The Banned/Not Banned book list.

(Continuing our crusade to protect your freedom and bring awareness to your lives, we here at Goldmind's unwind have collected the great banned/not banned book list. For every banned book that you cannot get your fingers on here for various reasons, we offer you a feasible counterpart that you can read with pleasure and depravity while thumbing your nose at the government)

1. Banned- Uncle Tom's Cabin- Harriet Beecher Stowe- Banned for promoting stereotypes about African Americans, this literary classic of the civil war era is no longer attainable.

Not Banned- Uncle Joe's bedroom- Colon Polker- still available as an "Adam and Eve" pocket reader, this literary "classic" will never be banned as doing so would set off a flurry of protests from gay activists everywhere.



2. Banned- Where's Waldo-2nd edition- Banned by overprotective parents everywhere, one of the illustrations depicts Waldo himself standing suggestively behind a man bending over to tie what appears to be his shoe. The graphic nature of this photo apparently threatened to scar our children permanently, so drastic action was required.

Not Banned- Where's Crackho?-Marion Berry- Also illustrated, this children's book, drawn in a drug induced haze by Mr. Berry himself, cannot be banned because it's existence is still in debate. It is known that 40 prints of the book were made and passed out to various street hustlers, but the trail disappears there. Apparently, like the hard to find "crackho", this book will be difficult to locate....:)

3. Banned- Catcher in the Rye- J.D. Salinger- Another literary classic banned from schools and many public shelves for it's dicey content. Wouldn't want that dangerous classic literature warping our minds!!!

Not Banned- Punch Her in the Eye- Ike Turner- This non fiction classic teaches the average blue collar Joe how to keep his marriage running like a well oiled machine. And his wife running like a kicked puppy. Visit Barnes and Noble today!

4. Banned- The Joy of Sex-Alex Comfort- This instructional book, expressing freedom and maturity in the act of lovemaking, was deemed vulgar and subsequently banned. The photography that was included may have been the deal breaker.

Not Banned- Sex with Joy- Karen Dyke- This instructional book, expressing freedom and passionate lesbian lovemaking was deemed vulgar and subsequently purchased by every man who could stop by the bookstore without his wife. The photography that was included may have been the deal maker.

5. Banned-Lord of the Flies-William Golding- For it's controversial use of the word "nigger", this book was banned first in Canada and then in some US schools, despite Golding winning the nobel prize in literature. Proving, of course, that societally speaking, it's amazing that we all know how to wipe ourselves when we shit.

Not Banned- Lord of the Fries- Steve Goob- This book, though similiar in title to the above, is instead about a day in the life of an average fry cook. It did not win the nobel prize. In fact, no one has read it. Which is probably why it's not banned. But SHOULD anyone read it, they will find several provacative references to "grease", "oil", and "transfats". Rooowrrr.

Check these out ladies and gentlemen! Let us know what you think!

"Much ado" (about nothing at all)-Political Song 3

Sung to "Making Love" (out of nothing at all)

-Air Supply-

(This song is dedicated to all you Ohio voters who boldly pulled down your pants and screwed the pooch last night! After all the talk of NAFTA, lost jobs in Ohio, poor state economy, and trade concerns, you went out and voted for one of the loudest mouthpieces FOR NAFTA! Great show! Way to rock the vote! So we here at Goldmind's Unwind want to salute you!)

(Hillary sings)

" I know just how to spin this

I know just how to lie.

I know just how to use the news

to pull the wool over your eyes!

I'll pretend that I hate NAFTA

It will be my latest scheme

And if you refer to my voting record

then I'll claim it's just a dream.

And I know that you will buy it

Anything that I tell you

Because as voters you're no smarter

Then a pile of dog poo

And I'll tell you I"m your savior

And I'll tell you not to cry

And I'll tell your moron ears

anything they want to hear

Just to get your fucking vote on my side.

I know the road to the White House

Lies through you slackjawed rubes

And in this diorama

there's no room for Obama

Who cares if he's black, I got boobs!

So I fooled the voters of Ohio

Yet I'm still set up to take a fall

So I'll scream about my minor victory

and make much ado out of nothing at all

(much ado)

Out of nothing at all"

(repeat)

(The voters sing)

"Everytime we see you on our big screen TV

we see the goat horns growing out of your hair.

But the media loves you, and licks your sagging woo woo

so we don't care.

We're searching for our minds, but they're useless and lost

and so we look up to a leader like you

You can use us like we're mindless machines

We're putty in your hands, you are our queen

We gotta follow you 'cause everything we know, you could engrave upon the head of a pin"

(O'bama sings)

"I love to watch you hedge and stumble

While I sit back and cock block

As I tally my delegates, night after night

And hear the dwindling sound of your clock.

Why would you make this race forever?

Why don't you concede your momentum is gone?

Why don't you take a long drive with my good friend Ted Kennedy

And become a book that a movie's based on.

What I'm trying to say here is Hillary

You really make my skin crawl

And I'm so sick of listening to your shit

Much ado...about nothing at all.

(much ado)

About nothing at all

(repeat)

FORTUNE COOKIES

COMMON MYTHS ABOUT FORTUNE COOKIES DISPELLED:

Myth: Fortune cookies are chosen very carefully by a psychic Chinese person in the attic of the restaurant who watches each customer and channels their thoughts. He then invokes the spirit of Buddha to choose the correct wisdom for that person. Then he writes and typesets the fortune on a little piece of paper and threads it into the cookie which is made from rice flour and spit and then the waiter brings it to you so that you can read it and add "in bed" to the end of it, making a total mockery of this time-honored tradition. This is why its so dangerous to trade fortune cookies.
Fact: That's a bunch of bullshit, they just pull them out of a bag randomly.
Myth: Confucius was a wise teacher of ancient Chinese philosophy who invented a religion called Confucianism.
Fact: They just spelled “confusion” wrong.
Myth: Fortune cookies are edible.
Fact: They're cardboard.
Myth: The lottery numbers on the back of the fortune are real winning numbers.
Fact: The numbers on the back of fortunes are actually a secret code used by the Xian Dynasty to communicate clandestine plans while operating in the western world.
Myth: There is nothing sexual about the shape of a fortune cookie.
Fact: There is something sexual about the shape of a fortune cookie.

A random encounter somehwere deep in space....

(I wrote this sci-fi tale to answer a few questions that I've always had. For instance, why is humanity the only species depicted that has it's share of rednecks? And what will a woman's nagging in the car be like during intergalactic travel? And how many times can I make a reader say the word "poop" verbally or mentally. I think all questions have been adequately answered)

A spaceship landed in the desert of the planet Martok, and such a sight created quite a stir among the scattered residents there.

"Dy'all see that?" Gar poop yelled, scaring off their pet slarg in the process.

"Don't panic! Let's just see what all this to-do is about!" Pa poop responded, waiving his tentacles in a calming gesture.

There was a murmur of excited assent from the poop children as they all contemplated just what this landing would mean. And who exactly had landed for that matter. As a group they all waddled towards the craft in the distance, whispering amongst themselves and gesturing with an extremity or four.

"Do ya think they'll try and probe us?" Fuggle poop asked. "I never want to get probed!"

"They wouldn't probe you for all the cheese coins in Martok bank, Fuggle. Ya ain't had a shower this decade!" Gar teased. Being the oldest brother, it was his place in the family to do the heckling.

"I orta slap you in the ear lobe Gar poop!" Fuggle yelled.

"Ewwww! Fuggle said ear lobe pa!" tattled the youngest, Gia poop.

"Enough pooplings! We ain't fixin to show these beings who the inferior race is now are we? Let's show em some desert class ded gummit!"

"Yes Pa," they all intoned.

As they all came upon the alien craft, they were greeted by quite a spectacle. Two pinkish colored creatures, standing on just two legs and gesturing with just two arms were apparently arguing with each other outside the hull of the smoking vessel.

"Don't that beat all, Bob Williams! You told me we had pleny of fuel to reach the megalon galaxy, and now look at this here? Where the hell is this here? Crashlanded and out of fuel on some godforsaken planet! These things wouldn't happen if you'd just listen to me for once and get gas at a quarter of a tank! For crying out loud! I should have listened to my mother and married Fred Bowling! At least that man would know how to read a gas guage!"

"Yes Martha," the much put upon pink thing named "Bob" said. He looked around and noticed the poops gathered around staring at him. He gave them a weary sigh and lifted a large red container in their direction.

"Do you all have a gas station around here?" he asked.

"Yup," Pa Poop said. He was still trying to make heads or tails of this goofy looking pink thingwith the gas can and the nagging wife.

"They seem friendly enough," Gar whispered from behind Pa.

"They look TOO friendly to me!" Fuggle said. "She's just about got her mouth in his ear....ewwwwwwww."

"Hesh now," Pa whispered. "Let's not rile her up any further." For his part, Pa felt a little sorry for poor pink Bob and was very leery of the nagging thing with brown hair and little windshields over her eyes. He stuffed his hands in his overalls and prepared to offer Bob an escort to the gas dump.

But Martha was back to ranting. "How do you even know their fuel will work on our ship, huh Bob? Do you ever think at all before you rush head long into these things?"

"I don't know if they're fuel will work Martha. But I don't see any other humans around, and these people here are clearly not human."

"And when did you first notice the difference, Bob? Hmm? You better be careful. Your PHD is showing!"

"Yes Martha," Bob said, rolling his eyes.

"Pa?" Gar whispered. "Could this REALLY be intelligent life from outer space?"

"Well, Gar," Pa responded. "Look on the bright side. At least none of us are getting probed......."

"Are you a Pervert?"-Personality Quiz

1. If your grocery store selection only offered these three fruit choices, which would you purchase?

A- A banana

B- Two firm plums

C- A soft fuzzy peach with a warm hollowed out center

2. You're at a bar and have been hitting on a tall leggy brunette all night. You are close to sealing the deal to get her back to your place, but just as you're about to go, the bartender warns you she's actually a man. You...

A. Make up an excuse, leave the bar, and resign yourself to another weekend of masturbation.

B. Revise your plans and decide to stop at oral

C. Rush to the pet store and buy a pair of gerbils

3. You put the new comedy you just rented into the dvd player and realize that the store accidentally put the wrong disc in the box as the opening scene of a porn movie begins to play. You...

A. Turn the movie immediately off, return it to the store, and file a complaint with the manager

B. Decide that you weren't in the mood for a comedy anyway and go get a box of tissues for the session to come.

C. Smile with fondness at the memories you made while directing this movie

4. You take viagara for a hot date and experience an erection lasting longer than 4 hours. You...

A. Call your doctor as is advised.

B. Use the side effect to your advantage as you go for round 2 through 20 with your partner

C. Film the event for posterity, brag to all your friends, and charge around your office at work yelling "VIVA LA PENIS!"

5. You meet some coworkers at a strip bar on a Friday night. You have a few drinks and get to enjoying yourself, when on to the stage, dressed as a naughty nurse, walks your sister. You....

A. Throw your coat over her, carry her out to the parking lot, and lecture her about ways to make an extra buck that do not involve embarrassing the family

B. Pretend to find an interesting bug on the floor that you proceed to stare at for the duration of the next song, while making a mental note to bring this up in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner as revenge for your sister being a tattletale while growing up.

C. Sigh in boredom as you've "been there done that."

6. Your idea of "adventurous" is....

A. Doggy Style

B. A midget

C. A Doberman

7. Your girlfriend decides to surprise you for Valentine's Day by bringing her friend along for a menage a trois. Your reaction is...

A. Embarrassment at having to perform for two women

B. Excitement at having to perform for two women

C. to nudge your girlfriend's mom over in the bed to make room for the two of them.

8. You find people who flash others while dressed in trench coats to be:

A. Dangerous and disgusting members of society who should be incarcerated

B. Role models for sexual freedom and lack of inhibition

C. Unimaginative bores who need to find more interesting ways to get their rocks off like auto-erotic asphyxiation.

9. While growing up, if you had a question about sex, you would.....

A. try to read about the answer in some dry medical periodical.

B. Openly ask your parents using uninhibited slang terminology

C. Experiment on mom while she was sleeping

10. To you, the term "pervert" means...

A. From the Latin Pervare, meaning "out of the norm"

B. I've been caught peeping in the neighbor's windows again.

C. I can't look it up with someone sitting on my face

Give yourself 1 point for every "A" answer. 2 points for every "B" answer. 3 points for every "C" answer.

10-16 points- Mr. Missionary position. Your lack of imagination and perversity puts us to sleep just thinking about your gyrations....or lack thereof.

17-24 points- Congrats! While a whip, chain, or strap on is not out of the question, at least the sheep are safe. Except for maybe that cute one with the blue eyes....

25-30 points- 655-1000. That's my phone number. Call me. I need tips.

Irving; A tale of the One Hundred and Forty Second Fastest Gun in the West

Due to a series of unfortunate incidents far too embarassing to relate here, Irving rode into town on the back of a limping cow. It had taken him the better part of a day just to travel the five miles from Lexing's camp, but he had accomplished it. However, it was truly amazing how one could get saddle sore without ever using a saddle.

He dismounted with a flourish, trying to win back some dignity, and actually accomplished the feat with some degree of grace. But, alas, no one was watching.

Irving sighed, ran his hands over the ivory handle of Colt, and began his bow legged saunter in the direction of Mitzy's saloon. Ole Mitzy Barton had been a showgirl of some renown back in her hay day. It was said that President Zachary Taylor had once come to see her show and had actually made a pass at her. Then his wife, Hillary Rodham Taylor, had found out about it and spirited him out of town and back to the white house before he got an urge to see the Gennifer Flowers pottery show. Good old Mitzy. She could spin a yarn or two.

Irving pushed through the swinging doors and was instantly greeted by the familiar sight of old Dinny Claymore pulling the peel off of a yellow oblong fruit.

"Now that's a bonanza!" Irving stated, pointing at the fruit.

"For the sixtieth time, Irving, it's a dead blamed banana. Ta ain't no 'z' anywhere in the name!" Dinny scowled at him.

"I know that you old codger!" Irving replied laughing and making a mental note about the 'z'. "Where's Mitzy?"

"She's a hidin' upstairs. Seems there's a rumor that the rifleman is comin' ta town this afternoon and she don't want no part of it."

"The rifleman eh? He a bad character?"

"You don't mess with the rifleman, Irving. He's killed more people than Mitzy's liver and onions."

"Well what's he comin' to Ford Taurus City for? Cain't be nothin' here fer him."

"Well...his sister's marryin Jeb Watley, and the rifleman aims to stop it."

"What the Sam Hell for? Watley's a do gooder and an apple shiner. Who wouldn't want him in their family?"
"That's just it, Irving. The last apple he polished, he gave to his father in law to be. The rifleman's dad. It had a worm in it. Now the rifleman has sworn vengeance against Watley and promised to stop this wedding."

"Well Ima gonna stop HIM. Somebody's gotta protect the do gooders in this town!"

"You're gonna get your fool head blown off, Irving. You can't stand up to the rifleman when he's meaner, tougher, and uglier than you. That's right. He's even uglier than YOU."

"So? That's how the west was won! People standin' up for each other and such!"

Dinny sighed. "Irving, the west ain't been won yet! For the love of God, what goes on in that melon of yours anyway?"

Irving shot what was supposed to be a menacing glance at Dinny, but it came out looking constipated. "Dinny Claymore, you just remember that Alamo down there in Louisiana! The west was won right there!"

Dinny was preparing to educate Irving yet again when the saloon doors burst open, admitting a disheveled Jeb Watley."He's here! The rifleman is here! He's a comin' down main street!"

"Don't you fret now, Jeb," Irving said. "I'll take care of this varmint and defend your honor."

"But Irving! Everyone knows you're the one hundred forty second fastest gun in the west!! How are you gonna take him?"

"He's the rifleman right? How long do you think it would take to draw a dead blamed rifle from a holster, Jeb? You think I can't take him?"

Jeb blinked at him. He was torn between trying to save Irving's life or using him as a distraction while he rode out of town. After some debate he chose the former.

"Irving. When have you ever seen someone holster a rifle in their pants? He's already got it drawn you nimwit."

Just then came a roar from outside.

"I'M LOOKING FOR JEBEDIAH WATLEY!" The Rifleman yelled.

Irving, still contemplating Jeb's words, acted more on instinct than on common sense. He got to his feet, put his hand on his ivory holster and strolled out the saloon doors. Right away, he saw him. Decked in a serape and crookedly wearing a sombrero, the rifleman stood in the street casting his gaze up and down the building fronts.

"You'll have to get by me first," Irving squeeked in his best tough guy voice.The rifleman looked him over.

"Irving Pumpernickel? You gotta be foolin' right?"

"So you've heard of me? Pretty impressive considering what a big valley this is. Well...are you gonna ride back where you came from, or are we gonna get to fightin?"

The rifleman threw his head back and laughed. Irving's gaze darkened, and his tunnel vision, such as it was, narrowed in on the rifleman. He gripped the ivory handle of the colt and yanked upward out of the holster. It was one of the more awkward moments in gunslinger history. A piece of Irving's leather holster had looped itself around the Colt's hammer and when he pulled the gun out, unknown to Irving, the hammer cocked itself back. Now on hair trigger, the gun, having been yanked too fast from the holster, rose high so that it was aiming a good six feet above the rifleman. In his over excited state, Irving never took aim. He just bumped the trigger and the Colt bucked in his hand.

Somewhere across the street, a window shattered.

Somewhere else, a cow mooed.

And the rifleman laughed even harder.

"Tarnation!" Irving yelled, forgetting about his gun for a second and grabbing for his face. "I got gun smoke in my eyes!" Irving began rubbing his eyes and dancing back and forth from one foot to the other.

And the rifleman laughed even harder.

By this point, the rifle lay forgotten on the road as the rifleman clutched his belly and his eyes bulged from his head. He was howling uncontrollably, unable to catch his breath.

Meanwhile, Irving had dropped his colt and was splashing water in his eyes from a nearby barrel. Dinny Claymore and Jeb Watley poked their heads out of the saloon to see what was going on. They were just in time to see the rifleman fall to the earth, wheezing and clutching his chest as laughter still bubbled out of him. A wet spot began spreading on his dungarees, but the rifleman kept laughing.

And that's how he died. Hands clutching his chest, eyes bulging from below his sombrero, urine dripping from his trailworn dungarees, the rifleman's heart just stopped.

The citizens of Ford Taurus City still recognized Irving as the one hundred forty second fastest gun in the west, but when it came to rifles, no one could best him.

(The moral of the story? No matter what era she existed in, that Hillary Rodham was one heck of a ballbreaker)

Hallmark Presents: Valentine's Day Cards for Modern Times

(for "her" from him)
How does one express their love
for someone such as thee?
with smile so bright and heart so pure,
you bring out the best in me.
And though you take those hormone pills
and tuck your junk away,
You're so close to being an actual chick
that I can pretend I'm not gay.

Happy Valentine's day!

**********
(for the object of your affections)
I've stood in the shadows and watched you.
I've coveted you with my eyes.
In my mind I've pictured you begging for mercy.
I've heard your resounding cries.
Please, my dear, don't be frightened,
I'm sorry for your dead cat.
I left a bag of pig entrails
at your door as proof of that!
Just please let me caress you,
as I'm the affectionate type,
let me run my nails o'er your milk white neck,
and sink my thumbs in your windpipe.....ahem

Just be my valentine!!!.........................or else.

*******************
(Internet love)
Our late night sessions have inspired me,
to give you this valentine's card.
Though you're likely an actor
On "To Catch a Predator",
You still make my willy hard.
Just imagining that you're a 13 year old girl
is more than enough for me
to keep my "love" expanded,
and make me type one handed,
while I wallow in debauchery.

Happy Valentine's day

**********************
(For the lonely gal)
You are my companion,
on many a night,
my friend, my confidante.
You're the only one
who meets all my needs,
who provides for me all that I want.
With vigor and zest,
you greet me each night,
you're always just raring to go.
Is it any damn wonder
that I bought this card
for an 8 inch plastic dildo?

You're my valentine....always


*************************
(for that long distance valentine)
They say distance makes the heart grow fonder,
But nothing could be less true.
For in all of this world filled with awe and with wonder,
no one could be fonder of you-
Than I.
After all, father dear, I am your heir;
a miniature version of you.
And in the 12 fricken years since you "went out for air"
I haven't heard shit from you-
bastard.

Happy valentine's day wherever you are

******************************

We here at Goldmind's Unwind would just like to say: Wherever you are, and whoever you love, may your Valentine's day be free of herpes!

A Failed High School Health Video of the 70s

(You remember them....the sex ed tapes. Run through a projector, the image was always shaky and featured archaic terms and hideous acting that did way more to turn off hormone charged teenagers than a lobotomy ever could. Folks, as bad as those were, believe it or not, there were some that were actually rejected for being worse! Like this one!)

Syphilis and You

(living with your disability)

Cue shaky projector

Video starts with hideous musical opening as backdrop to innocuous looking couple holding hands and walking in some nameless park.

Cue Narrator

"High school life is a challenging time. Your bodies are undergoing change. Some changes you may understand. Some you may not. The choices you make are often driven by factors that you cannot control, like your hormones. Your parents and teachers work very hard to teach you how to make the right choices and avoid negative consequences, but the fact remains that teenagers are generally idiots.

So there you are. Mr. Suave. Mr. Libido. Mr. Let's Get Funky. You've heard the rumors that Peggie Weller is an easy conquest and you are suddenly ready for action. You seek her out.
Ahhhh there she is. Hi Peggy! You naughty girl. Your parents warned you. Your teachers warned you. Your baptist minister with the hungry eyes and unsightly bulge in his vestments should have warned you. Promiscuity is bad. But you didn't listen! Now your pearly gates are a little sore. And the walls on your tunnel of love are a fiery red. You're thinking you should see the doctor, but no harm in one more fling first! After all, if it feels good do it! Right Peggy? And here comes our hero Mr. Suave right now.

He shares his lunch with you. Gives you googly eyes. Gives you the test for Mr. Pfizer's class that he stole after school yesterday. Before you know it, you're in the back seat of his dad's Pinto testing out the shocks and screaming to the heavens. It isn't until the following week that your doctor tells you that you have syphilis. And it will be three months before Mr. Suave gets his own boo boo checked out and finds out the same thing. Fortunately, Mr. Suave is a lonely man and only shared his ailment with his fist and the box of innocent kleenex that hangs out on his nightstand.

So now you've been diagnosed. How do you come to terms with this life sentence? Well Peggy. Well Mr. Suave. Fortunately, we are here to help. We have assembled three couples to give you advice on how to cope. Advice based on experience. That's right, each of the individuals you are about to meet have Syphilis. And here they are now! Say hello to Bob, Steve, and Winston!

And their wives Carol, Jane, and Doris.
Tell us, guys and gals. How have you accepted Syphilis in your lives?"

Bob-(in a bad actor's "forced" voice) "When I was diagnosed with Syphilis, I was shocked! I had taken care to only have one partner my whole life, and yet here I was with VD! I didn't know-"

Carol-"Oh shut up you bag of crap. I know for a fact I only had one partner and I'll be damned if you hang all this on me. I only regret that my choice of partner was you! Marry me he said. We have no choice he said. We can't give each other Syphilis again he said. I've been cleaning the skidmarks out of that man's shorts for 11 years now! I-"

Winston-"Only one partner! Only one partner! How the hell do you think I got the Syph? That was you under the bleachers that night Carol Schmidt whether you want to own up to it or not! Damn it! Why didn't I stop at the fifth Michelob? I could be leading a VD free life with Doris here."

Doris- "You son of a bitch! You told me you got syphilis from a toilet seat! You lying sack of-"

Steve-"And you believed him? Jesus you four are hilarious. This is better than a night at the cinemas."

Carol-"Don't you act so high and mighty 'Steve'. You and 'Jane' here must have the syph too since you're in this video."

Jane- "Actually no. We were supposed to be starring as the couple in the latest High School driver's ed video, "driving with distractions", but it looks like we're in the wrong studio. This IS far more interesting though.

All six begin yelling at once in a confused babble.

Cue the Narrator

"Umm. So there you have it. Peggy. Mr. Suave. Get married to one another. Swap your syphilis back and forth since it doesn't matter at this point. And rest assured that you won't need to squabble. It's no secret that you're a slut Peggy, and Mr. Suave here was only taking advantage of that fact to his own demise.

Join us next time as we explore another difficult teenage topic. 'Heroin and you. Choosing a safe dealer.' "

Cue shaky credits scrolling far too fast to read.

Aaaannnd......cut.

State of the Blog Site Address

By Cheese

My fellow Bloggers. In the spirit of American politics, I stand before you today to address the state of this blog site and it's current writers. (who, incidentally, should be applauded for NOT being on strike) There has been a firestorm of controversy that has, shall we say, molested "Goldmind's Unwind" in recent weeks and some issues need to be tackled once and for all. Let me just say in general, that the state of this blog site is severely warped. And it's prognosis is sickly at best. In other words, it's right where we want it to be! (pause for applause)

First and foremost, I want to clear up some hurtful gossip involving myself. (It's my blog entry so I'll use ego and put myself first thank you very much!) I have received your emails regarding my posts and I am inclined to make a few responses. Foambubble36, you and your hotmail account are on the forefront of my mind. While it's true that my grasp of the English language is tenuous at best, and while it's also true that I am a vulgar degenerate, there is no way you could possibly know all those things about my mother and several illicit members of the animal kingdom. The evidence to support your claims is circumstantial at best. MarkP at Hammertoe.net, all I can say is that my alcoholism is off limits! Do I write you emails referencing your chronic masturbation syndrome? Of course not! I have taste! Diseases are not funny! And lastly dad, I received your email too. And all I can say is same to you! What ever happened to family support? You've been a real tool since your secretary gave you syphilis, you know that?

But I digress. There are other things I need to get off my chest here today, and I cannot afford to interrupt myself. For instance, the photographs of Numbsain and I in various compromising positions that were leaked to babyoil.com. Now, ladies and gentleman, I am not a heartless man, but I AM an opportunist. With the very recent passing of Heath Ledger and the insider knowledge that Brokeback Mountain 2 was in it's beginning production stages, I encouraged Numbsain to pose in some risque photographs that were to be sent as a pictorial audition for the vacant movie role! That is all! I categorically deny receiving any enjoyment from those photographs and chalk up my euphoric expression to exceptionally good acting. I cannot, however, speak for Numbsain. Or his cute dimples.

But enough about me! There is other skulduggery taking place that needs to be addressed. The mysterious absence of the site's namesake has led to widespread speculation and rampant rumormongering by blog muckrakers everywhere. Shame on you! Goldmind has been located and is very safe where he is at. Your speculation that he changed his gender and became an Albright or that he is the male Jennifer Flowers of the current Clinton campaign was way off base and demeaning. And double shame on you cheeseisreallywritingthis.com! As if making outlandish claims somehow makes up for your lack of facts! Joined the cast of Riverdance indeed! Bah! All of you are lucky that Goldmind has a penchant for kleptomania and is indisposed for the next 5-8 years due to poor legal representation, I'll tell you that! There'd be hell to pay otherwise!

And even our poor Guinness failed to escape the gossip mill. The new Heidi Fliess? Are you kidding me? Guinness is a saint! A darling! She's so pure that she wore white before and after her Hustler photo shoot! None of you are fit to shine her knee high leather boot! To feel the lash of her cat o' nine tails!

Time to wind down. My blood pressure is now at it's boiling point. It has not escaped me that I have somewhat gotten away from the state of the actual blog site itself, but the firestorm of controversy simply had to be addressed.

As to the site itself, it is consistent. Economically it is as broke as ever with no plan in place to rectify that. Socially, we are inept, confused, isolationists who go home after another awkward day at work and torture whoever we have tied up in our cellar. Educationally, the site is lacking in anything but rudimentary cunning and poo poo jokes. In terms of foreign policy, the site is in English so it his highly discriminatory towards all foreigners. And on the controversial topic of immigration, we here at the site have vowed to outsource at least 30% of our jokes to illegal immigrants in an effort to thwart government attempts to stop the employment of illegals.

Por que el pollo cruzo el camino?

Para conseguir al otro lado.

So my fellow bloggers. As we look ahead on the coming year, Goldmind's Unwind hopes to continue providing you the same low brow, irresponsible, sick minded humor laced with vulgarity that we've always given. It is this level of perseverance that has inspired you to hate us so and slander our collective reputations at every given opportunity. And for this we sincerely thank you.

El Cheesemo.

Then and Now. A Pictoral Comparison

It is a topic that's been visited many times on email and web page, but it never gets old. Truly seeing how far we've come (both in terms of progression and regression.....you decide which is which) in our respective life times. So here is our own version of then and now. The then is the decade of this author's birth, the 1970s. The now is whenever the hell I want it to be. So there. You're in my world now.


THEN:
Everyone remembers this classic, even if it is a bit vague in the pic. It's "Pong", the first video game ever designed for public consumption. It would provide easily 30 minutes of fun as you pounded on dad, shutting him out 8-0 while he mumbled about "new fangled gizmos" in frustrated consternation.


NOW:
Providing high quality graphics, animated combat, and seductively dancing elven women, the world of warcraft is home to over 10 million players world wide. It gives more than 12 hours of fun every day to the casual player who no longer sees his parents, friends, the dinner table, or the shower. Also provides economy boost to China and Korea as foreign "gold farmers" work round the clock to sell players currency that is licensed by "Blizzard." Sure it's theft. But it's fun!



Then:
Look at the sleek frame. The athletic build. The upholstered head. The 70s body was a work of art. Still subsisting for the most part on home cooked meals, marijuana, and hardcore disco nights, the 1970s tummy was taut, smooth, and perfect to snort a line off of. And the 70s ass wasn't bad either.








Now:
Hello fast food Era! Hello sitting in front of the TV watching American Idol every day era! Hello redhead on the right in the pink bathing suit....rooowwwrr...ahem! This is the modern day body. "Curvy". "Voluptuous." "Athletically challenged." "Obese." "Fatty fat fat." Could there be a correlation between this body and the above "World of Warcraft" insert? I don't know and I'm too busy photo shopping the bikinis off of these women to care.



Then:
Recreational entertainment? The lawn Jart. Come on, who could forget the family togetherness? The competition? The aiming for Uncle Frank when he was inebriated because he wouldn't remember anyway? Millions of Americans got hours of joy and not a few hospital bills from this family pass time.



Now:
Entertainment? Recreational teenage pregnancy. Come on! Leading the way for the erosion of common sense and morals in the country, the Spears family is an easy target of my withering sarcasm. But seriously. You have a tv show. Your sister is already a disaster. You're well on your way to your first million. Keep your legs closed!!!!! But to be fair, it's not just you. Say hello to planned parenthood, free clinics, and halls of shame all across America these days. It used to be the birth rate would would double 9 months after a power outage. Now it doubles 9 months after a Hannah Montana concert. Stop it kids! Go play World of Warcraft!




Then:
Ahhh 70s fashion. The bright colors, the bell bottoms, the afro, the mercedes medallion. Every Saturday night was like a rainbow as wave after wave caught that saturday night fever. Never in all of history were fashion trends so affected by alcohol, narcotics, and hideous taste.









Until Now.

CALIFORNIA EMPLOYEE'S HANDBOOK

Customer Theft Aversion Procedure: Toy Store

You've spotted a 5 year old child stuffing his pockets with Sponge Bob Square Pants erasers valued at 59¢ per unit (manufacturers suggested retail price). His mother, supposedly unaware of the crime in progress struggles with a Rubiks Cube 3 aisles over. What do you do?

1. DO NOT approach the suspect directly! This could appear threatening and cause the suspect to throw down the merchandise and possibly damage it. Remember the safety of the store and it's merchandise come first.

2. DO NOT approach the parent as they will never admit that their child has committed a crime. Parents are usually defensive and Irate and any confrontation can lead to a law suit if not a physical altercation.

3. DO NOT make announcements over the PA such as: "Code 7 aisle 5." Most career criminals or professional shoplifters pick up on this type of thing immediately and it could cause them to panic.

4. Clear as many customers out of the store as possible. Then secure the perimeter by stationing an employee at both ends of the aisle, but out of view.

5. Make one attempt to guide the perpetrator to the proper action by staging the following conversation within earshot:

"Hey George did you inventory those Sponge Bob Erasers?"

"Sure did, Steve. I know exactly how many we have in stock. Have we sold any yet?"

"Nope, not a one. Well, you're not doing anything, why don't you go count them again."

"Sure Steve, I will in exactly 1 minute after I finish up here."

Now the suspect knows he has one minute to put back all the stolen merchandise but he may think he can run out of the store before you finish counting them.
So you add the following dialogue:

"Oh and George, they're doing some dangerous electrical work right outside the door so don't let any customers leave for the next five minutes."

"You got it Steve. That'll give me just enough time to count those erasers and then I'll let the folks out."

This procedure should solve the problem. If not, proceed to step 6.

6. The suspect has shown himself to be irrational and desperate. The stolen items would more than likely be fenced and resold on the black market or worse, to a competitor. At this point you must subdue and incapacitate the suspect. But first the mother/accomplice must be dealt with.

7. Approach her and tell her she's won a sweepstakes and in order to claim her prize, she must give an interview. Lure her into the back room with a stack of My-First-Wad® Play Money. Once this is done, use chloroform to render the accomplice unconscious. Now, quietly escort all customers out the door and seal all exits and entrances.

8. Employees must don Batman BatGas Masks® before proceeding. As four employees close in on the suspect, nerve gas is released into the ventilation system so that he should already be feeling woozy. As his coordination falters he may reach for his weapon and attempt to discharge it. Quickly bombard the now armed felon from all sides with Nerf® Darts and ensnare him in a webbing of Spiderman Silly String®.

9. As he becomes engulfed in the polymer-elastomeric product he will be both disoriented and immobilized enough to move in and separate him from the merchandise which should be handled with the utmost care to minimize damage.

10. Once the merchandise is safe, the felon can be destroyed with several rounds from a real grown-ups pistol equipped with a silencer fired at point blank range. The same should be done with the mother who is harmlessly unconscious in the back room. The bodies should be tightly wrapped and sealed in bubble-pack, boxed in cardboard shipping cartons and disposed of in the dumpster behind the store.

Congratulations! you've just successfully averted a theft in progress and saved your employer potentially tens of dollars. Keep this document posted on the premises at all times and require employees to review it regularly.

These theft aversion procedures have been approved by Governor Shwarzenegger and the Bush Administration in compliance with the California State Penal Code and the California State Law Enforcement Act.

by numbsain

A Tribute to our Wayward Leader

At left: Goldmind, founder of this site and daily inspiration, set out on an innocent trip to Disneyland about a month ago and has not been heard from since. It is feared by this writer that Goldmind's patented daisy duke ensemble may have led to his downfall in some "Blue Oyster Cult" bar on the left coast. Please come back to us Gold! There is no lead in our pencils
without you!

You're the Inspiration

(cue the music)

Goldmind....I wanted you tell you how I feel about you. I wanted you to know that my ideas are impotent without you.

So much of me is impotent without you.

And due to recent writer's block, I can only tell you how I feel in a song.

This is a ditty from "Chicago".

Goldmind....you're my Inspiration.

"You know this site was meant to be

A timeless blog to last forever

I need you here to edit me

Before I post pics of my member

You should know, the places my mind goes

while my hands are in my pants, on my knob

Where's my corn cob, baby

Got no meaning in my life

Got writer's constipation

Made references to my skin fife

and teenage fornication

Gold you gotta help me!

Before I do something crazy!

Like post compromising pics of me and a ewe!

And I know, yes I know that this a sad plea

Show's how deep my mind is in the gutter.

Now I know that I need help to keep clean

and not type words like "round ass covered in butter"

See there I go, dirty as a crack ho

twisted in the mind, blackened heart

muddied soul

The only meaning in my life

is drugs and masturbation

So without you here in my life

It's verbal menstruation

I gotta have you near me

Before I write about my pee pee

Come on save me Goldmind

Come on save me Goldmind

Yeah come on back to Numb and me

And we won't explore you anally

No one needs you more than we.....need......you"

(music still cued but fading)

Goldmind.....I hope you felt the passion in that song.

I hope you felt the need burning within me.

I hope you saw where my eroding thoughts are heading

Come back to us Gold.....

We love you....

Practicing Banal Sex; A message from your president

By George W. Bush

Ladies and gentleman, the only recreational activity out there that has been in existence since the dawn of time is fornification. That's right. I'm talking about biblical relations between members of oppositional or similar sexes. Now I know that typically discussions of this nature fall outside of the borders of presidential duties. But I wanted to talk to you because, as of late, some disturbing information has been crossing my desk here in the oval office. Which is really oblongated. But I guess the oblong office wouldn't sound very historic, would it? But I digress.

It seems there has been a trend amongst both heterosexual and homosexual couples to frequently engage in blatant overt banal sex. Now, my fellow Americans, this is not natural. Whether you believe fornification is for the purpose of procreation or just for the pleasure of whiling away a Saturday afternoon, you must agree that partaking in one another banally is not acceptable behavior. Nor is it sanitary.

The documents I've been reading report the use of such practices as a "missionary position" and "virginal inner course". This is disturbing to say the least, America. Despite what past presidential administrations have taught us, there are morals governing the act of recreational fornification. And I cannot stress to you enough the importance of abstaining from banal inner course.

We are involved in a war on terror. There is nothing that the enemy would love to see more than our moral collapse, and I need not remind you that we are already viewed dubiousiosly because of certain photos of prisoners being mistreated in our war camps. If the enemy knew that the issue of banal sex was eroding our morals like a cancer from within, they would strike at us while we are weak.

So, as your president, I must appeal to you America. Please cease the practice of banal sex. Go back to the traditional methods of fornification; man on top, woman lying docilely beneath. Or if you feel crazy, roll over. hehehe. But seriously, fornificating banally is immoral, unsanitary, and beneath the standards of America. And from what I understand, it can lead to a shortage of lubrication for those who really need it.

I'm asking for your help to make the last year of my presidency a banal free one. Let's take the inner course here and rise above the moral declines that are assailing us in every direction. Thank you.



(Editor's note: Since the submission of this publication by President Bush, it has been discovered that the documents crossing his desk were of a dubious nature. Left behind by previous president Clinton, these documents were entitled "Penthouse forum" and written by such pollsters and presidential aides as "Dick Ramrod" and "Kenna Lingus". The trends suggested by those documents are now a topic of debate. But we here at Goldmind's unwind continue to encourage an end to all banal sex. Try something kinky instead!)

Political Parody- Song 2

Goldmind's Unwind on Tour

(pictured below)

Recently, the writers at Goldmind's unwind had been asked by numerous readers and publicists to go on tour with our "act". Song Parodies, top ten lists, news flinches, holiday anecdotes, and secret pictures of Hillary Clinton nude sunbathing have headlined our tour to date. We were even able to stop for some tour photos, like the one above. Before you even ask, I'm the cute one. But I digress. In honor of the Goldmind Unwind American Tour, I, the cheese, wanted to share with you a previously unreleased hit in honor of Campaign '08.

"I Will Survive" (the voter's song)

(The democrat sings)

At first I was amazed,
I was mystified.
Kept thinking I had gone insane
Or that my eyes had lied
I’d spent so many nights
Wonderin’ who the dems would run
Which hired gun?
To get the big job done,
But what the hell?
Are they on crack?
They trucked out that scary fossil
With the hair all on her back
I’m gonna change the way I vote
I’m gonna run from Hillary
I’m gonna make a sign for Nader
And I’ll join the Green Party

But wait now whoa!
Just hold the door
Who’s this Obama?
Oh…another ramrod bore
We could be winning this election
Instead we’re gonna die
Like I’d vote for another Clinton
Or an inexperienced black guy
Oh no, not I!
I will survive!
I’ll find a candidate to love
Not a witch who fakes a cry
When she’s losing in the polls
When she’s raked over the coals
Oh yeah she lies
But I will survive (hey hey)

(and the republican sings)

It took all the strength I had
Not to fall apart
When I turned the TV on
And saw Mitt Romney’s broken heart
I spent so many nights
Wanting to comfort his hot wife
And stroke her gorgeous melons
While I sell shares of Metlife
My Wall street dream!
But now here’s Mccain!
Pining for the oval office
In his insanity again
How many times do you have to fail
Before you give up quietly?
And who’s that yuppie playing guitar?
What the hell’s a Huckabee?

Well holy Christ!
Just hold the phone!
What a lousy freak show,
all of them vying for the throne.
Just who’s the one who is responsible for this lot?
In this grand old party,
Is this the best we got?
A slow mormon?
A disturbed vet?
A banjo wielding right wing nut,
Am I making my point yet?
I”ve got all my life to wonder
Will the GOP go on
Will we survive?
Will we survive? (oh)

(and they both sing)

Sonofabitch!
What is the deal?
America’s asking itself
“Is this shit for real?”
Who is the moron who picks out these candidates?
Are they the product
Of relatives who fornicate?
Well, for one, not I!
We will survive!
If we have to move to Canada
And change our name to “Guy”
We’ve had it up to here
With the same shit every year
But we’ll survive
We will survive
We will survive……

More Failed Inventions From the Patent Office

More Bad ideas

In an earlier post, we here at Goldmind's Unwind had dilligently dug through the U.S. Patent Offfice's scrap heap to present to you some of the greatest failed inventions of the last century or so. The time has come to revisit the topic, as "Bunny", the newly befriended patent office secretary, has emailed us several more selections for your scrutiny. Thank you very much "Bunny." For Everything. And I mean everything. Ahem.

The Cadet "Handicrapper"

The diligent researchers at Cadet, premier manufactures of the residential and commercial commode, thought that they had done their research. They had seen in their local supermarkets, malls, and other public gathering places the mobilized scooter for the handicapped individual. So, collectively, they got to thinking. If you aren't mobile without a scooter, what other problems might you have? That's right! Getting up and down to the restroom! Even handicapped people tinkle! Even handicapped people pinch a loaf! Why not spare every physically disadvantaged individual the difficulty of getting up and down. Of trekking to the porcelain God for relief! Why not motorize the crapper? Amazingly, in all this brilliant brainstorming, no one once thought to ask "what about non handicapped people?" Do you think they'll mind squeezing their melons and checking their eggs next to a strenuously grunting handicapped person giving birth to last night's pot roast while frozen in the middle of aisle three? So, alas, the prototype "handicrapper" was relegated to invention obscurity....

The Gratest invention.....

Not even marketing gurus can tell you why some companies choose to leave their field and venture into other revenue markets. This is what happened with Kraft food in the 80s. Apparently unsatisfied with their profit margins, exec's decided it was time to branch out. Explore new products. Like Children's playground equiptment.

At first, the "grate slide" was an inside joke among corporate executives. One comedian even went so far as to develop the plans for how such a slide was to be moulded and assembled. Those plans were then "accidentally" left on the desk of the product development manager who assumed it was his latest directive from CEO John Kraft. The prototype was assembled and installed in Central Park. Company researchers stayed behind with the slide to guage the reaction of the public. After 6 casualties and, not so coincidentally, 6 lawsuits, Kraft disassembled the slide and retired their idea in shame.

The Chia Bug

This from the "I can't believe it failed" department! Cha-cha-cha-chia! Come on...you know owned a chia something. Or at least are related to someone else who did. Don't deny it! Well, with any such product, some brand loyalists actually became bonafide fanatics, and this product was for them! It was mail order only, as it had to be delivered by flatbed truck. The Chia bug was a lifesized frame of an actual Volkswagon Beetle. You slathered the frame with seeds, hosed it three times a week, and voila! Your yard became the redneck shrine of a lifetime! There is no obvious reason as to why this brilliant creation actually failed. It can only be surmised that neighborhood property values still hold sway over what is socially acceptable and what is not. Sniff! Phillistines!

KOA's "Campsite friend"

Isn't it amazing how many of our inventions have their roots in that greatest of rooms? That throne room of thought? That office of creation? Well the good folks at KOA campgrounds, who offer shelter to the RV driver as well as the tent camper, got tired of "unusual soil erosion" around the base of their trees. This mysterious erosion was creating a foul smell, killing foliage around the tree, weakening root systems, and proving to be an environmental hassle. But what could be causing this "erosion." Well...someone figured it out and in went the "campsite friend". Nailed to the trunk of the most "eroded" trees, the campside friend conveniently drained into the same septic system that RV drivers used to clean their mobile restrooms. It came complete with urinal cake and urine drenched cigarette butt for recognition purposes. Had to leave a "clinker" instead of a "tinkle"? Fine. On the other side of the tree was our friends at Cadet's contribution. The clinker bowl (not pictured here) also fed into the same septic line and had spacious seating for poopers up to 300lbs. Both products failed miserably though, because, as it turns out, the more a camper drinks, the less he gives a crap about proper bowel and urological etiquette. Go figure!

That's it for now folks! Stay tuned for any more contributions from "Bunny". And while you're at it, write a letter to Chia! We want the car back!

Campaign '08, Song 1

"Sayin' A lie"

(sung to the tune of "Staying Alive"

with apologies to Barry Gibb)

Well you can tell by the way I'm losin' ground

The country's sick of me, don't want me around

They used to think I was elite

But Barack's using my face to wipe his feet

But it's alright, that's OK

I ain't gonna fade away

I'll just lie and cheat and scam

Until I've remade all that I am

We taught the whole nation

dishonest disertation

just by sayin' a lie, sayin' a lie

Hubby mastered all this

sayin' he don't know what "is" is

he was sayin' a lie, sayin' a lie

Ah ha ha ha

Sayin' a lie, Sayin' a lie

Ah ha ha ha

Sayin a lie.

(verse 2)

My chances are low but my hopes are high

I've ignored advice that I shouldn't try

Got residual effects from war imprisonment

and my sanity's long since absent

but that's alright, that's ok

I'll run for president anyway

Maybe while staring at Hillary

Voters will forget what's wrong with me

Will I be a power glutton

If I hold the red button

Gonna flay em' alive, flay em' alive

Mental faculties are all gone

Gonna get revenge on Saigon

Yes we'll flay em' alive. Flay em' alive.

Ah ha ha ha

flay em' alive, flay em' alive

Ah ha ha ha

Flay em' alive.

(and the voter's sing)

We're going nowhere.....somebody help us yeah

Masochism; A New Years Tradition

Above: Yup. It's yours truly

December 31, 20-- 11:00 pm

You're at the masquerade. It's eleven PM and the new year is just 60 minutes away. In your right hand is a tumbler of good bourbon that is assisting you in forgetting the past year. In your other hand is a noisemaker and the wadded lyrics of "auld lang syne", just in case you've forgotten them. You take a drink.

On the large overhead screen, furnished for everyone's enjoyment, Dick Clark's rocking New Years' eve is plugging away with the latest teen fad/sensation undulating in the foreground. Clark himself, held upright only through the help of thin wires, visibly shoves away his thoughts of illegal teen love and tells you what a good time he and the rest of the animated corpses in the audience are having. You take another drink from your tumbler.

You have no idea who the brunette with the feather boa is, only that she is giggling at everyone and constantly rubbing against you. The merlot in her hand has been filled at least five times in the last hour forcing you to remove her from your "get lucky" list. If she's even upright at midnight, you'll eat your boxer shorts and allegations of rape do little to start a new year off correctly. Another drink.

Your tumbler is now almost empty so, being proactive, you shake your pink wig in the direction of the buxom waitress as she passes. She gives you a harried glance but acknowledges you since you've already tipped her more than 30% the value of the bourbon. Unlike the brunette, the waitress is still on your "get lucky" list. God knows why, though. By midnight she'll be drop dead exhausted and will be likely to give less response than the unconscious brunette. Besides, she doesn't seem too attracted to your costume which consists of plastic bubble gum machine tops covering your breasts. Getting lucky is beginning to seem unlikely. Visiting with the ghost of masturbation to come, you finish your tumbler.

January 1st, 20-- 12:01 AM

The ball dropped. Again. The Brunette in the feather boa dropped also. As you predicted. Dick Clark should have dropped, but the wires held, so his waxen corpse is still babbling into the overhead screen. In the room you're in, 300 people are drunkenly singing "Auld Lang Syne", sloppily kissing one another, and making farting sounds with hand held noisemakers. This is the penultimate moment. What everyone has gathered together for. It's a whole new year filled with promise and hope. The people on the overhead in times square, the people at your masquerade, the people the world over, are making as if to embrace this new year. Meet it head on. Seize it. Reap it for rewards. Which of course is why the majority of them are drunk, dressed like peacocks, and desperately molesting people they hardly know. You set down your fourth empty tumbler and hail the frazzled but still attractive waitress. Fifteen minutes ago, you gave her a twenty dollar tip, hoping for the extra attention and the fading possibility of thank you sex. At this point, though, you'll just be happy with a fifth tumbler of bourbon.

On the ground beside you, the unconscious brunette's skirt has ridden up to her waist. Your erection presses uselessly against the overlarge metal chastity belt that you're wearing as part of your costume. The last bars of "Auld Lang Syne" are coming to a close around you and your fifth tumbler of bourbon arrives on time, the twenty having accomplished it's mission. For one fleeting moment you think, this may not be such a bad year after all. Then the man behind you dressed like Madonna vomits on your mostly bare back and brings you back to reality. At least your erection is gone. You take a drink.

January 1st, 20-- 1 AM

The masquerade is winding down now. Forty percent of the revelers are unconscious or catatonic. Twenty percent are off fornicating in some darkened corner. Twenty percent are still vacantly nodding at the dulcet tones of the undead Dick Clark. And the last twenty percent are either event staff or designated drivers who are marching around and allowing themselves a moment of superiority over their less disciplined compatriots. You still sit at your table, vacantly staring at the colorful centerpiece while wondering why you do this to yourself every year. Sexual desire long since washed from your system by the bourbon, you are now using the unconscious brunette as a footstool. You emptied what was left in your wallet into the apron of the buxom waitress as a drunken heartfelt thanks for the special attention. The gumballs in your "bra" give an impotent rattle, as if unaware that the celebration has all but ended. Too drunk to walk, you remain seated and pee out the side of your "chastity belt". The new year has now been officially embraced.

Knowing what state you'd be in, you took a taxi here. The prospect of even walking to the curb and hailing another fills you with a sense of the impossible. Hell. If the floor is good enough for the brunette, it's good enough for you too. So you slide forward and fall to the ground. Right into your own urine. But the apathy of good bourbon holds and you close your eyes on this most majestic of holiday nights. You feel the warmth of the snoring brunette beside you and begin to drift off. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, she awakens beside you. And notices that her skirt has ridden up to her thigh. And that you're wearing a pink wig, a chastity belt, and nothing else. And that you smell like urine. Which is how you wind up with the rape charge.

Happy New Year!

The Andy Rooney Holiday Special

"The Holiday Report"- Andy Rooney

Normally, I would not waste the time that I have left to me by writing holiday crap and bending your ears with the musings of a grinch like old fart, but my confidante and possibly illegitimate son "Cheddar" called in a favor. And what the hell kind of name is Cheddar anyway? Does anyone reading this buy the fact that someone's parents would so blatantly name their child after a dairy creation? And if you do believe that, are you part of what's wrong with society? Or is the fact that you can believe it at all, actually what's wrong with society? Think about it.

The holidays. In the Rooney household, during the days of my youth, Christmas was celebrated in abject poverty. Our parents saved all year to provide me and my six siblings each with an orange and a freshly darned pair of socks. Notice I did not say knit, I said darned. That's right. They were last years socks patched up. We had not heard of Tickle me Elmo, Beanie Babies, Cabbage Patch Kids, and Virgil's prison playset complete with droppable soap. Even if we HAD heard of them, the Rooney kids would have been eating their oranges in freshly repaired socks; watching all the other kids play with their yearly fads in disgusting earnest. Suffering was a badge of honor in the Rooney household, and you wore it proudly. Of course, being inexperienced in the commercial gadgetry of Christmas, does leave me with several lingering questions.

For instance, what is a "furby"? It was always my understanding that this was a slang term for female genitalia, but the next thing I know all the kids are getting them for Christmas. Either there is a pedophilia related orgy going on in this country, or my definition is somewhat mistaken.

Speaking of orgies, where did this whole mistletoe thing originate? Some group of horny guys hung foliage over their heads and demanded foreplay in the name of holiday spirit? If that actually worked, why don't we see it tried more often? The President's day Mistletoe, the Colombus day mistletoe, the flag day mistletoe. Don't just go for the gusto in December boys, go for the freebie all year! After all, there is cameltoe all year, why not mistletoe?

And why does every doll a girl gets these days have to wet itself? Just walking down the aisles looking for a present for my granddaughter, I saw box after box of plastic baby proudly proclaiming it's incontinence. Are we preparing our little girls for a lifetime in nursing the elderly? Making them think that wetting oneself is "cute"? Believe me, when I mistakenly saturate my trousers, no one gets in line to buy me. Or fights over the right to dry my "whoopsy". What kind of statement are we making here?

And then there's New Years. As if the gluttony of a Thanksgiving feast, christmas cookies and fudge, the christmas goose, numerous office luncheons, and spiked egg nog isn't enough, we feel compelled to finish off our overindulgence in one final bender. Pop open the first bottle on December 31st and still be sleeping off the hangover on January 2nd. Are we dedicated to bringing in the new year in an alcohol induced coma because we know the year can only get better from there? Or do we embalm ourselves only to forget our transgressions in the year past? And is it any wonder we feel the need to make hollow resolutions after the 6 week period of gluttony from Thanksgiving to New Years? During this period, many asses grow to the size of swollen Halloween pumpkins, and we feel compelled to diet so that we may repeat our self abuse next year. Why don't we all save some time and just resolve to continue our self abuse in a consistent manner? Or resolve to try bulimia?

All in all, as the song says, it's the most wonderful time of the year. On display is blatant alcoholism, gross dietary irresponsibility, thoughtless comsumer spending, and self serving college bowl games that only the alumni of podunk state care at all about. It is the time for dysfunctional families the world over to get together in tension laden situations and share barbs of sarcasm over holiday punch. It's the time to watch the moral collapse of society while smugly sipping your eggnog and fondling your plastic tree. Happy Holidays America. Why not enjoy an orange in your trailworn socks in honor of yours truly?

Btw, Cheddar. I hope this puts paid to our debt so that you can stop spamming my email box and calling my home. At my age, I just want solitude. Keep up the pestering, and the next thing you'll find under your own mistletoe will be my prostate.

-Andy

Investigative Reports: A followup

by Cheddar

Ladies and gentleman, I, Cheddar, recently posted a startling email that began a chain of events that can only be described as earth shattering. I have all but confirmed that Stephen Hawking, Bill Gates, and Woody Allen are one in the same individual, running a triumvirate of power unequaled in any other facet of society. But, ladies and gentlemen, this discovery is merely the tip of the iceberg! It turns out that we, the general public, have been duped by other individuals playing multiple roles, and all for very different reasons. In each case, the magic number appears to be three; as in three different personas. Nevertheless, the cunning involved is monumental! I can confirm beyond a shadow of a doubt that the following individuals, whom I hereby dub "The Axis of Evil," are all pulling the wool over our eyes! Pay heed! Truly notice the similarities.



If these photographs aren't representative of the "Axis of Evil," I don't know what is. Now, separately, these photos may spark recognition in you. The first person pictured hosted "The View" for a while. The second was on a long running show with John Goodman. The third hacked off a stranded writer's foot in a famous movie. But what you did NOT know, until looking at these photographs, is that they are all the same person! I do not know what "it's" real name is. I do not know what "it" does in "it's" spare time. But I do have an as yet unconfirmed reason for this tableau. It is speculated among underground theorists that playing the role of three persons allows this individual the ability to harass Tom Selleck in triplicate! All without his knowledge!



Now here are "three" sinister looking individuals. Or is it? Look again! Notice the flaring nostrils. The gleaming pate. The painted mouth! It's the same person....or robot! That's right! The almost leader of the free world and Nobel sympathy prize winner and the shrewd but satanic owner of the New York Yankees are actually just synthetic flesh over metal endoskeleton! Kind of like the terminator, only boring! With no gun! And a lot of hot air! Why, you ask? Well, that goes back to Hawking/Gates/Allen. This robot was created using Hawking's know-how and Gates's technology to run for president. It could be an excellent monotone and room killing bore, so all that was needed was the cash flow that a run at the White House required. Hence came the "Steinbrenner" programming. This persona single-handedly financed Gore's White House run with still enough money left over to sign Alex Rodriguez. A brilliant robot indeed. Hawking/Gates/Allen's greatest attempt to grab control of the country and, more importantly, control of the nuclear "button" failed only because he underestimated the complete stupidity of Floridians. The laugh is on you "Axis of Evil"! Ha!



"Whoa!" You say. "Wait a second, Cheddar!" you say. "This can't be right!" You say. Many have known for a while that pictures one and three are synonyms, true. But the guy from "Barney Miller?" Abe?

Allow me to defend my research here. Abe Vigoda was long known as a "personable guy." Liked by everyone he came in contact with. Influenced all those around him positively. Had the charisma of a thousand Alexander the Greats. Sound familiar? That's right bible thumpers! The Anti-Christ! Take heed.

Take Bin Laden and shave his beard mentally. What do you see? That's right! The middle picture! The information has been there for you people all along. You've just needed a true diligent investigative reporter like yours truly to start linking the facts and making sense of the chaos. And before you dismiss picture number three as just a visual gag and not a real "third persona," ask yourself: Why haven't we found Osama Vigoda yet? Hmm?" It's hard to assassinate "someone" who can morph themselves into a shiny turd at will! I mean who'd think to shoot a floater? Eh?

Okay ladies and gentleman. For me, the investigation continues. I have more evidence at my fingertips that we have been duped by even more individuals than what's listed here, but my vow is that I will leave no stone unturned in my search for truth! And you the reader WILL know all that I know! Have a happy Holiday!