he really got a buzz going, he started using the four-leafed shamrock to describe the various illicit pleasures he had heard reported regarding the goings on at Mistress O’Hoolahan’s brothel.  Hence, to this day, finding a four-leafed shamrock is associated with getting lucky.  When the Irish came to America, which is notoriously shamrock-free, the superstition got transferred to the clover.

4)      Originally, the color blue was associated with the celebration of St. Patrick’s Day, but the official color was changed to green in the mid 1960’s as part of a marketing ploy surrounding the Shamrock Shake.  How much money changed hands between McDonald’s, the Irish Parliament  and the Vatican is still a matter of controversy.

5)      While St. Patrick is credited with giving a powerful sermon upon a hilltop which drove all of the snakes out of Ireland, the Irish were much more grateful to him for driving the all the bagpipes back to Scotland.

6)      In Ireland, they traditionally celebrate St. Patrick’s Day by coming out in the streets, wearing green, fighting and drinking beer, which is a departure from their usual routine of staying inside, wearing green, fighting and drinking beer.

7)      The pins, buttons and t-shirts with the slogan “Kiss me, I’m Irish” were primarily a public relations scheme to mask Ireland’s nationwide epidemic of chronic halitosis caused by the local cuisine.

8)      While the practice has currently been force underground on the Emerald Isle, St. Patrick’s Day was traditionally celebrated by gambling a week’s wages on drunken toddler knife fights.

9)      In the early days, the pagans used to descend upon Irish Christians celebrating St. Patrick’s Day and kidnap a bunch of virgins.  After their bonfire died down, they would tie their captives hands behind their backs and toss them barefoot onto the remains of the fire to watch them hop about on their toes in the hot embers.  Historians aren’t sure why, but the pagans referred to this spectacle as Riverdance.

Uncle Lactose's Interior Design for Dummies

The cardinal sin here, of course, is one must never, ever, ever, have any pussy cats in the home.   Here is just a fraction of the pussy cats Julio has acquired to adorn his chateau.  Whether they are real pussy cats or stuffed ones, a pox on them all.

But it begs the question, Julio, if these pussy cats aren't real, why are you buying all that cat food?  And, more crucially, who exactly has been using that litter box?

Uncle Lactose's Interior Decorating for Dummies

Checked out the Brown's new bathroom.  Hated it.  Who knows the gut-busting decorating don't illustrated by these towels?  Hmmm? 

It looks like Mommy’s and Daddy’s hints that little Conner and Jenny are getting too rotund are getting less and less subtle.  OM, OM, OMGolly.  For the love of Oprah, please don’t do this to your children, girlfriends. 

I’m saying this from the heart and from bitter experience.  My mother once bought me a special pair of shoes with a bathroom scale built right into the heels.  Every time I took a step, the shoes would speak to me, announcing my weight and telling me how many more calories I needed to burn before anyone could ever love me again.

So all you soft, squishy kiddies out there.  Stand up for yourselves.   Do what I did.  Just last week I looked mummsy in the eye and said, “Mother, I’m a man, and I’m not going to wear those shoes anymore.”  And I hurled the shoes right out the window.  And once I can find the super glue solvent, they’re coming right off again.  Say it with me: I’m portly and I’m proud!  I’m portly and (sob) I’m proud!  I’m portly (sob, sob) and (weeping)…

And who’s going to come over and wring the tears from my pillow so I can sleep tonight?  Not you, mother.  Not you.  Not anybody.  The shoes are right.  The shoes are right.  The shoes are always right.

Uncle Lactose's Interior Decorating For Dummies

Well, dip me in lavender and sprinkle me in glitter, but it's time for another lactation-inducing edition of Uncle Lactose's Interior Decorating Tips, where I look at the best and worst of modern interior design and mock it all to my heart's content.  Like this silly little number below.

Saw this little setup at Julio's Casa del Amore the other morning, and only one thought came to mind: the only thing Julio must treasure more than his prized collection of blue and white pottery are the framed drawings of his prized collection of blue and white pottery.  Then, when he served me up the tray of orange flowers, I realized that I had probably over stayed my welcome.

Better Off Ted: In Memorium

Fade in:   Camera shot: TED (head of R&D at Veridian Dynamics) and VERONICA (Ted's boss) walking down the aisle between the cubicles.   VERONICA: We've got a new project from Corporate. They want you to find a way to get cow milk from an animal that's not a cow. A rat, a dog a chicken, whatever.   TED: I don't think we can get milk from a chicken. It's kind of a mammal thing.   VERONICA: I don't want a biology lesson. I just want cow's milk.   TED: If they want cow's milk, why don't they get it from a cow?   VERONICA: Corporate wants to undercut the global dairy industry and take over. It turns out people aren't interested in cat milk or horse milk or pig milk. They want cow milk.   TED: Who knew?   VERONICA: My thought exactly. Why would starving people be so picky? But, anyway, we can't undercut the competition by using cows. Everybody's using cows. We need an edge. And that's where you come in. You need to find the animal that we can use to produce milk most cheaply, and then redesign the animal so it produces cow milk. Can you do that?   TED: We can do that.   VERONICA: Good. Oh, but one more thing. The milk also needs to function as a high-powered liquid explosive.   TED (speaking sardonically to the camera): Of course it does.   Beginning of fake Veridian commericial.   Smash cut: Veridian Dynamics logo.   Commercial voice over: We're Veridian Dynamics. You may have heard of us, but you may not be aware of the many products we make, and that's probably be a good thing.   Smash cut: Picture of a meadow filled with beautiful flora and fauna.   Commercial voice over: Nature has created many beautiful and wonderous things.   Smash cut: Rapid slideshow of lions tearing apart a zebra, a naked mole rat, a chimpanzee attacking a helpless woman, etc.   Commercial voice over: But nature can also be harsh and ugly. We at Veridian Dynamcis would like to change all that.   Smash cut: Picture of happy, well groomed scientists in a lab.   Commercial voice over: Through the marvels of genetic engineering, we can tranform what is ugly about nature into a thing of beauty.   Smash cut: Veridian dynamics logo.   Commerical voice over: Veridian Dynamics. Making the world a more beautiful place one cell at a time. Veridian Dynamics and genetic engineering... BFFs. Kicking nature to the curb since 1996.   Commericial Break.   Back from commercial.   Camera shot: VERONICA'S office.  VERONICA is seated at her desk and TED is seated across from her.    VERONICA: I need you to give this to Linda for me.  Tell her to start using it.   TED: What is this, exactly.   VERONICA: It's makeup, Ted.   TED: Just makeup?   VERONICA: Do you really want to know?  You'll lose plausible deniability.   TED: Yes, then I think I really do need to know.   VERONICA: Ok, in these dark, recessionary times, Corporate has decided to make a play for one of the two industries that thrive regardless of economic downturns.    TED: Which are?   VERONICA:  Surely, you know, Ted.  The industries that prey upon the very basic fabric of human nature:  female vanity and the male libido.   TED: Isn't that a bit sexist.   VERONICA: The market doesn't care about sexism.  The market cares about what sells.  And sexy sells, Ted.  And this, what we have here, is sexy.   TED: Ok, what is it.   VERONICA: Here's what we take the market with. This is a special formulation that, when applied, will genetically alter the person's face so that the makeup is permanent.  Get the base the way you want it, the lipstick, the rouge, the mascara.. done.  You never have to wash it off.  You never have to reapply it.  You're beautiful forever.  No more waking up after a one-night stand and rushing to the bathroom to put your face back on.  No more wasted time every morning and night.   TED: The only problem is that this is illegal.   VERONICA: Just because we lost a legal battle doesn't mean we lost the war.  I just shipped off samples to all the Congressmens' wives and mistresses, and I sent some to Barney Frank for good measure.  Of course, these samples are only partially permanent.  When they wear off and the women want more, the laws will change in our favor, and we need to be ready when they do.  You need to convince Linda to try it, and once she sees how good it works, she'll have no problem recruiting employees to run the safety protocols under the table.   TED: I just don't feel good about this.   VERONICA: Don't do this to me, Ted.  The stuff is safe.  We've run all the animal testing.  You know that saying about putting lipstick on a pig?  Completely false.  Those pigs looked fabulous!  If I were a lesbian, I'd be tempted to take one home with me, and I think Lem is completely smitten with Violet.   Smash cut: LEM in the lab, nuzzling nose to nose with Violet the made-up pig.   LEM: I finally understand what Kermit saw in Miss Piggy.  Yes I do.  Yes I do.   Smash cut: Back to VERONICA'S office. TED: I'm sorry.  If you want Linda to do this, you'll have to convince her yourself.  I'm  washing my hands of it.   (TED gets up and leaves office)   VERONICA: Drat.   Camera shot: VERONICA is conversing with LINDA outside LINDA'S cubicle.   LINDA: Absolutely not!   VERONICA: If you'd just come to the lab with me and see the pigs, you'd be completely on board with this.   LINDA: If it's such a great idea, why don't you try it?   VERONICA: Oh, I never wear makeup. I look this good naturally. You, on the other hand...   LINDA: Have you ever heard the phrase: You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?   VERONICA: And you can catch even more flies with a Veridian fly trap. Chock full of pheromones. (thinks) Maybe we could put pheromones in this formulation. Give it that extra zing.  But you can't change the subject that easily. Back to you testing this for me.   LINDA: I oversee testing at this facility. I've seen what happens to the test subjects. Absolutely nothing formulated here is going on my body . VERONICA: We've done our due diligence. It's completely safe, and completely reversible. We've been formulating the removal cream in parallel. It's key to the product. Styles change every few years, and the makeup has to be removable and replaceable.   LINDA: Yeah,  that stuff will go on my face when pigs fly.   VERONICA (quickly shaking LINDA'S hand and smiles): Deal.   Smash cut: VERONICA and LINDA standing in observatory.   VERONICA (motioning out wall window): Keep watching.   Sound of cannon followed by pig squeal. Pig can be seen flying past the window into the distance.   VERONICA: We found out a long time ago that all pigs can fly. It's just a matter of giving them the right thrust. (Drops vials into LINDA'S hands.) I expect you to look ravishing tomorrow.   Smash cut: to the lab. PHIL is working at bench. LEM walks up to him.   LEM (worried): Phil, have you seen Violet?   PHIL (glances at watch): No, but I imagine she's somewhere over Wisconsin right about now.  This is one more example of why we don't name the test animals.   Fade Out   Commerical Break   Fade in:   Camera Shot: VERONICA'S office. LINDA comes storming in.   LINDA: You've created a monster!   VERONICA: That's not a monster. It's a Homegrown Home Security System. Works great. Now if we could only get it to distinguish between rapists and children.   LINDA: I mean me! You've made me into a monster!   VERONICA: Why are you bringing this to me? Don't you usually talk about these little issues with Ted?   LINDA: Oh no. This is way too embarrassing to take to Ted. As a matter of fact, Ted must never know about this. But it's your fault anyway! You did this to me!   VERONICA: I don't see why you're wasting my time. You look better than you ever have. So good, in fact, that I bet you could convince Ted to abandon his silly 'one-office-affair' rule.   LINDA (flattered): Well, thank you.   VERONICA: And he would have my blessing.   LINDA: Thank you again. But, no. My face isn't the problem.   VERONICA: Well, not anymore. You want to be our spokesperson?   LINDA: No, I.....Other things are happening to me. Bad things......   VERONICA (impatiently): Yes.   LINDA: I'm growing eyebrows and eyelashes.   VERONICA: Yes you have. And they look fabulous.   LINDA: No. Stop doing that. I'm growing what appear to be eyebrows and eyelashes.....   VERONICA: Yes.   LINDA (embarrassed): They're growing, well....they're growing... right above each of my ..... nipples. And they are long and luxurious.   VERONICA (reaches across desk, pulls forward LINDA'S blouse and peers down): That's almost a unibrow.   LINDA: What? (peers down herself) It's getting worse.  At this rate, I'll be Sasquatch by the end of next week.   VERONICA: That will never happen.  There's hardly any Sasquatch DNA in that formula.  Besides, you should be thanking me. In some South American tribes, that is a sign of verility and sexual favor. To the Yanomamo you would be Dr. Ruth.   LINDA: I don't want to be anyone's Dr. Ruth. And that's not all. I swear that a handlebar mustache is growing out of my belly button. And there are two great big rosy red cheeks on each side of my abdomen.   VERONICA: Well, you'll always have a job in the parade business. Fat guys with faces painted on their bellies. That never gets old.   LINDA: Something's happening with my back, too. But I haven't dared peek back there yet. I need that removal cream.   VERONICA: Ah, yes. The removal cream. Well, some of the statements I made yesterday were a little forward looking.   LINDA: You lied to me about the removal cream.   VERONICA: According to the project plan, we were scheduled to have the removal cream ready to go when the product hit the market. But, based upon these results, this formulation won't be going to market. But that's good news. That frees up the budget for the removal cream so we can use it for the Homegrown Home Security System. (typing on keyboard). There. Done.   LINDA: But what about me? Can't you have the lab make me a removal cream.   VERONICA: Weren't you listening. We have no budget to make a removal cream.   LINDA: But this is your fault. Aren't you obligated to fix me.   VERONICA: I have no money for the project. My hands are tied. Maybe you can convince the guys in the lab to help you out, on their own time, of course. Sweet talk them. They both seem a little lonely.   LINDA: But isn't Phil married? VERONICA: Technically yes.  But his wife doesn't want anyone to know.  Bye-bye. LINDA: This is so unfair.  VERONICA: You can always talk to Ted.  Maybe he can get the guys to help. LINDA storms out. Fade in: Camera Shot:   . LEM is working at the bench. PHIL comes in. His usual comeover hair style has been changed to the best replica his thinning hair can manage of an einsteinian mad-scientist hair style. LEM (looking up at PHIL): You look absolutely ridiculous. PHIL: Well, you better just get used to it because this is the real me. LEM (scoffs): The real you. PHIL: I found it hard to believe at first myself, but this is who I am. It must be. Everything we do here is evil. Evil, evil, evil. I have the brains to work anywhere I wish, and yet, where do I work? LEM: You work here. PHIL: Exactly. And why do I work here? LEM: Let me guess. It's because you're evil. PHIL: Exactly. You should stop living in denial. It is so liberating. LEM: You know, the first time Ted sees you like that he's going to send you to the lavatory to comb it all back down. PHIL: And I won't go. (Makes muted, inhibited maniacal laugh). LEM: Yes you will. And you really need to work on that evil laugh. PHIL: I know. I need something with a little more teeth in it. LEM: Maybe if you were a little less inhibited and maybe if you were, oh yes, evil. PHIL: For your sake, I'll pretend I didn't hear that. By the way, can I call you Igor? LEM: No you may not. I'm not your assistant. We are equals. Besides, I don't have a hunchback. PHIL: Fiddlesticks. Maybe Janet will let me call her Igor. LEM: I doubt it, though I think she may have a hunchback. Let's go see if anyone has taken the donuts yet. PHIL: OK. PHIL and LEM walk across the lab to an enclosure that contains a scale model of a front porch to a house. There are flowers and shrubbery all around the front of the false house and porch. An open box of donuts rests on the ground in front of the door. LINDA walks into the laboratory. LINDA: Hey fellas. LEM and PHIL in concert: Hey Linda. LINDA looks quizzically at PHIL's hair. LEM: Don't ask. LINDA: What's with the hair? LEM: I said don't ask. He thinks he's evil. PHIL: I have to embrace who I am. LINDA: OK, so what's the evil new project you're working on today? LEM: It is decidedly not evil. It's the Homegrown Home Security System. Once we get the bugs worked out, it will help protect families from any of a number of types of home invasions. PHIL: If that's what you need to believe to soothe your conscience. LEM: The problem with the last design was it showed no discrimination. Pretty much tried to kill everything that came within range. But I think we've got the problem sorted out. LINDA: You think you do? LEM: Well, we're not quite sure yet. Everyone's too afraid to go in the enclosure and test it. PHIL: By the way, Linda. Would you like a donut? Just help yourself. LEM: Don't go in there. PHIL: Sorry. (points to himself) Evil. LEM: You are not. PHIL: Who's idea was it to put the donuts in the enclosure to lure in unsuspecting test subjects? Hmm? That's right. Me. LEM: You know we only let you put those in there because no one ever comes down here who is stupid enough to fall for that. Well, except for the mail boy. PHIL: And quite frankly, we don't like him very much. Lem thinks he's stolen his identity. LEM nods. LINDA (rolling her eyes): Why would anyone want to steal.... Ok, fellas. Enough of the customary small talk. What I need from you two is the cure for the permanent makeup. LEM: Sorry, Linda. No can do. PHIL: Veronica called a few minutes ago to tell us that the budget for the antidote has been cut. But the good news is she gave us more money for the Homegrown Home Security System. LINDA: There's got to be something you can do guys. Don't you at least have some sort of prototype? LEM: I'm sorry, but no. PHIL: Our priority was to get the product working, so we've got nothing. We never even started on the antidote. LINDA: I don't think you understand the gravity of my need. You really do need to make me a cure. LEM: Maybe if you talk to Ted he could find some funding. LINDA (growling with exasperation and leaning in menacingly toward the scientists. The scientist back away from her toward the glass enclosure, scared.): If one more person tells me to talk to Ted I'm going to rip off the top of their skull and punch them in the brain. I'm not talking to Ted! I'm talking to you! And here's what you are going to do! You are going to get into that laboratory of yours with all of your test tubes and your beakers and your geeky electrical zappy thingies, and you're going to whip me up an antidote! (Suddenly the plants in the enclosure rise up and whip about violently against the glass trying to get at Linda) LEM (gleefully): Look! Its working! PHIL: It perceived Linda as a threat to us and it is trying to eliminate her. Good work, my minions. LEM: Just like we predicted. PHIL: Yay! Hey Linda, pretend to be a homocidal rapist. LINDA: (She rips open her blouse to expose her torso). Look at me! You did this to me. (The plants retract suddenly. PHIL and LEM cower from the sight. Then PHIL regains his composure quickly) PHIL: OMGosh. Oh, I mean... (raises his hand with a muted, inhibited maniacal laugh): Just as I planned. (pointing to himself) Still evil. LEM: You're not fooling anybody. LINDA: Fix me! Now! LEM: I'm sorry, Linda. As scary as you are right now, Veronica is still much, much scarier. PHIL (nods head): I'm sorry, we can't help you. Wait a minute. (reaches into wallet and pulls out business card). Here's a woman that helps with my wife's hair issues. She's very good. Only, never mention this to my wife. She doesn't like it when I talk about her. Or to her. LEM: But, I couldn't help to realize that in your current condition you may no longer be, how shall I say this, out of my league, and I was wondering... well...tonight is mother's bridge night, so I'll have the place to myself, and I could heat you up a can of ravioli and then maybe we could have a little role play. LINDA (screws up her face in disgust): Sexual roleplay? LEM: Well, I was thinking Dungeons and Dragons, but your idea sounds like a lot more fun. You can still be the Elven princess. LINDA: Ew! I hate coming down here. I can't take any more of this full frontal nerdity. PHIL (covering his head with his hands): Please don't rip off my skull, but you really should talk to Ted. LINDA (screams and storms out) PHIL: Maybe we could call the daycare and they can have a field trip to the lab. Little children love donuts. LEM: You're still not evil. Commercial break. Fade in. LINDA walking angrily down rows of cubicles toward Ted's office. VERONICA intercepts her. VERONICA: Great news, Linda. Its the taxpayers to the rescue again. Turns out the government has given us a $50 million grant to develop an antidote to the permanent makeup. LINDA: That is so great. Do you think I'll be better by the end of the week? VERONICA: Absolutely not. Two, three years tops. LINDA: Three years? VERONICA: The longer we take, the more taxpayer money we can milk this for, but don't worry. The company takes care of its own. Here are some coupons for ten percent off hair removal. LINDA: What? That's all? VERONICA (holds up a vial): Well, Phil and Lem are working on a new hair removal microbe. Smash cut: Laboratory. PHIL and LEM are huddled naked and hairless in opposite corners of the lab. LEM: Well, at least I won't have to look at that ridiculous hairdo any more. PHIL: Its alright. I was going to get rid of it tomorrow anyway. LEM: Your wife wouldn't let you keep it? PHIL: Yeah. Right back in the closet with all of that. You are so lucky to be single. LEM: Well, for what it's worth, sometimes you can be a little bit evil. PHIL: Thank you Lem. Thank you. Smash cut back to LINDA and VERONICA. LINDA: I'll take the coupons. By the way, why is the government interested in developing an antidote for a product that never even made it to the market. VERONICA: Let's just say that a lot of pissed off Congressmen's wives and mistresses have come through for us again. Praise Darwin for the American system. LINDA: Wait a minute. How long have you known about this? VERONICA: Since yesterday. Some of the higher ups and I have been watching you on the security cameras all day. You are very entertaining. LINDA: Now YOU are evil. VERONICA: What a very nice thing for you to say. (raises eyebrows coyly and walks away). Fade out and roll credits.