The Nasty Old Cooter Monologues

Why is it is impossible for an attractive woman to be in 'The Vagina Monologues?' I don't mean one who isn't straight, or who wasn't hot 30 years ago; I mean a woman who's vagina you would actually want to see and/or touch.

There would never be a "Parthenon" monologue, or a "sunset over half dome in Yosemite national park" monologue. This is because these things are so beautiful, so precious, that to talk about them without actually showing them would be pointless and bizarre.

Now, I know the men and lesbians in my audience will know what I mean when I say that a well-coiffed vagina falls into exactly this category. It would be frustrating, to say the least, to sit through a description of it without some visual frame of reference, some point when the audience can let out a sigh and say collectively, "Damn, that's a nice pussy!"

If you are the director of this play, you would know that it is vital to use an actress whose vagina you would never, ever want to see, lest the audience be distracted by imagining said vagina performing its intended function in biology, at least as it relates to a penis or a fist-shaped double-dong.

Saturation

In science, a saturation point is reached when a given space can contain no more mass without either reaching a point of equilibrium between the space and the mass, or the complete annihilation of said space.

Here in L.A., the hipster douchebag population has achieved saturation. The question is now whether they will reach equilibrium, or be destroyed in a hail of mutton-chops and non-prescription vintage glasses.

Of course, like other calamities upon society, they will not go quietly. Hippies had their summer of love morph into a winter of disco and velvet. Yuppies bravely clung to relevance until roughly September of 2001. Hipsters, by contrast, are still waiting for their Charlie Manson, the one person or event that will blow open their PBR-addled brains and force them to get jobs that don't involve a coffeeshop, a record store, or an Econoline van.

As much as I would love to see them all flying through the air like a trailer in a tornado, my prediction is that equilibrium will be reached, and they will be absorbed into the society at large, much like hippies and yuppies before them.

It will be interesting, then, to see them in the future. Somehow I don't think the sobriquet "aging hipster" will have quite the genteel cache it has when applied to an old hippie. No one bats an eye if Tommy Chong throws on some CSNY and lights up a joint. But imagine a 57 year-old bike messenger in keds lugging his turntable out to the rooftop party? Believe me, if you are unlucky enough to be in this space when that occurs, you will wish for its destruction.

You betcha'!

To all of you Palin fans out there, I will point out one thing to you: She winked at you. During a debate. Winked!

Several times. And, to the best of my knowledge, there was nothing in her eye. Except perhaps a tear for all the special-needs kids out there.

The last time a "wink" was contrived without intentional irony on national television was probably during some episode of Diff'rent Strokes in 1987. It's the kind of behavior that if you did in a bar, people would question your sanity; If done in a Miss Teen USA, it would probably get polite applause.

But would you buy a car from someone who winked at you? Would you hire an employee if they winked at you? Would you want a grown adult winking at you as a main component of trying to convince you of the righteousness of their opinion?

"Infantile" is the only word sufficient to convey how our politicians now treat us.

And honestly, who can blame them.


"More than ever on the campaign trail, the candidates are dropping their G's. Hardworkin' families are strainin' and tryin'a get ahead. It's not only Sarah Palin but McCain, too, occasionally Mr. Obama, and, of course, George W. Bush when he darts out like the bird in a cuckoo clock to tell us we are in crisis. All of the candidates say "mom and dad": "our moms and dads who are struggling." This is Mr. Bush's former communications adviser Karen Hughes's contribution to our democratic life, that you cannot speak like an adult in politics now, that's too austere and detached, snobby. No one can say mothers and fathers, it's all now the faux down-home, patronizing—and infantilizing—moms and dads. Do politicians ever remember that in a nation obsessed with politics, our children—sorry, our kids—look to political figures for a model as to how adults sound?"
-Peggy Noonan

Refute this, please.

There is suffering that is not the fault of the person afflicted or any other person (tornadoes, asteroids falling from space, American Idol.)

If there is a God, he must be aware of this, by definition.

If he is not able to stop this suffering, then he is not worthy of the name.

If he is able to end this suffering, and he chooses not to, then he is not worthy of our worship.

Therefore, if God does exist, he is either so weak as to be useless, or so distant and removed as to be nothing more than a tyrant.

Discuss.

I was doing some research the other day when I stumbled on a startling fact: Pacifico tastes much better than Budweiser, but Bud pairs with two vicodin so much better. It might be because A-B actually puts a small amount of pure morphine into each batch of beer. You know, like Coke used to do with cocaine? Yea, they still do it to beer. Only its not a secret ingredient; everyone knows about it and no one says a thing. Except now.

How was this secret kept for so long? Simple. No one, and I mean NO ONE, would ever want to ruin that fun for the rest of us. Don't get me wrong, there are people who wouldn't think twice about answering the cell during a movie, slowing down at a green light, or even reminding the teacher about the homework she forgot to assign, but that same person would never discuss the mixing of synthetic morphine with The King of Beers (C)

The reason is simple: in order to actually realize this deliciously fun combo exists, you have to take both of the drugs (alcohol + opiates) separately, then together, then with a bowl of ice cream, to figure out the connection.

And anyone who ever did that, would never want to ruin another person's chance to discover it on their own.