It's a Butt-astrophe!

Lactose is still in hospital, and he is depressed.  He hates his new butt.  The color’s all wrong.  Clashes with all his short shorts, especially the pastels.  To quote Lactose: “From behind it looks like I’m sporting low riding, dirty, brown granny panties.  This is SO not fabulous.  I feel like such a Frankenhieney!  Curse you, you filthy Scandi!  Oh, Tyra and Mrs. J, why have you forsaken me?”

The doctors had some good news, though.  The plastic surgery department here is one of the best in the nation, and they had a new machine.  They call it the Jackson-2000 Skin De-pigmentizer.  They said it could turn his chocolate brown bottom back to its pale caucasian hues.  He was so hopeful, but just as they were beginning the treatment, disaster struck.

Remember Christine O’Donnell?  That dreadful Tea Party person who said she used to dabble in witchcraft.  Well, she lied.  She didn’t used to dabble in witchcraft.  She’s a full blown Wicked Witch of the Right.  Without warning, she and her minions spirited themselves right into the De-pigmentizing room and absconded with the Jackson-2000.  Right during the middle of Lactose’s first session.  Now, there’s only a little patch of white on his left cheek, taunting us with its sweet, sweet pinkness, like a sad, lonely honky lost in Harlem.

But that’s not the worst of it.  Like all self-respecting, evil megalomaniacs, the witch informed us of her diabolical plans before stealing our hopes and dreams of a normal future.  They’re going to spirit themselves and the Jackson-2000 into the White House and rip from our dear, sweet President the only thing he has going for him: His Blackness.  They’re planning on leaving him a broken, white, cracker of a man without any victim status to cling to.

As she told us of her plans, the Witch was cackling with glee.  “Free at last,” she peeled.  “Free at last.  Free at last to criticize Obama’s policies without being accused of being a racist.”  Her maniacal laughter haunts me still.

And the worst part was that she was right.  She was so very right.  His policies can’t be supported through logic, reason or common sense.  Charges of racism against the opposition were our only possible recourse.  He’s doomed.  We’re doomed.

I tried calling the White House, but they won’t listen.  I’m afraid it may already be too late.

Scooby Doo, where are you?  If you’re out there, we need you now.

Mr. Whedon, this is a big bad!  Help us!  What would Buffy do?

Lt. Dangle?  Anyone?  Someone do something!

Calgon, take me away!

Lactose's Legal Defense Fund Part 3

Gentlemen, don't you love going to the mall or the superstore with your wife or girlfriend or significant other and trying on clothes and browsing through the houseware aisles carressing towels and draperies and knick knacks. Yeah, me neither. Fortunately, our expert team of sociologists has devised a system to end your suffering. If you simply follow our multiple step program, it is guaranteed that your significant other will be too embarrassed to take you out in public again, and, if you excel at the program, you may be rewarded with a lifetime ban from the establishments you frequented. What follows is a small taste of what awaits you in the full program.

1) Always bring along some candy in a large duffle bag. Approach all children and tell them if they want some candy, all they have to do is climb into the bag and get some.

2a) Take all the tubes of Preparation H from the shelf and slip them individually into other patrons carts when they aren't looking.

2b) Remove all the tubes of Preparation H and Crest from their boxes. Then repack the Prepartion H in the Crest boxes and vice versa.

3) Try on clothing without using the dressing room.

4) Set all the alarm clocks in the store to go off at five minute intervals.

5) Ask the staff and patrons if they know which saws, hammers and drills are best suited for bone.

6) Pretend to be a salesman and divert all customers to the nearest competing store telling them that you just discovered that this store supports terrorism.

7) Prowl around the dressing rooms, and whenever someone emerges to check themselves out in the mirror, mumble, "Of course it makes you look fat. You are fat."

8) Grab a couple of bras and wander around the lingerie section, asking each of the patrons, "Which of these do you think will fit me best... 44A or 44B. A or B. A or B. You can touch me if it will help you decide."

9a) Wander around the maternity section. Approach pregnant patron and say, "I think I might be the father of your child. Here's some DNA for a paternity test," and then spit on her shoe.

9b) (Our reserachers determined that this variation of the approach was particularly effective on Walmart patrons). Wander around the maternity section. Approach pregnant patron and say, "I don't think you are the mother of your unborn child. Can I have some DNA for a maternity test?" and then go for the smooch.

10) Go into one of the dressing rooms. When you hear someone pass, stick your hand out from under the door and ask, "Excuse me. Can you spare a square? Quick, does anyone have a square to spare?"

11) Hide in the middle of a carousel clothing rack. When you hear someone approach cry out, "Try me on for size. Oh please try me on."

To obtain the entire, guaranteed Banned For Life program, merely send $150 or a compromising photo of your significant other to:

Lactose's Legal Defense Fund
The Van Under the Overpass Down by the River
Madison, WI 78047

Darth Bubba: Bin Laden Breaking News

I reckon I got me a pretty big scoop right heres. Billy Jo's been lookin' round on that intertube thingie, and he's found a recordin' of what was goin' on inside the President's situation room during the Obama assault. He's gone and typed it up all nice, and here it is. Remember, you sawed it here first.



Obama: Which of those guys is me? My joystick isn’t working?

Hillary: That’s what she said.

Obama: What…

Biden: Nevermind.

Obama: I think I’ve got a bad connection. My joystick’s not controlling any of those people. Wait a minute, why are all these people here to watch me play Call of Duty?

Biden: They aren’t here to watch you play your games, sir.

Obama: Why not? I’m really good.

Biden: You just think that because you’re still in the tutorial. I’ve explained this to you for months. The real game doesn’t start until you get through the tutorial. And, we aren’t here to watch you play. This is a live feed from Navy SEALS who are going to storm Osama’s compound and kill him.

Obama: No! I’m too young to die!

Biden: Osama, sir. Not Obama. They are going to kill Osama. No one is trying to kill you yet. (Musing quietly: No one but me, anyway. President Biden at your service.)

Obama: Our names are just too similar. And we’re both muslim and hate America. I get us confused all the time.

Biden: We know, sir. Now, why don’t you let the adults talk, and we’ll get to you in a minute.

Obama: Wow, that looks just like a reality TV show. How do they do that?

Biden: They have tiny cameras on their helmets.

Obama: Cool. I want one of those. It would be nice for when Michelle and I are getting busy.

Hillary: So that’s why Bill has one of those! He never wore it around me.

Military Dude: You mean you don’t know.

Obama: I know. I know everything.

Hillary: Know what?

Military Dude: Well, we’d all assumed you’d given Bill consent. Eric Holder assured us, and Bill wasn’t getting many speaking engagements anymore.

Hillary: What are you saying?

Military Dude: Um, I’m not sure how to break this to you, Mrs. Clinton…..

Obama: (giggles)

Military Dude: I guess you should know. Go to www.whitehousehos.cigar.gov. Check the fourth page under the ‘My First Lady’ section. What? Like you all don’t have this in your favorites. It was a great icebreaker with Putin after she messed up that reset button gag.

Hillary: I thought we were to never speak of that again. Now hand me that laptop. (typing)

Obama (still fiddling with his joystick): Are you sure you can't rig it so my joystick controls one of the SEALS? And why is it all dark and stuff? Are you sure this feed is live? It’s the middle of the day now.

Biden: We’ve been through this before. Pakistan is on the other side of the world. It’s nighttime over there. That’s why we don’t let you prank call Musharraf during your lunchbreak anymore. He doesn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night so you can ask him about his refrigerator.

Woman at the back: Do they even have refrigerators in Pakistan?

Biden: Yes, they have refrigerators in Pakistan. They have nuclear weapons in Pakistan.

Obama: What, Pakistan has nuclear weapons? When did this happen?

Hillary: OMG, Bill is so dead! But wait, that can’t be. It is. Chelsea? And with Al? Is that Tipper? Oooo. Let me at him. I’ll warm his globe! (Storms out furiously)

Everyone in the room: (huddling around to watch Hillary’s laptop screen)

Bald Guy 2: Hey, turn up the volume.  This is the best part......Uh, or so I've heard.

Forty-five minutes later, the laptop battery runs out.

Biden: OK, back to Osama. Wait a minute. The screen’s gone black. Was anyone paying attention? Did we get him? Are the SEALS dead? What? I can’t believe this. This was a big effin’ deal.

Obama: Better check with Fox News. They’ll have the story right.