Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Video: "We Need To Have Abortion Pride"

First watch the video.

It can be summed up with one sentence spoken halfway through: "I never felt guilt because I put myself first." Simple. But it still needs to be watched because it encapsulates the hypocrisy of fauxminism: that we are so oppressed only oppressing our fertility (with pills and abortions) and oppressing our children (by killing them in the womb) can liberate us.

If that sounds nonsensical, well, it is.

Every sentence from both of these ridiculous women drips with self-absorption and delusion. Try to count how many times they say "I," "me," "my," and "want."

These are the women who paved the way for the hysterical, entitled, selfish fauxminists that dominate the feminist movement today. These women gave birth (proverbially, not literally, because as we all know, birth is gross) to Sandra Fluke and her ilk: women who cry about paying for their own birth control pills and ignore the women oppressed and killed under Sharia law, ignore the reality of Chinese and Indian (and American!) gendercide, and in every conceivable way, ignore the violence that goes on constantly inside women's wombs.

The people in this video - Betty Dodson and Carlin Ross - have a website featuring the slogan "Better Orgasms. Better World." So you know you're dealing with some deep-ass minds.

Here are some of my favorite things these whackjobs say in the video:

"It's a couple of cells that can't exist without you. I wouldn't feel sorry at all." (SCIENCE!)

"George Tiller... [was] performing late-term abortions and saving women's lives." (Wow.)

"If you have terminated a pregnancy, you're a warrior." (Against who now?)

"Honor your abortions." (Pin merit badges on your dead fetuses!)

They repeat the phrase "intentional motherhood" several times. It reminds me of a (hilarious) song my brother's band wrote and performed a long time ago called "Planned Parenthood,"describing a peek inside the clinic waiting room, and featuring the lyric: "It didn't look that planned / In fact it looked unplanned."

I've said it before and I'll say it again: across the animal kingdom and including the human race, sex exists first and foremost for the purpose of procreation. Sex exists - whether you believe it was designed or evolved - to create offspring. Yes, I know. It's hard to believe either God or billions of years of evolution didn't come up with the idea of sex because it feels amaaaazing.

Unfortunately it is surprisingly difficult to divorce sex from its intended purpose. Pills, IUDs, and many other methods have to seriously alter your body chemistry - in some cases creating scary complications such as blood clots and cervical scarring - to keep sex from making a baby inside you.

Jeff Goldblum said it best: "Life finds a way."

And when it does, it's not okay to blame the baby so hard you kill it. Just because you didn't want it doesn't mean you didn't create it. It was your idea to pretend like biology doesn't exist. And when biology smacked you in the face with the reality of a human being inside you that is dependent on you, the fact that you think reality is stupid doesn't justify killing a human being. Of any size, or any level of development.

So anyway. These women are idiots. We don't liberate ourselves when we kill our children. We just do exactly what we've been accusing the patriarchy of doing for the past gazillion years: oppress someone smaller and weaker so we can do whatever we want.

(Hat tip Kristin McHarge for the video.)

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Your Communist Pope And You

People keep saying Pope Francis is a Communist. I'm Catholic and decidedly not a Communist, so I don't want to believe them.

Then he says shit like this:

"I can only say that the communists have stolen our flag. The flag of the poor is Christian. Poverty is at the center of the Gospel," he said, citing Biblical passages about the need to help the poor, the sick and the needy.
"Communists say that all this is communism. Sure, twenty centuries later. So when they speak, one can say to them: 'but then you are Christian,'" he said, laughing.

Hahaha! Christianity and Communism are the same thing! It's hilarious!

Except they're not, and it's not.

It's so, so not.

How could a Pope say something like that? It bothers me on levels I didn't even know were there.

Does this man not understand the difference between private charity and confiscatory taxation? He has vociferously condemned "unbridled capitalism" - as if we have that anywhere - but not the unbridled state, which is the actual problem.

Does he really think people in third world countries are poor because of free market capitalism? I hate to disappoint the man, but it's the opposite of capitalism that is to blame, and the lack of a free market - everywhere - that is the problem.

Liberty is not the problem.

I know your typing fingers itch to tell me how Pope Francis himself stated unequivocally that he is not a Marxist. And that's fine. But then there's the Evangelii Gaudium:

While the earnings of a minority are growing exponentially, so too is the gap separating the majority from the prosperity enjoyed by those happy few. This imbalance is the result of ideologies which defend the absolute autonomy of the marketplace and financial speculation. Consequently, they reject the right of states, charged with vigilance for the common good, to exercise any form of control...
I encourage financial experts and political leaders to ponder the words of one of the sages of antiquity [St. John Chrysostom]: “Not to share one’s wealth with the poor is to steal from them and to take away their livelihood. It is not our own goods which we hold, but theirs.”

I get the uneasy feeling that Pope Francis loves the poor so much he wants them to stay poor.

Free-market capitalist Catholic writer Thomas E. Woods, Jr. said this on his blog:

When I noted on Facebook that I was going to discuss the Pope’s attacks on markets, I was told by at least one person that this was the media’s misleading spin on the Pope’s views. But read the document for yourself. He is indeed criticizing markets. I did not make this up.

I could have written that. I have posted several times on Facebook about the Pope's troubling anti-capitalist views, and every time I do, I receive a bevy of comments from disgruntled Catholics claiming anti-Papist bias in the media. Very few of them get around to accepting or addressing what the Pope actually freaking said.

Woods devoted an entire episode of his podcast to Pope Francis and capitalism, and I highly recommend you listen.

Towards the beginning of the podcast, Woods says matter-of-factly, "Pope Francis is a left liberal." He also says, "You don't have to get a lobotomy to be a Catholic."

Thank God.

There is certainly a lot to admire about Pope Francis. His personal commitment to the poor, to living a Christ-like life, is commendable and even inspiring. But his failure to understand the difference between a personal commitment and a state mandate is troubling, to say the least.

To live St. John Chrysostom's words, to accept that all you own belongs to the poor, is a beautiful personal choice a Christian can make. To have that "choice" forced on you by an all-powerful state is the opposite of beautiful. It is, in fact, the opposite of Christianity. Virtue isn't virtue if you have no choice. If it were, God wouldn't have given us free will. It is the choice to be a Christian that matters.

Please remember that the Pope's infallibility does not apply to everything, or even to most things. You do not have to believe him when he says capitalism is bad for the poor, and I would recommend you didn't, because he's super duper wrong.

Free markets are the only hope for the poor of the world.

I will continue to be critical of Pope Francis because I believe his adherence to anti-market economic policies is antithetical to Christianity, and that the spread of these ideas will result in more suffering for the poor he loves and sincerely wants to help.

For those who think all this stuff about the Pope being a redistributionist is a bunch of hooey, read Evangelii Gaudium and get it straight from the holy horse's mouth.

"I think this document is a source of tremendous scandal and can do tremendous damage," said Woods. He reminds the listener, at the end of his podcast, of St. Thomas Aquinas's admonition to the layman to correct his prelate if doing so can prevent scandal.

We all need to correct Pope Francis, for the good of the poor, the Church, and the world.

Sunday, June 22, 2014

DDP Yoga: A Fat Review For The Fat

I chose this as my leading image because how could I not.

This is not a real review. This is more like a cry for help.

I just finished Day 3 of DDP Yoga, which is the first day that includes a real, honest-to-God workout. I am typing this through a haze of sweat and nausea.

The workout I just finished is called ENERGY!, and I find it terribly cruel that the workout named itself after the thing it took from me. It would be like me kidnapping your son Ferdinand and then being like, "Hi, I'm Ferdinand."

If you're not familiar with DDP Yoga, that's because you've never been on YouTube. Or perhaps you just haven't made the connection between the famous disabled vet video and the workout that un-disabled him.

Arthur Boorman is an Internet-famous retired paratrooper who used to weigh 140 pounds more than he does now. He was a disabled vet who couldn't walk without canes, and now he sprints around the country being all yoga in people's faces, and helping DDP sell his program.

Arthur before, looking pissed at life.

DDP, by the way, stands for Diamond Dallas Page. That's right: he's a professional wrestler.

At first, my husband and I were making fun of DDP for his silliness as we went through the intro video a couple times. But after I graduated from learning the basic moves to doing an actual workout, I stopped laughing. Because you owe some respect - nay, some allegiance - to the man who invented the thing that is killing you.

DDP is weird, yo. I've been doing workout videos since Legs of Steel 2000 on VHS, and I've never done anything quite like it. Keep in mind there are several workouts in the program and I've only done the Diamond Dozen and ENERGY!, but so far it's kind of like doing an easy power yoga sequence, except it's made harder by the concept of Dynamic Resistance.

Dynamic Resistance is basically the idea of pushing against your own body weight and keeping constant tension in your muscles. Think of it as your muscles being dicks to themselves. You basically just tense everything until you lose all hope.

For a while I was confused as to why they didn't crop the other people out of the photo on the left. Then I realized: she looks even huger compared to those regular human-sized humans, making her shiny-coated transformation (right) all the more impressive. (Dear Stacey, lose the shiny coat. Xo.)

Diamond Dallas Page says he invented this program after injuring his spine and being forced to do sissy exercises instead of pumping iron and doing shups* and lups** at the gym like a true bro. He swears yoga repaired his seriously messed-up body, and that now, at age 55 and ripped all to hell, he doesn't do any other exercise but the sweet-ass program that bears his name.

Ridiculous-looking pro wrestler Chris Jericho also credits DDP Yoga with keeping him jacked sans lifting.

I'll admit Arthur Boorman's tear-jerking transformation video is what piqued my interest in the program, but what sealed the deal is this excellent video comparison - created by an unbiased reviewer - pitting DDP Yoga against the supposed gold standard in home fitness programs, P90X.

The video shows how you get comparable results in a fraction of the time with DDP Yoga. And most importantly, you do not have to be a dadgum American Gladiator to start the program. DDP Yoga is totally non-impact, which is how even a guy who couldn't walk was able to do it.

Arthur after. Holy shit.

The ENERGY! workout is 21 minutes long. You don't have time to get bored. There is barely enough time to bargain with Satan to make it stop, and then it's over.

There are several "packs" to choose from when buying. I picked something in the middle. It would have cost me an $80 one-time payment, but I chose three monthly payments of $30 each.

The program is 13 weeks long, or 91 days. I started with the Beginner's program, but the booklet also includes schedules for Intermediate and Advanced. There is a possibility that I will switch over to Intermediate before the 91 days is up. Or I may just do the entire thirteen week beginner's program and then move on to Intermediate and then Advanced. There is a lot of flexibility, which is nice.

The workouts are deceptively simple, and you really get out what you put in. If you're being lazy and not using Dynamic Resistance when you move, it will feel a little too easy. It's up to you ramp it up. But when you do, boy howdy.

One day, when I, too, look like a crunchy snack for my former self, maybe I will share the ridiculous Before photos I'm supposed to take of my gelatinous form doing DDP Yoga poses, alongside the majestic After photos of me bending into impossible shapes and holding my foot aloft over my head like a trophy.

*douche for "push-ups"
**douche for "pull-ups"

UPDATE: I just finished Day 1 of Week 3 and I'm a little amazed at how much progress I've made already. I've only done my seventh DDP Yoga session, and it's remarkable how much easier it's gotten in such a short time. I can now actually do the slow burn pushup, without even having to be on my knees for the plank part.

I look forward to doing this instead of finding excuses to skip it.

Combined with strict adherence to low-carbitude, DDP Yoga is already beginning to show me results. I'm starting to see my abdominal muscles again. My flexibility has improved, and my booty looks higher and firmer. (I was passing a full-length mirror the other day and did a double-take at my own ass.)

I'm gonna go ahead and tentatively recommend DDP Yoga.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Help Kristen Pick A Career And Win A Prize!

I need advice. Basically, I need you to pick my career. If your suggestion leads to me declaring a major, you will win a prize. (Read on for details.)

I really want to finish my undergraduate degree. Could do it in two years. Was thisclose to nursing school until digging a little deeper and realizing two things:

A. I'm just now winning my struggle with health anxiety, and just looking at nursing texts and handbooks triggers my hypochondria.

B. I don't really want to be a nurse. Ha! That's a big one, isn't it? I considered it seriously (many times) because it's interesting, lucrative, and obtainable quickly and very cheaply.  (Thanks to Collin College, which has the lowest tuition rate in the state; you can go from zero to nurse in about $6,000 all in). But I don't have a calling for it. I don't want to take care of sick people.

So nursing is out. I am highly concerned with making a good living, so I considered a hard science. A BS in one will give you pretty good job prospects and earning potential out of the gate. Best of all: bachelor's in biology or microiology, a year of lab experience, and being younger than 42 means you're eligible to commission as an officer in the US Army and make shit-tons of money, plus get your student loans paid and your future education paid for. Sweet deal.

Unfortunately, I loathe large doses of monotony and repetition, so lab work makes me feel like sprinting in the opposite direction.

As for other possibilities in the sciences: I also loathe large doses of bullshit so academia is out, and I am not gifted in mathematics, so the sciences that truly fascinate me - physics and astronomy - are out.

(I actually kind of like math now in my adulthood and am even working through Algebra on the free online learning tool Khan Academy for fun. But I am not gifted at mathematics, and even those who are extremely gifted at it find a physics degree challenging.)

I considered geology because it does interest me, especially mineralogy and petrology, but while geologists are highly paid in Texas, they work exclusively in the oil and gas industry, which interests me not at all

Political science, economics, and other subjects I pursue for fun have high unemployment rates and slow growth. English and Creative Writing? Fuhgeddaboutit. Theatre? Hello, food stamps.

Another reason I'd like to avoid poli sci, humanities, and "soft" sciences like psych and anthro? Getting bombarded with the dipshit opinions of professors, and penalized when I refuse to regurgitate the prescribed narrative. (I made a C in a sophomore English Lit class after calling a feminist poem "beautiful nonsense." The teacher was visibly outraged. And this was an online course. After that, everything I posted or submitted had points deducted for vague reasons.)

So to avoid going insane with rage during my education, I'd like to avoid highly subjective majors - the kind where I could write a paper arguing with deadly seriousness that 1984 was a prescient warning against the dangers of animal domestication, and if I did it "right," I could get an A. I don't need that type of horseshit in my life. In science and math, if you say 2 + 2 = $1.50, or hydrogen and helium combine to form carpet, you get an F. And that comforts me.

I think I could love linguistics or even majoring in a foreign language, but did I mention I'd like to avoid academia? And teaching, if possible?

My options dwindle. And I'm 34. I should probably pick a career.

And hey, before you ask me what I would do all day if I had a billion dollars and didn't have to work, the answer is: super hero. You think I'm kidding, but my diaries from late elementary and middle school detail my desire to be a vigilante when I grew up. In particular I wanted to help Indiana Jones fight the Nazis. I knew Indiana Jones wasn't real, but I wanted him to be. As for Nazis, I had to find an encyclopedia to figure out if there were any around anymore, and was disappointed that there weren't, since I wanted to imprison them and Saddam Hussein in a cave in Iraq.

I am not making any of this up.

I took the extensive free career quiz at, and these were my top ten results, with my calculated compatibility shown as a percentage:

Air Crew Officer 100.0%
Special Forces Officer 99.8%
Special Forces Member 99.6%
Infantry Soldier 99.4%
Firefighter 99.1%
Sheriff 98.9%
Detective 98.7%
Police Officer 98.5%
Private Detective 98.3%
Special Agent 98.1%

Keep in mind, this quiz did not have questions like "Would you like to be in the military?" It was more subtle than that, but accurately rooted out my inherent desire to kill bad guys all day long for fun and profit.

Unfortunately, my lack of a time machine or a penis disqualify me for 50% of that list. The fact that I took LSD several times in high school and college and couldn't stomach arresting people for shit that should not be illegal disqualifies me for the other 50%.

Next on my list are the following:

Customs Inspector 96.1%
Author 95.0%
Commercial Diver 93.9%
Singer 93.7%
Actor 93.5%

Remember that thing where I want to make money? That takes out a good chunk of those. As for Commercial Diver, if I am trapped underwater breathing canned air through a tube it is happening against my will. And Customs Inspector is law enforcement again.

Let's look at the final five in my top 25:

Forensic Science Technician 93.3%
Armored Assault Vehicle Crew Member 93.1%
Artillery Crew Member 92.6%
Control Center Specialist 92.2%
Mathematician 91.6%

Three of those are military - I'm out. Mathematician sounds kind of interesting and fun but again - I'm not gifted at mathematics. Maybe with 40 hours a week of intense study I could get through the subjects one at a time. But that's not how one obtains a bachelor's degree in a reasonable amount of time. One takes several courses, including at least two advanced math courses, per semester. And when those courses include advanced calculus and linear algebra, one needs to either be mathematically gifted or just go ahead and shoot oneself.

Forensic Science Technician is semi-tempting, despite knowing the reality is nothing like the TV version. I enjoy investigation and puzzle-solving more than (almost) anything. The problem with that industry is there aren't enough jobs for everyone who wants them. (Thanks, "C.S.I.," for convincing a nation of dumbasses that forensic techs solve murders by themselves and have relationships with each other in sexy labs with recessed mood lighting.)

So anyway. In an alternate universe I'm G.I. Jane. In this one, I need a career. And it doesn't need to be creative or writing-related. I'm fine with letting my passions and interests be passions and interests, and my career be something valuable I have to offer the market.

I do think I would be good at detective work, and enjoy it. The problem is you have to be a cop first, and I don't think I could do something to which I so strenuously morally object. (A lot of things cops do are great, but a lot of other things cops do consist of extorting money from people basically at gunpoint for doing things that didn't hurt anyone. I can't get down with that.)

There's also the fact that virtually all police departments disqualify you automatically if you have ever taken LSD at any time, which is insane but there it is. Haven't touched the stuff in over 20 years, but it doesn't matter.

I'm just... kind of... stumped. I'm in the process of enrolling at Collin, but I have no idea what classes to register for. I'd really like to try some math and science and see what happens, but time is of the essence.

So here's where you come in: suggest a major or career. Make an argument. If I agree with you - even if you change my mind about something I already mentioned - I will send you an autographed (photo)copy of my self-published poetry "chapbook," Why I Don't Have Any Friends, "published" circa 2000 and handed out for free on the streets of the Deep Ellum Arts Festival.

Unless I can't find it, in which case I will send you something else. A greeting card? An autographed sock? Some money?

But seriously I will send you something. And it will be amazing. Or at least hilarious.

Start suggesting now! Please! I need you!

I think I've given you plenty of info to go on, but let me add the following:

- Bonus points for careers where you can start work with an undergrad and get assistance with your grad degree.
- Bonus points if I won't have to sit a desk all day.
- Extra super bonus points if it doesn't involve suits and slacks and whatnot because eww.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

A Refusal To Mourn

You're not supposed to speak ill of the dead. But I'm bad at rules. And anyway it's been five days. I think that's plenty of time to wait before blogging my refusal to mourn the death by natural causes of a poet in North Carolina.

My reasons? They are many. First, and least: she was a mediocre poet on a good day. I'll let Colleen O'Beirne at The Overrated Times say it for me, since she said it so well:

The bottom line on Maya Angelou is that she’s symptomatic of what’s wrong with modern poetry in general. It’s controlled by an overly cerebral, politically correct academic establishment. It serves as a meta-comment on what poetry is supposed to be, rather than standing on its own as an art form.

Maya Angelou got famous because she was in the right place (California) at the right time (the late '60s) and was the right sort of person (a weird black woman who wrote weird prose about her weird life.)

Here's Thomas Lifson at The American Thinker:

There is an important phenomenon in cultural life that the hard left has exploited for many decades. Most people cannot really tell what good poetry, or painting, or serious theatre (or artsy film, for that matter) is, but they fear looking stupid if they fail to appreciate what others say is good. So, an “artist” in these semi-esoteric fields who is helped along by a claque of politically sympathetic cheerleaders in academia or journalism can become “widely acclaimed” and, if he or she plays the part well (as Angelou did), even “beloved.”

Angelou was a professor-for-life of American Studies at Winston-Salem University, and boasted several visiting professorships at other universities. She preferred being referred to as "Doctor," and while she certainly lived a varied and interesting life, she didn't have an advanced degree of any kind - not so much as a B.A.

Her resume included prostitute, madam, cabaret dancer, and later, composer, actress, and world-famous writer. Some of those are impressive. But do they - should they - qualify one for a professorship and an honorific? Ms. Angelou reportedly taught whatever subject struck her fancy, including theology and science.

"The solar system - IS - like a woman - WHO..."

This is, of course, when she was teaching at all. Thus goes Daniel J. Flynn's eloquent piece in The American Spectator:

The doctor without a doctorate became a teacher without students at Wake Forest. “She collects an annual salary well into the six figures, yet presently teaches no classes and has no campus office,” John Meroney, then a senior at the North Carolina school, wrote in The American Spectator twenty-one years ago. “The office listed for her in the Wake Forest telephone directory is a storage closet in a building far from the main part of campus.”

Remember, kids: America is super unfair, and the only way to make it more fair is to be unfair in what you perceive to be the opposite direction.

Maya Angelou believed America was an unjust and inherently racist colonial experiment in oppression. She said this of Obama's detractors not long after he was re-elected:

I tell you we are going to see some nastiness, some vulgarity, I think. They'll pull the sheets off.

Did you catch that? If you are an Obama critic, you are secretly as racist as a Klansman. "Nastiness," Dr. Angelou? What's that like?

She praised Louis Farrakhan and Mumia Abu-Jamal, not to mention Castro and Kruschev. Her first published article appeared in Cuba's Revolucion. She celebrated the murderous Castro in part because he wasn't white.

Said the doc:
Of course, Castro never had called himself white, so he was O.K. from the git. Anyhow, America hated Russians, and as black people often said, ‘Wasn’t no Communist country that put my grandpappa in slavery. Wasn’t no Communist lynched my poppa or raped my mamma.’

This shrugging opportunism is nauseating. In other words: it doesn't matter who Communists are oppressing, imprisoning, and murdering, as long as it's not me and mine. How is that justice, social or otherwise?

Or was she utterly ignorant? Did she really believe in the lie, the collectivist paradise? Did she know why the caged bird sings, but not how the damned thing gets in the cage?

For the record, this is how it gets out.

Either way, she doesn't deserve a professorship, a title, or a webiverse of social media tributes.

Flynn writes:

Her greatest performance wasn’t in the miniseries Roots or on the album Miss Calypso. It was playing the character Maya Angelou. There’s a P.T. Barnum quality to Maya Angelou. 
Convincing the world of your greatness requires a greatness. This is especially true of the mediocre.
Going from rags to riches by conquering the business world serves as one American Dream. A more common, albeit less realized version, involves enjoying a six-figure living from a no-show job. 
Her mouth occasionally called the promise of America a big fat lie. Her life begged to differ.

Maya Angelou put words together to make poetry, which is rare. She sometimes told the truth about her life, which takes courage. She certainly lived a rich and varied existence, which is enviable.



Sometimes I wish I could be young again. I wish I could recall what it feels like to read Maya Angelou's poems and like them because I was told they were good. I wish I could read her inspiring quotes on Pinterest and look at her lined face, aching with gravitas and experience, and think, "Wow, what a wise and wonderful woman. We should truly mourn the loss of such a powerful voice." And then go back to reading O magazine and watching "The View."

But instead I'm gonna go ahead and be bitter old me, and use my brain.

Maya Angelou was an overrated writer who built a career on victimhood. She praised despicable men and cheered when evil regimes took power.

I'm not mourning the death of Maya Angelou.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

A Refusal To Castrate My Dog

A potential landlord just told me pets are "welcome" in her house as long as I agree to sign a letter stating that I will have George neutered after he has one litter of pups or within one year, whichever comes first. She is "doing her small part to encourage responsible pet ownership," which to her is synonymous with spaying and neutering.

I attempted to explain to her that just because I don't want to castrate my dog does not mean I intend to run a puppy mill in her backyard. She proceeded to tell me two (count em two) stories about people who - guess what - ran puppy mills in her backyard.

The first bred pit bulls and trained them to fight. I had to stifle a laugh, because have you met George?

The second buried chihuahua pups in the yard, and a toddler accidentally exhumed one of their skeletons. (This probably didn't happen, but it makes a great story with which to shame potential tenants.)

I was polite (enough) to the lady. I did not tell her what I wanted to tell her, which is: take your house and put it in your butt super hard.

This woman thinks it's within the purview of a landlord to "encourage responsible pet ownership." That's fine up to a point. You don't want a maniac dog defacing the walls, floor, and ceiling of your house, or digging mud pits in your backyard. I get it. And you don't want a puppy mill being run out of your home. I get that, too.

But having an intact animal is not synonymous with being an irresponsible breeder. Or even a breeder at all.

I would like one (count em one) of George's pups one day, sure. But the main reason I'm not getting him "fixed" is because he's not broken. I have no problem with his balls, and I don't feel the need to castrate him to prove to everybody what a fucking responsible pet owner I am.

"I love him so much I took his balls."

I can't tell you how many people - some of them strangers - have said, "You should really have him fixed." Have yourself fixed, dipshit. Who the fuck are you?

I don't walk around pointing out the genitalia of other people's animals and saying, "You shouldn't have done that." It's your fucking dog. If you want to get it fixed, get it fixed. But shut the fuck up about my dog.

It's this lady's house, and she can be as ridiculous as she wants with her criteria. But she's missing out on great tenants with a friendly, housebroken animal, all because she's been fed some alarmist bullshit about the "type of people" who don't alter their pets.

I will state this right now: unless there is some health or behavioral reason for it (and I mean a serious behavioral issue such as aggression, not something annoying but hilarious like leg humping) or unless his balls get so long and droopy they start to bang against steps and make him yelp, I am never ever ever castrating George. Ever.

Why not? Because I don't castrate the people I love, and that includes my dog. He loves his balls. If you're a dude, I bet you love your balls. I would rather have to watch him like a hawk around intact females and get barred from the more "enlightened" dog parks and restaurant patios than cut off his balls.

Dudes, I bet if you had a choice, you'd rather get to keep your balls despite never getting to have sex than be castrated.

So George is keeping his nuts, and we're not gonna be living in that lady's house.

But I do have the address. And I must confess I really feel like taping this to her front door.

These are my dog's balls.

Sunday, May 25, 2014

The Jack Bauer Power Hour

"24" is back on TV and because of this my life is better.

"24" is stupid. We all know this. It is preposterous, cliched, and burdened with both two-dimensional characters and a laughable plot. Every thirty seconds or so, something happens that would not and/or could not ever possibly happen on the planet earth.

And the greatest of these things that couldn't ever possibly happen is Jack Bauer.

Jack Bauer is impossible in every way. Despite getting shot at every few minutes, he rarely gets hit with bullets, and when he does, it's nothing more than a momentary setback. I forget which season this happened, but once, he got stabbed in the stomach and it was never mentioned again.

But most importantly, he can get tortured literally to death, and then torture other people to death later that same day.

Torture only does three things to Jack Bauer:

1. Intensifies and perfects his steely gaze.
2. Gives attractive women new and exciting scars over which to run their admiring fingers.
3. Pisses him off.

"I got tortured in a Chinese prison and all I got was this incredible beard."

My favorite parts of "24" are the parts where Jack Bauer is on the outs with CTU (and therefore with every other government agency) because he knows the truth and no one will listen. That's why season nine is so fulfilling so far: it's Jack vs. basically the whole world. He has one person on his side, as usual, and that's Chloe.

Chloe, by the way, has gone full angst-ridden techno-warrior, replete with goth eyeliner and a "Look what I did, Mom!" haircut. Every time she comes on screen I want to sing "Bela Lugosi's Dead."

Dammit, Chloe.

Anyway. If you're interested in drinking heavily this Memorial Day weekend - and don't try pretending you're not - you can play this drinking game. I call it The Jack Bauer Power Hour, which is also my husband's apt term for "24" itself.

It's easy! All you do is take a drink every time one of these things happens. You'll be wasted before you know it.


Jack gets tortured.
Jack tortures someone.
Jack asks to speak to the President.
The President asks to speak to Jack.
Jack tells Chloe they're running out of time, or vice versa.
CTU establishes a perimeter and someone gets through it.
A beautiful woman finds herself believing in Jack.
Jack gets shot but keeps doing whatever it is he was doing.
Jack gets stabbed but keeps doing whatever it is he was doing.
Jack shoots someone.
Jack goes undercover.
Jack reminds someone that shitloads of lives are at stake.
Jack sacrifices himself for someone else.
Someone Jack loves gets killed super hard.
Someone mentions Jack's daughter and he looks really sad yet stoic.
Someone gets killed right before they were about to give Jack crucial information.
A Middle Eastern person defies negative Middle Eastern stereotypes.
Jack makes a stupid face trying not to cry.
Chloe is rude to someone.
The president makes a difficult decision.
Jack stoically refuses to speak.
Jack is placed in a holding room/cell and left there while important things happen.
Jack convinces someone to trust him right now because he's that person's only chance.
The bad guy executes one of his own people.
Jack gets arrested.
A CTU agent defies orders.
Jack commits breaking & entering.
Jack commits a felony for the greater good.
Jack lets himself get caught for the greater good.
Jack puts a gun to someone's head. Also for the greater good.

Why just sit around and drink when you can sit around and watch Jack Bauer and drink?

Also, if you're like me, you will never be 1/100th as cool as Jack Bauer, but you would still really like to look like you are. Fortunately, this exists now: a shop where you can buy stuff Jack Bauer wears on the show. You're totally welcome.

"24" airs Monday nights on FOX at 9/8 Central. So go buy something to drink (remember: "Clear alcohols are for rich women on diets." - Ron Swanson) and don't forget to play the Jack Bauer Power Hour. Make sure you follow Chronicles of Radness on Facebook, and tell me all about it when you play.

But remember to play responsibly. You don't want to end up like Nina Myers.

"I should have paced myself."

In the meantime, keep your SWAT boots laced up and the president on speed dial.