Vultures are AMAZING.

While I roast some chestnuts on the fire and move the pieces of the Nativity scene around so that Mary is lying down because she just had a baby for cripes sake, I ponder what Christmas means to me.

I quickly become bored and open up my laptop and check Facebook where I discover what one of my “friends” thinks about Christmas.

There are many things that confuse me about this status update. First, why did I read the whole thing and then take a screen shot of it? And B, was Santa Claus, Rudolph and those Coke-swilling polar bears at Jesus’s birth? And second, does it really bother you when some underpaid, abused retail clerk mumbles “Happy Holidays” rather than making the sign of the cross and saying “HO HO HO Merry Christmas. . . is that what’s really ruining the holiday, not the people who pepper spray other people for a $2.95 Forever Lazy®? And lastly, why are you yelling? The yelling hurts my eyeballs.

Believe me, I would totally be on the same page with you if sh*t was going down like it did when Nero was Roman emperor, and Christians were torn apart by dogs and set on fire. That is some hardcore persecution right there. But this? Some person ringing up your FisherPrice Imaginext 2 Foot Dragon World Fortress™ at the local dollar store, mumbling “Happy Holidays” as s/he tries to avoid getting cancer from exposure to the products made out of asbestos and arsenic?  I don’t think your “persecution” is going to land you on the Christian martyr list.

Here’s the thing, “friend.” You can scream or write in caps lock “Merry Christmas” until your lungs burst or you have carpal tunnel and no one will really give a mistletoe sprig (well unless it’s at 4:30 a.m., but that’s why noise ordinances are enacted). That is because in America–for now–you are free to practice or not practice any religion you want. I don’t know if things will change now that the U.S. Senate has voted to allow the military to arrest Americans and detain them indefinitely.

Merry Christmas.

But as it stands if I want to practice the religion of Speaker7ism where I believe Speaker7 is omniscient and omnipresent then praise be to Speaker7.

Now I am by no means a history scholar, but I’ve been able to cobble together some knowledge from Snapple bottle caps, Chinese restaurant menus and the labels on Molson Canadian Light. I have learned that vultures can fly for six hours without flapping their wings and that the founding fathers did not want to repeat the problems in England by creating a state-sponsored religion. It never seems to go well for the people in the religious minority.

Really no one can take your belief away from you unless you let them. And your belief should be that Speaker7 is the light and the way.

Or else.

Huey Lewis was Right

I do not take nearly enough drugs as the TV tells me I should take. It seems like every commercial is either that horrible Target lady in a track suit or a pharmaceutical drug that I should be consulting my doctor about.

I have many medical problems–most of them are the result of my daily exposure to the Today show. My legs get all restlessly, I find it impossible to get it up and my face creases when I show expression. I clearly need to do something about this, and refraining from watching the Today show is NOT an option–890% of my posts are about the Today show. I also need a pill that will help me improve in math.

I don’t remember there being a ton of pharmaceutical drug commercials when I was a kid. Then I took a Donepezil® and remembered that the FDA made the big change in 1997 that allowed drug companies to bring their wonderful message to TV–with the big side effects caveat. By the way, the Donepezil® caused some drowsiness, diarrhea and restless leg syndrome, but then I took a Sinemet® to quell the restlessness and that caused confusion and dry mouth so I took another Donepezil® and the cycle continued for 16 hours.

I have narrowed down my pharmaceutical choices to three, and have included their ads. I would like you to help me make my decision for me. That is the Cymbalta® talking. It also made me constipated and suffer from oversharing.

The first is Latisse®. Latisse® treats hypotrichosis, which is a made-up word for “not enough eyelashes.”

The thing is I DO plan to use my eyes for vision…otherwise this one is pretty good.

My next choice is Pristiq®, which will help me deal with the depression I feel whenever Matt Lauer opens his mouth.

I am a fan of dolls, but not of nausea…otherwise not bad.

Then there’s Ambien®, which I need to help me sleep when my usual routine of hitting myself with a hammer fails.

I love roosters, but hate insomnia especially if a rooster is present–I’m complex like that.

Pick your favorite in the comments area. Important side effects of leaving a comment are:

1) dry mouth

2) finger fatigue

3) uncontrollable urge to pee

Santa Claus is Kind of a Dick

I’m not a big fan of St. Nick and his twinkling dimples and his obvious cocaine addiction (Visit all of the homes in the world in one night? Yeah, that’s the cocaine talking). But what really cemented my dislike for the jolly red-suited jerk was the way he behaved in Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. 

I loved that show as a kid and looked forward to seeing it air around Christmas time. I then saw it as an adult, and discovered the truth about Santa: He is kind of a dick.

He does not have the best reaction when catches sight of Rudolph without the prosthetic brown nose Donner makes him wear.

The subtext is clear: you better be a conformist brown-noser. This opens up the poor little reindeer to taunts and ridicule and his expulsion from all the reindeer games. Sure, Rudolph resembles the patient from the Operation board game, but it’s just a shiny red nose. It looks just like Santa’s after a trip to the bathroom.

Santa does nothing to discourage the bullying, and in fact seems to hold the worldview of “brown nose good, red nose bad.”

So what choice does Rudolph have, but to leave the home he’s only known and travel to New York City where differences are not just accepted, they’re completely ignored.

He meets Ratso Rizzo with the hope that Ratso can help him become a hustler. He meets up with Hermey who has also been ostracized for his unwillingness to work in Santa’s sweatshop.

Together the two travel to the Island of Misfit Toys where toys that did not meet Santa’s standards are sent to die. You know who Santa’s beginning to sound like right? Yeah, I’m going to say it…Martha Stewart. She is a dick.

Rudolph ekes out a living in the wilderness and a few months later decides to return home. He arrives in the middle of a blizzard. Santa is flipping out that he won’t be able to perform his one-day a year job, and talks about canceling Christmas Eve. Santa then has a brilliant idea.

So everything is now hunky dory because the freak reindeer can actually be useful. Great message, Santa. Well done.

Don’t even get me started on the whole naughty-or-nice nonsense especially since Santa’s character judgment is a bit sketchy. Oh, and a piece of coal for those who are naughty? Yeah, how did you get that coal Santa? Removed a few mountaintops in West Virginia? Next you will be doling out vials of hydrofracked wastewater.

It’s going to be generic hydrox cookies this year, buddy.

I’ve Come to the Conclusion that I Hate Myself

Maybe hate is too strong a word…I guess I loathe myself. Here is my proof: I’m in the kitchen, pouring my 11th cup of coffee when my husband calls to me “Donnie Deutsch is up next on the Today show” and my response is “I guess I should watch.”

I guess I should watch because I loathe myself. The first time I saw Donnie Deutsch, I was a Donnie Deutsch newbie (I was originally going to type virgin, but I could not stop dry heaving) so I really had no idea what to expect. I mean, it was the fourth hour of the Today show so it was destined to be awful, but I had no idea how incomprehensibly awful.

Lifeintheboomerlane actually googled Donnie Deutsch, found out his first name is spelled with a “y” and viewed a picture of him in a speedo. I am presently taking up a collection to pay for the many hours of therapy she now needs.

She discovered he is a “TV personality” whatever that is, but today he is a Today “professional.”(???)

Matt Lauer–not wearing glasses, but holding them in his hand, which still gives the appearance of intelligence–interviewed three Today professionals (???) about the “latest headlines and trends.”

Matt first asks: “What is with this latest trend of demeaning the word ‘professional’ by labeling total morons as professionals?”

No, I’m sorry that wasn’t the first question.

It was “Black Friday starts on Thursday? Whas up, dawgs?” (I’m paraphrasing)

Donnie answers: “You know, I’m so tired of people blaming the media for destroying things guess what if you don’t want to go to a store on Thanksgiving don’t go I mean by the way everything is supply and demand if consumers didn’t demand that we wouldn’t do it but I’m so tired of the media causes are destroying the holiday don’t go to the store.”

That was a very professional answer.

Matt’s all like “dude, what about the people who have to work at these retail establishments? They have to leave their families on Thanksgiving Day and deal with the PTSD that comes from watching people get trampled by other people desperate to purchase a Forever Lazy® for under $4.”

Donnie replies: “Guess what guess what guess what I think of the millions unemployed, I think a lot of people would be thankful to work on Thanksgiving unfortunately.”

I wonder how many of those millions wish they could make a lot of money being a TV personality with no discernible talent.

Hold the presses. Republican presidential front runner Newt Gingrich said something awful. To read about how totally awesome Newt Gingrich is, check out Best Bathroom Books.

Here’s what he said: “You say to somebody you shouldn’t work before you’re what, 14, 16 years of age, fine. You’re totally poor. You’re in a school that is failing with a teacher that (sic) is failing. I’ve tried for years to have a very simple model. Most of these school ought to get rid of the unionized janitors, have one master janitor and pay local students to take care of the school. The kids would actually do work, they would have cash, they would have pride in the schools, they’d begin the process of rising.”

Child labor laws are like soooo 1930s. Child labor is good for the soul.

Donnie says this: “Newt Gingrich. I think what he forgot is being a janitor is not a simple thing, it’s chemicals it’s HVAC.”

Dear Newt:

When Donnie Deutsch makes more sense than you, it’s time to hang it up.

With much love,

Speaker7

News alert: It’s the end of the ’50s male, according to Matt Lauer. I have no idea what that means, but apparently lots of men said it was okay if their wives or partners were the family breadwinners. “Is this enlightment,” Matt asks, gripping his glasses very tightly. “Or a sign of the economic times?”

“I’ll tell you why right now the latter point that Matt made these times are so dire that I think a lot of men of hey wherever it comes from having said that I want to be the main breadwinner in my family maybe that makes me insecure or what not as a man, but I think if we took the survey 5 years ago, we’d have a different answer,” screeches Donnie.

One of the other professionals, Starr Jones, said “God told Adam to go to work. . . it’s something innate in a man.” God also was pissed when Onan ejaculated into the ground rather than into his brother’s wife so make of that what you will.

Matt finally gets to the burning issue: Turkey or stuffing?

“Stuffing,” Donnie professionally replies, “Because there’s turkey all year round stuffing separates it.”

I was right the first time: I hate myself.

 

 

 

 

The Sexiest Blog Alive!

I have been experiencing insomnia, but it will stop because I now know People magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive.”

It has placed its honor on a big bag of spit.

No, that can’t be right? Let me put on my reading glasses.

Bradley Cooper.

I wonder what criteria the magazine uses to make its selection? I tried to find the magazine’s masthead, but the overpowering smell of perfume ads knocked me out for 20 minutes so I abandoned my quest.

There’s lots of men out there, like, over a thousand or something so what made Brad Cooper stand out? I read the interview. He has teeth and two eyes. He eats 2,000 calories a day. He’s half-Italian and uses something like Rogaine, because “nothing’s worse than hair that’s not thick enough.” He laughs when people trip and fall. He likes necks, feet, hands and backs.

I looked up “sexy” in the dictionary to make sure it still had the same definition. It still means to be appealing.

Hmm.

I am beyond shocked that my idea of sexy conflicts with People magazine’s idea of sexy. It also thinks Simon Cowell is sexy when he says things like: “I get bored very quickly.”

I feel the same way when watching The X Factor.

Who is to say which sexy is the right sexy or the wrong sexy? (Answer: me)

I think the sound of wet dog food plopping into a metallic bowl is sexy. Nothing is hotter than band-aids . . . or Cheeto-stained fingers for that matter. I also like a good canteen.

My husband and I have an agreement. We have a list of five famous people we can–to use the parlance of Frank Reynolds–bang without there being any repercussions.

This is my list: Vladmir Putin, Dick Cheney, Voldemort, Montgomery Burns and Zac Efron. What can I say? I like my men bald and evil.

So yes there clearly is something horribly wrong with me so my halfhearted response (I clapped only with my left hand and it sounded like a tree falling on a bear shitting in the woods) in seeing Bradley Cooper on the cover is to be expected.

Sure Bradley Cooper has kind of a douchey vibe, but I’m not going to get all riled up and go protest something that is basically a giant marketing scam to get people to buy magazines and go to movies because who would do that? … Oh right, these people:

That is the sexiest protesting alive.

I like my up with a little ness

I like knowledge. I like to be in the know and know…um… things? Yes, things. And after watching a segment on Hoda and Kathie Lee on the Today show, I know so much less.

The segment was  pitched as “if you have trouble understanding how men think then watch” and I was told by Hoda to sit and take notes. So I did. I also bashed myself in the head several times with a shoe, but this was after I watched the segment.

The dystopic duo was interviewing Donnie Deutsch, who can settle your tax debt for twenty dwollars!! Twenty dwollars! I am mistaken. That is Roni Deutch. Donnie Deutsch is ??? I have no idea and no one explains. He has knowledge.

What does a man find sexy in a woman?

“Ah you know what, there is no one you can’t you know I don’t think I can answer that on behalf of all men one thing that men overall find is upness,” Donnie Deutsch eloquently answers.

Got it. Wait….what?

Upness is energy, according to Donnie. I looked it up in Merriam-Webster Online and the dictionary responded: What craziness did you just type?

Donnie then cups his hands in front of his chest to insinuate big boobies. Classy in a very upness kind of way. I should mention that Donnie Deutsch sounds exactly like Joe Pesci. And is actually a clown and wants to amuse you, but really, really fails.

Next question.

Is the first date too soon to ask what the guy is looking for in a relationship?

“Yes, first of all never ask a guy what he’s looking for let it happen, but you definitely do, you definitely do not, the first date don’t do anything about you as a couple, just talk enjoy be fun okay and never say where are we going?” says Donnie like he’s reading a Shakespearean sonnet.

You know what a man wants to hear, says Kathie Lee. “Tell me about you.”

Donnie says a man wants to hear ‘wow’ and he giggles uncontrollably. This is becoming uncomfortable or I should say more uncomfortable? Or downness? Yes, it’s becoming downness.

Can long distance relationships actually work?”

“Absolutely you know they’ve done a study recently that when time, when you’re apart, it’s interesting you travel don’t you appreciate Frank [Gifford] that much more when you’ve come back I think time apart with a couple is very, very healthy,” answers Deutsch as if he were giving the preamble to the I Have a Dream speech.

Got it. So I should swing with another couple while I’m apart from my husband.

How do you get a guy to become more romantic?

“I think first of all you can’t make someone be romantic they either are or they’re not, you can also say there are things we, we don’t know a lot of stuff,” Deutsch rhapsodies in a Sermon-on-the-Mount like rap.

I would agree. You do not know a lot of stuff.

And now neither do I.

 

“I Can’t Believe it. [WordPress] F@$$%% Forgot My Birthday.”

Well not actually.  I mean it didn’t know it was my birthday so it couldn’t really *forget* my birthday.

But what wordpress did do is fail to send out an email to subscribers letting them know I had a new post. And this was worse. It’s like presenting me with a lit birthday cake and smashing it into my face.

I deduced this by asking a loyal subscriber if he had received an email this morning, and he said “no.” I should star in my own reality-television version of CSI with my mad detecting skills.

So all day, I was wondering why so few people clicked on the page. And I cried a little and I played a tiny violin and cried because I can’t play the violin so I tried my son’s Fisher Price bongos and that cheered my up until I went back online and saw I had no hits and I cried a little and this cycle continued for 10 hours.

This does not help my self-esteem, wordpress. Do you remember how I wrote that birthday post for my smarter, more superior brother?  Yeah, you made that freshly pressed. And my birthday? You ignored.

So this is my story and this is my test, wordpress.

This is only a test.

Ice Cream Cake for Everyone!

No, wait. . . I take that back. I really want the entire ice cream cake. It’s one of the few pleasures on my birthday. I know we live in Obama’s socialist America now, but I am the 99 percent when it comes to that cake and I will occupy it with my mouth. I will form the Cake Party if I have to, and rewrite history to fit with my worldview such as Nov. 15 being declared Speaker7 Ice Cream Cake Day by Thomas Jefferson in the Emancipation Magna Carta Independence Day SUV Sale of 1912. It’s in the Constitution. Look it up.

So no cake, okay? Seriously, how are you suppose to eat it? Do I smear some on my laptop screen and somehow through the miracle of Internet pipes and tubes, it will drip onto your computer screen like the hairy girl from The Ring?

Seven days....of delicious ice cream cake! Enjoy!

I know Cornell is working on some invention where you can print food by filling print cartridges with ketchup or something so it’s entirely possible in the future, I can send you a word document of my ice cream cake and you can print out a piece covered in ketchup (SCIENCE!!), but for now I’m just going to eat it. I’m going to scrape off the inedible blue plutonium-based frosting that tastes like you would think blue plutonium-based frosting would taste and shovel in cake until I experience an ice cream cake headache befitting of my years on this planet.

I am also getting my hair cut.

Try not to choke on your jealousy as you wish you could partake in my awesome birthday extravaganza. This one is up there with the one held at Roy Rogers restaurant (that was last year) and my 21st when I drank a mudslide at Applebee’s. I was my generation’s Snooki. 

I do have a few birthday wishes. I know they became meaningless if said out loud so if you are a read-aloud reader, read this next part in your head.

Here are my wishes for my 3?th birthday:

• ice cream cake
• a hairstyle that will require minimal to no work on my part to maintain
• all my peeps on my blogroll (cuz that’s how I roll, yo) get recognition for being the truly talented writers they are…and compensated accordingly
• peace on earth
• the extinction of the Kim Kardashian 

May you all have a happy Speaker7 Ice Cream Cake Day!

Existential Crisis

I have many existential questions like:

Why do I exist?

How do I know the reality I see is actually reality?

Why don’t more people read this blog?

But the biggest question I had to consider today was: Why am I still single?

Don’t be mislead by the pronoun. I am not the “I” in that sentence although I am the “I” in this sentence: Why did I watch the show ‘Why am I still single?’ That is a question I will never be able to answer.

It is a show on VH1, starring Marcia Gay Harden as Siggy Flicker, a New York-based matchmaker, and Shawn and Marlon Wayans, reprising their roles from the 2004 classic White Chicks, as Siggy’s twin stylists.

I’ve just been informed that this is a “reality” show. This makes me think back to my second existential question.

So Siggy Flicker is apparently the name of a real live person. She helps people with their problems by having them bash apart perfectly-cooked whole chickens. The opening sequence shows the four main archetypes of singledom: The Overtalker, Mr. Ego, The Needy Guy and The Cat Lady. This is the name of my next band.

Siggy will be “helping” Ebonie and O’Neal. Ebonie is very picky and not easily impressed. She is shown making a vision board of her perfect man whom she calls Prince Jamal. It is very “impressive” and not at all like anything I would have done in sixth grade. This is true, in sixth grade I had a very “impressive” picture collage of Ralph Macchio on my bedroom wall. Ebonie’s vision board makes my collage look like a Robert Rauschenberg.

O’Neal is a “recording artist.” He sounds like a seal, the barking kind not the musician, as he bleats into a microphone. So maybe a sheep is a better analogy? I don’t know, I’ve already spent too much time thinking about his “music” career that I now must be lobotomized. He says he’s the “black Brad Pitt.” He talks a lot about his tattooed balls, which I hear is how Brad Pitt won over Angelina Jolie.

Siggy sets Ebonie and O’Neal on a date-vaillance, in which Siggy and her twin stylists secretly observe their date behavior. Ebonie brings up Prince Jamal. O’Neal talks about how the dump he took in the bathroom will require the restaurant to repaint the walls. The two do not click.

Siggy show actual judgment when she bursts in to end the date when O’Neal begins talking about how his balls smell like lavender. I am by no means a matchmaker, but even I know ball scent is a first date no-no.

Siggy now confabs with the twin stylists and people who are identified by the moniker “love picker,” which for some reason makes me think about elementary school when kids would call other kids garbage pickers.

“The worst thing you can do is wear a bindi on your forehead,” says one love picker wearing a bindi on her forehead. She might not have actually said that, but she should have and then immediately went to a mirror, saw her mistake and removed the bindi.

So now it’s time to change the bad date behavior of Ebonie. The twin stylists dress her in a terrible Cinderella costume taken from my school’s 1988 production of Cinderella and plop make up on her face. She is taken to a group of “princes” wearing crowns a half-step up from the paper Burger King crown but 10 steps down from the crown the former creepy Burger King mascot wears. She reads her Prince Jamal wishlist and all the princes leave. The moral: Don’t appear on reality television.

Siggy takes O’Neal to a knitting circle when he can dazzle a group of older women with his knitting double entendres. “Is this a sewing needle or the actual size of my penis?”

The love pickers are out and about picking out potential love interests, and now I understand why I made the connection to garbage pickers. They stop in barber shops, basketball courts, free clinic waiting rooms, urine-soaked alleyways. Siggy separates the chaff from the even chaffier with probing questions like “Where’s the craziest place you’ve ever had sex?”

Matchmaking magic ensues. O’Neal is going on a sailboat date: “I know I’ve got swag. Out of the gate, if she’s hot we f*** in the boat.” Lucky, lucky girl.

Ebonie is going wine-tasting in some Brooklyn establishment that encourages people to suck out wine as if they are siphoning gasoline from a tank to mix with other wines. I know it’s hard in New York, and restaurateurs have to resort to gimmicks to get traffic such as charge $700 for a bowl of donut soup, but this is just gross. Incidentally how I feel about the winetasting is how Ebonie feels about her date. In the bathroom she secretly tapes together the vision board Siggy cruelly made her rip apart.

O’Neal does the “I’m-the-king-of-the-world” Titanic reference and mentions his balls once. His date is perfect.

The show ends with an Animal-House where-are-they-now style ending. Ebonie is still searching for Prince Jamal and O’Neal is engaged.

Lucky, lucky girl.

We’re All With Stupid

Ashton Kutcher is a well-paid moron.

Yup.

This is fact, and therefore makes about as interesting a news story as gravity keeping us from floating all around and people being created 6,000 years ago by Xenu, the dinosaur engram.

Yet there are a bunch of news stories circulating about Ashton Kutcher, aka a well-paid moron, tweeting something moronic on Twitter.

The fact that a well-paid moron, aka Ashton Kutcher, would have only a cursory understanding of one of the most horrifyingly horrible-beyond-horror-in-its-complete-and-utter-wrongness new stories, is not news.

Because he is an idiot. And yet he is now a featured star in this sordid, I-will-never-get-my-eyeballs-clean-from-reading-the-grand-jury-report, mess.

A Google search of “ashton kutcher penn state” returns almost 1 million results whereas the phrase “speaker7 for president” returns nothing. Where is the justice? (Yes, I understand that by writing this, I will be only adding to Ashton’s Google result count, but now at least there might be one result for “speaker7 for president.” And if I became president, I would immediately dissolve three federal agencies: the education department, the commerce department and .  . . um. . . that other one….right, the Twitter department)

Seeing these stories about Ashton Kutcher almost make me mad enough to tip over a news van and chant the name of a football coach who pretty much gave tacit approval to someone in his employ to rape many, many vulnerable, defenseless children. Almost–I would never do something so bewilderingly moronic.

Admittedly I don’t follow Ashton Kutcher on Twitter. I don’t follow anyone on Twitter because I don’t understand it and I waste enough time on the Internet as it is. But I guess Mr. Kutcher will now have some PR firm vetting his tweets as if he was reporting from the Hindu Kush mountain range with the 2nd Ranger Battalion.

Mr. Kutcher feels “responsible to deliver informed opinions” to his 8 million followers.

I wonder how the PR firm will transform such bon mots of misinformation as #Twoandahalfmen the party starts now on the East Coast? Possibly #Twoandahalfman is a party I never want to attend on the East Coast?

We shall see.

Update speaker7.wordpress.com is now being vetted by a PR firm.