Turd of the Week™

Trump Stump

Oh, bless his little orange, puffy face!

Donald Trump may seek the GOP nomination for govenor of New York.

This is news, people.

In the same way, it was news when Donald Trump declared he was running for president those 4,001,321 times. Or when he fashioned that ridiculous hair mop he wears on his head from wood shavings and a can of KRAFT® Easy Cheese.

The frequent-bankruptcy-filing “billionaire” says he is considering running because he is a paranoid delusional narcissist who believes he farts gold nuggets believes he can win.

donaldnoneckTrump was at some Republican fundraiser on Friday to talk about the dangers of over-tanning prove that a person can still communicate even when it’s clear one’s brain is disconnected from one’s spinal cord.

trumpedhairI’m not a fan of Gov. Andrew Cuomo. I voted for him only because the other guy wanted to convert prisons into “welfare dorms.” Now if Trump seriously gets the nomination, and that is a big bloated if, I will once again be forced to cast a vote for a politician who routinely denigrates my profession as an educator–as if we are all educators at Donald Trump University.

At the $100-per-person event, Trump outlined his platform. He would turn New York into the energy capitol. He has volunteered to act as the state-wide gas bag. He supports hydrofracking and wants to repeal the NY SAFE act, which requires ammunition dealers to do background checks and the creation of registry of assault weapons. It also requires mental health professionals to report credible threats made by a mental health patient.

Trump stated that he himself is licensed to carry a gun.

I wonder if I can find that number to make a report.

More importantly Trump touted his number one issue–how to stay relevant beyond his woman parade pageant and his nonCelebrity Apprentice snoozefest.

trumpissueLike I said before:

News.

A Farewell to Penis

I’ve been having difficulty writing lately, and now I’ve finally figured out why:

I possess a vagina.

It gets in the way of everything. When I’m attempting to squeeze a big thought out of my tiny woman brain, my vagina interrupts the process with demands for chocolate. When I attempt to hold a pen using my weakly woman arms, my vagina shrieks about being too fat. When I try to write a post on Speaker7, my vagina threatens to set itself on fire.

It’s no wonder the ladies get paid less, amirte fellas. Up top.

David Gilmour gets it. He sees no value in teaching the drivel excreted by ladybits in his Big Dick Writers 101 seminar.

“Women be stupid,” Gilmour laments.

That’s a slight paraphrase. What he actually said was much worse:

“I say I don’t love women writers enough to teach them, if you want women writers go down the hall. What I teach is guys. Serious heterosexual guys. F. Scott Fitzgerald, Chekhov, Tolstoy. Real guy-guys. Henry Miller. Philip Roth,” Gilmour huffs whilst sticking his enormous plumbing into the biggest glory hole one has ever seen.

doucheI should probably amend the paraphrase to add women and gays be stupid, but Gilmour is likely the type of specimen to think the terms interchangable.

Gilmour is able to stop masturbating over his copy of Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer to give props to lady mouthpiece Virginia Woolf, stating “she made a mean bundt cake.” (slight paraphrasing)

O Captain! My Captain! …Shit! I’m trying to stand on a desk to salute this brilliant professor, but I’ve got my period and whole slew of laundry that needs a-washing.

By the way, what the blazing fuck is a woman writer anyway?

I’m answering my own question:

One who writes with her vagina.

This profile in misogyny made me harken back to my days of playing drums in a rock band that no one–apart from my parents and that guy at the bar–ever heard. I can’t tell you how many times I heard:

You’re one of the best female drummers.

I don’t know. . . is that a thing? Did male drummers have some sort of advantage by being able to use their penis to bang on the floor tom?

All great questions, but too taxing for my smaller, less interesting brain.

My vagina’s tired of writing anyways and is angrily demanding chocolate.

The Dalai Lama of Douchery

I look fat.

Shit! I just turned off all the guys who were reading this. Did I learn nothing from Josh Aiello’s seminal article “3 Words He Never Wants To Hear You Say?”

Josh decided to share his infinite wisdom about lady diarrhea-mouth with Yahoo!Shine, a women’s site about all things ladies like lipstick, turkey basters and weak upper arms. Yahoo!Shine was created by mixing three parts Mountain Dew, two parts Massengill and five parts bottomless sadness.

According to Josh, a woman’s…oh excuse me…a girl’s lament about her bulk is the equivalent of a dude cutting off someone’s head times 10. Let him explain:

“To guys, these words are the Holy Grail of annoying things girls say, the abracada bra of instantaneous mood killers. . .”

That is some good analogying. It’s like the King Turd of nonsensical analogies.

I envision Josh looks like this:

douche

Now you may be thinking, how does Josh know these are the three worst words a woman can say? Wouldn’t  “I love Hitler” or “Equal pay now” or “I hate your writing” (I know that’s four, but my brain is fat) be worse?

Josh did some scientific analysis of this phenomenon by interviewing his wolf pack at Buffalo Wild Wings.

Adam, or A-dawg as I like to call him, says it’s like a downer because if she’s talking, she’s unable to continue the blowjob. “She’s either fishing for compliments, she doesn’t like herself, or she actually has gained weight. . .”

Total boner killer

I mean, jesus christ, girls, you with your body issues, which are in no way the fault of a culture and media that value women for their looks and boobies. You are almost distracting me from reading the latest Us Weekly on whose body is definitely not beach-ready.

Adam is this brah by the way:

adawg

And the guy is helpless because once you say it, all he can see is your fat mouth spitting out fat words in between crumbs of Entenmann’s. Let Josh set the scene:

 I once dated a really pretty girl who was convinced she was overweight. She told me she thought she was fat so often that when my parents came to visit, I didn’t introduce her to them. Why? Because I doubted whether what I saw when I looked at her was what other, more objective people saw.

Wow. Such a powerful story and what an amazing act of courage. It reminds me of the story of Harriet Tubman when she finally decided to make her escape from slavery. Harriet knew it was only a matter of time she would be sold away from her family and husband John. She tried to get John to go with her. “I won’t go with you Harriet,” he said bravely. “You look really fat right now.” Courage.

So what’s a lassie to do?

douchewisdomProgress.

Incidentally the three words I would never want to hear from Josh are these:

“I got published.”

 

This is, like, stupid almost

Truer words have never been spoken.

Bland looks really red. He is getting ready or red-dy to meet his concubines’ families. Zing! I’m here all week.

AshLee, of the interestingly capitalized name, has been living for this moment or some such nonsense. Yes… “Hey mom and dad! Come meet this man who is also meeting three other sets of moms and dads and revel in the reality! The reality of it all!”

AsHleE thinks Bland is the man “to protect my heart.” I think I should be drunk. Why am I not drunk?

aShlEe’S been thinking about this day “since I was 3 years old.” What the fuck did she just say?

They eat a normal dinner with aShleE’s PaRenTs at a kitchen table stuck awkwardly on the back lawn.

“Bland is, like, making out with other girls and then he, like, makes out with me. And, like, mom, like, do you remember, when I was, like, 4, and you, like, read Peter Rabbit, and I was, like, do you think I’ll ever meet my Mr. MacGregor? And, like, I’m, like, here he is. Like?” ASHLee rambles on at the greatest luncheon she envisioned when she was 5.

AsHleE’s dad looks like a porcupined-version of Cliff Clavin.

We’re now in Seattle with Catherine and her “journey.” Bland catches a fish in the Seattle Fish Market and promptly makes out with it. It’s so spontaneous or incredibly staged.

Bland uses the word “always” a lot to describe how awesome his relationship is with Catherine. “We’re always really boring.” “We’re always suck.” “We’re always contributing to the decline of the universe.”

This is the greatest love story since that commercial I saw about Fiber One granola bars.

Catherine’s sisters exhibit brain function: “You seem like you’re trying to convince yourself that you like him.”

Some “tension.”

Next stop: Linddddsseeeyyy’s hometown in somewhere Missouri. Her dad’s a two-star general so this means something for The Bachelor that I find too boring to try to comprehend.

Bland puts on an army turtleneck while Lindddsseeyy vocal fries orders at him. It makes me wish that a meteor would crash into my face.

On Friday, I watched the movie The Sessions. I highly recommend it. It’s been so long since I’ve watched a movie that made me feel something and made me actually care for the people in the story.

This episode of The Bachelor is the opposite of that feeling.

Lindssseyy’s house has a gun/spice rack. Her mom also vocal fries.

America.

Bland asks for Lindsey’s father’s permission to penetrate his property and *yawn*…story about paratrooping and I’ve gone deaf and sure, here’s your blessing and my lack of caring is like that time I went paratrooping.

There’s an hour left.

Fuck.

I would like your blessing to not watch the second hour.

Thanks for nothing.

Now we’re in Desiree’s sweet hick hometown of LA.

They meet each other in spandex because. . . LA.

Time to meet the fam. An ex-boyfriend shows up instead. He declares his love. “I’ve texted you,” he facebooks. And it feels…LA. Not like this guy is trying to break into acting and shows up at an opportune moment to get his ass-face on TV or anything.

I think I’m going to bed.

But then I will miss why I titled this post the way I did.

Oh it’s a joke. And it’s funny?

No.

Her family shows up. Her mother seems high. Desiree’s brother Nate is the one who sayeth: “This is, like, stupid almost.”

Wrong, bro. It’s, like, all stupid.

Speaker7 Attempts Some Type of Reader Giveaway Thingy

Some jerk said it is always better to give than receive.

That jerk obviously was never the recipient of a lamp with the Serenity Prayer etched into the glass. I received one of those as a high school graduation present from a boy I dated for two months, and it was not at all awkward.

People do seem to be in the giving mood. Every blog I click on seems to be giving something away to its loyal readership.

The Byronic Man and Jules of Go Jules Go have created a Christmas misery contest where the lucky recipient wins a custom-designed sheet set.

Madame Weebles gave her readers the gift of viewing her face as well as her marvelous middle finger.

Le Clown gave away his magnificent™ facial hair.

I feel I should be giving away something too, but what do have to offer?

My facial hair is paltry although I do have a single hair that grows out of my neck and possesses the wirey resilience of a pube.  Is that something people want?

goat

Okay. I can’t really make anything although I did draw the turd picture for my Turd of the Week™ segment.

Just to be clear, I am a full-grown adult.

Just to be clear, I am a full-grown adult.

I suppose I could glue this image onto a roll of toilet paper for some lucky reader.

childangel

I really have little else. I am getting my tonsils removed in a few days, but Hugo has already staked claim to them for some nefarious purposes.

Hugo…hmmm. People seem to love them some Hugo. I’ve got it!

Okay, I’m pretty famous or I create the illusion of fame by sending myself fan letters. How would you, dear reader, like to appear in this blog space in an interview conducted by me and Hugo?

hugointerview

Fantastic.

All you have to do is give a reason why you think you are worthy of a Hugo interview in the comments.

Hugodna

Hugo, no. Please don’t do that. That is completely unnecessary. Just a simple comment is fine. I will attempt to interview everyone who responds, not in the same blog post because that can get kind of lengthy, but over the course of 2013.

Remember, I used to work as a journalist so I’m pretty good. I once was assigned to cover the local Memorial Day parade and I asked such questions like “So…why did you come to the parade?”

Expect that level of professionalism.

Your interview along with a write up and link to your blog will appear on Speaker7 to the delight of the human and puppet world.

Hugo, anything to add?

hugodomination

Fun!

The deadline to respond is Dec. 17.

The Terrible Twos

I may have mentioned in the past that I work with young children. I teach them about books and media literacy in this room called a library, a place that has been made obsolete by the Internetz.

I did a lesson today on the differences between fiction and nonfiction. I read two stories about ducks. One was about real mallard ducks and one was about a duck that wore underwear. Whenever I said underwear, the kids laughed uproariously as if it was Showtime at the Apollo. I killed it, people. I killed.

Underwear.

One little bugger decided the show needed to be about him. He rolled around on the floor like a flounder plucked from the water. He whimpered and whined and refused my entreaties to “act like a kindergartener”–my polite way of saying “get your fucking act together, dude.”

But all appeals to reason and logic went unheeded, and the lesson ended with the little “angel” running around, knocking over books and screaming.

In short, he sucked.

And he reminded me of somebody.

Two people actually.

I realize this kid has a bright future ahead of him as a political pundit and/or loudmouthed shit-spewer. He reminded me of money-bags consultant and Stay Puft Marshmallow Man stand-in Karl Rove who had a bit of his own meltdown on Fox News.

See Karl Rove had convinced a handful of gazillionaires to put their gazillions in Romney-supported ads to swing the election to Romney. And now he has to explain why he sucks. Two words: pork jowls.

The cutie patootie also reminded me of perennial bankruptcy-filer and perennial Turd of the Week™ Donald Trump.

Trump took to the twit-waves and tweeted moronic ramblings about revolution and bad combovers.

See his favorite candidate–his own fat Oompa-Loompa mug–didn’t win the write-in campaign of douchery. So Donald stuck his iPhone under his ass and expelled loudly onto it, producing such gems as:

“This election is a total sham and a travesty. We are not a democracy.”

And

“I am completely irrelevant.”

Tantrum city, people.

The thing is, the five-year-old kind of has an excuse because he’s five and even then, he’s way too old to be having the kind of tantrum he exhibited in the library today.

Those other two? Well, they’re just terrible.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the eighth post. If you don’t like it, she will throw an epic tantrum. 

Heckuva Turd

One might say criticizing the president for responding too quickly to Hurricane Sandy is partisan hackery at its best.

But when that critic is the poster child of one of the most botched relief efforts in recent U.S. history, that critic floats to the level of turd superstar, otherwise known as Turd of the Week™.

Michael “heckuva job, Brownie” Brown took Obama to task for holding a press conference the day before the storm hit.

Apparently it’s way better to deal with the mess after it happens. The Bush Administration waited a good amount of time before noticing much of the Gulf Coast was underwater from Hurricane Katrina in August 2005. In fact the day after the levees fell in New Orleans, President Bush was quoted as saying “New Orleans dodged a bullet.” Once they realized things were grim, they responded by not responding. Brown, a former supervisor of horse judges and then current head of the Federal Emergency Management Agency, “led” the relief effort.

Two weeks later, Brown resigned in disgrace.

In the storm’s aftermath, Brown, like much of Louisiana, seemed to be in over his head.

On the day Katrina made landfall, Brown was busy typing “funny” emails to staff, like:

“Can I quit now? Can I go home?” (2005 Speaker7′s reply: Yes, and take the entire Bush Administration with you.)

And emails about FEMA attire:

At the Congressional hearings on Katrina a year later, Brown pointed the finger-of-blame at everyone including a little boy scout who was visiting the Capitol for the first time ever after selling the most popcorn balls in his troop. When members of Congress demanded he admit his culpability in the colossal fuckery, he yelled like a two-year-old.

So it makes sense that Brownie should ever speak anything about someone else’s heckuva job since he knows exactly how disaster relief shouldn’t unfold.

Or what I meant to write is it makes sense that he won my weekly turd award because…cheese and crackers, Michael Brown, why the flipping hell do you think anyone wants to hear your take on this?

Turd.

Dearest Reader: Speaker7 is attempting to write a post every day in November so she doesn’t have to participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). This is the third post. It is a post about turds. There may be many more due to the overabundance of turds. Would you like to read about something other than turds this month? Then leave a suggestion in the comments. 

A Turd-ucopia

Turd of the Week™ has come out of retirement.

The little dude was actually getting the chalky-white look of an old piece of dog poop found 17 years later in a sewer grate. But it’s been revived–rejuvenated by amazing displays of turdism that should be featured in the book The Most Unbelievable Turd-duckens Since Turduckens Were Invented (release date: Christmas 2012)

“I am truly overflowing with turdish delight.”

So this politician said something unbelievable at a debate. This guy is a Republican—surprise–and he said something horrible relating to women–double surprise. Then a bullhorn with a hairpiece made out of the straw from the Wizard of Oz scarecrow held a press conference that entailed him defecating freely from his gaping maw.

Let’s begin with the turd masquerading as an actual candidate for the U.S. Senate. Let me remind you that two people in the whole fucking state get this job. Like this is a big deal.

Giant turd Richard Mourdock decided it was a fine time to spew this from his mouth:

“Even if life begins in that horrible situation of rape, that is something that God intended to happen.”

I’m going to address this to all men:

Men, never say anything about rape unless it is this:

“Rape is fucking awful. I’m sorry that people get raped because that is fucking awful.”

That’s all you should say about rape. Ever. If you want to tack a “but” onto the end of that sentence to add something like “she was wearing a short skirt” or “God gives babies because he’s on board with rape” then it’s time to have your tongue surgically removed so you can never utter those sentences.

Mourdock has since apologized because his words were “taken out of context.”

I’m sorry, Mr. Mourdick, but the only way I will accept your apology is if this was the sentence you snotted before saying that completely bizarre sentence. “What I’m about to say is the ravings of a small-dicked lunatic…”

Turd. Big fucking turd.

The second turd is Donald Trump, which is basically a given. Just assume that every week, Donald Trump wins Turd of the Week™. He is a masterful turd.

So he was on the old tee-vee, and he realized that there are no plans to air  The Apprentice anytime soon, so he decided to say something stupid about Pres. Barack Obama. He said:

“Turd turd turd turd turd. Turd turd turd turd turd.”

I don’t know if that’s 100 percent accurate, but I immediately go deaf when Donald Trump speaks. You can read this if you need to know more.

I certainly don’t.

So yes, the turd is back.

I Now Pronounce You. . . A Giant Turd

When I see gay couples, I can’t help but wonder: Why do you insist upon ruining my life by being in love?

It’s really, really annoying. I want to be married so let me stay married. Don’t try to ruin it by living your own life and engaging in a committed relationship. Don’t you see how this hurts me?

Tami Fitzgerald gets it. She is the leader of North Carolina Has Finally Become Worse than South Carolina Values Coalition, and spearheaded that dandy new amendment that double-banned same sex marriage today in that state. I say “double-banned” because it was already banned so this ban works in the same way a dare becomes so much more of a dare when you triple-dog-dare it.

Tami says it’s all about people who believe in godly values. That totally describes me. Like take yesterday. I struck my slave with a rod, and it seemed like he was going to die, so I expected to be punished because my bad. But then my slave survived for two days and then died, and it was all good because he was my property (Exodus 21:20-21).

Godly values.

Tami’s not anti-gay, you guys. She’s pro-hate of gays marriage.

“And the point — the whole point — is simply that you don’t rewrite the nature of God’s design for marriage based on the demands of a group of adults,” she says.

Exactly. Why should adults decide things for themselves? Who do they think they are? Adults?

God’s design is so clearly spelled out in the Bible, yo. Why mess with it.

Like take last Sunday. My neighbor found a virgin outside and lied with her (which is Bible-speak for “did the nasty”). So he gave the slut’s dad 50 shekels to buy her vagina, and made her his wife (Deuteronomy 22:28-29). I would love to have a proposal story like that.

God’s design.

Lots of North Carolinians want to keep the design, a whopping 61 percent. Like Shane Cowell. He starts off saying “I’m a born-again Christian” and I immediately stop listening.  Then there’s Joe Easterling who says “procreation is impossible without a man and a woman” and gets an A in 6th grade health.

Tami says today’s vote sends a message, and I agree.

The message is this: Tami Fitzgerald, you are the Turd of the Week™.

Science is for the Turds

I like to know knowledge and learn learnledge. But I get angry sometimes that my worldview isn’t presented adequately. Like I guess scientists and mathetists can get all smug with their belief that 2+2=4. But why can’t 2+2=19 or 2+2=foot massage? Why can’t it also equal that or = this? Who died and made them the king of whole numbers?

The state of Tennennnennnnnnseeeeseee has the right idea. The governor is posed to sign a law that will allow teachers to present the weaknesses of such “theories” as evolution and global warming, among other topics so teachers can showcase the strengths of other theories like Wonder Twins Power Activate.

The new law is supported by social conservatives and creationists, and both are quick to point out this has nothing do with injecting religion into the science curriculum. It’s just to make things more awesome. Like you’re in biology, and your teacher says “Sure, organisms may have adapted over time to their environment in a process called natural selection or maybe a flying unicorn sprinkled fairy dust onto a potted plant on a turtle’s back and that grew into the Earth and then we grew like flowers and we have magical powers.” Maybe there’s no evidence for the unicorn theory, but you would have to agree the unicorn theory is way more awesome. Like I would watch a movie about that sh*t. The former theory with its evidence and widespread support from the scientific community? Yawnsville.

But why stop there? Wouldn’t it be super awesome if everything was up for debate, and you could just go with what your gut tells you?

Gravity. Sure I guess it could be the force that attracts a body toward the center of the earth, or toward any other physical body having mass, OR it could be God pressing down on my head preventing me from rising upwards until the Rapture.

Blue sky. Sure it could be the light being absorbed by gas molecules in the atmosphere OR a giant, who lives in the land of giants in the clouds above, spilled over his bucket of blue paint whilst painting his giant chicken coop.

Heliocentric theory. Sure maybe the Earth revolves around the Sun OR the earth revolves around Speaker7 and all her glorious scientific wisdom. My guts says the Speaker7centric theory sounds correct. Coming soon to schools in 2012-13.

We all owe a big thank you to Republican State Rep. Bill Dunn for broadening our view of the world, and allowing me to teach my son that hurricanes form when Pop Rocks are mixed with soda or because God hates gay marriage or gay retirees (can’t remember which, I’ll consult my seer stone).

I will also teach my son that Bill Dunn could have resulted from the slime crawling out of the ocean OR maybe, just maybe he formed from a giant turdball. My gut tells me to go with the latter theory, and I have the evidence to back it up since he is the Turd of the Week™.

Disclaimer: Turd of the Week™ is nondenominational award although this particular honoree was chosen through Intelligent Design.