Barbie

“My (Turds) Were Emotional, Reactionary, and Inflammatory”

Bob Morris is sorry, you guys.

He is deeply sorry. He is so so sorry that his letter calling the Girl Scouts of America a lair of anal-lovin’, communist-sympathizen’, abortion-havin’ Planned Parenthood lovers made it out of his protective lair of non anal-lovin’, non communist-sympathizen’, non abortion-havin’ Planned Parenthood haters, otherwise known as Republicans.

He is not sorry, however, about what he said. The Girl Scouts are in cahoots with a group that represents the “biggest evil of our time.”

Had Bob known his letter would reach a wider audience, he would have included proof, you guys (Here is the post on his original letter). Instead of just writing, Girl Scouts teach your daughter to perform an abortion on her Barbie, he would have written: “According to sources, Girl Scouts teach your daughter to perform an abortion on her Barbie.” Now was this sentence actually included in Bob’s letter? I provided you with a link, and you may have actually read the letter, and you may now be thinking No, that sentence isn’t there. And I would have to disagree because my sources say yes.

My sources say this sentence was also included in Bob’s non-apology apology letter: “Now when I made love to that sheep, I did what was right, I did not use protection.”

It’s there. I don’t care if you cannot actually see it.

It’s the same way Bob doesn’t care that both Girl Scouts and Planned Parenthood have said “We don’t know what the f— Bob Morris is talking about in his letter, but it in no way reflects reality.” Bob is still like “La la la!! I can’t hear you! I CAN’T HEAR YOU!!  Look at this picture of me.”

"Don't I look like someone who has a clear grasp on reality?"

Bob includes a link to the World Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts. It shows a picture of 14 girls under the heading “Young People Advocating for Sexual and Reproductive Rights.”  This was taken at some UN Conference on the status of women in the world. This is the smoking gun. But it’s not as good as this picture:

"I'm a 100 percent positive that Dolly is not a Communist."

This picture was taken at an awards ceremony where Bob received the most coveted award one can receive, Turd of the Week™.

This turd was shat from the bottom of an opponent of Planned Parenthood

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He Brings A Lot of People

I have mentioned before how I’m not really up on politics, preferring to get my political news from the inside of Snapple bottle caps:

Real Fact #902: Barbie’s full name is Barbara Millicent Roberts.

What the Snapple bottle cap failed to tell me is that someone cares what Donald Trump thinks about the 25 assorted Garbage Pail Kids seeking the GOP nomination for president.

That someone is Matt Lauer.

"Check this out. 'You're fired!'"

The GOP hopefuls have been seeking an audience with Donald.

“When you sit down with these people what do they want?” Matt probes with his finger.  “Do they want your money, do they want your megaphone, do they want your stamp of approval, do they want to be the next Miss Universe, do they want the cell phone number of your hairstylist?”

"Tell me, how natural does my hair look?"

They want his endorsement, Trump explains. And he believes the reason is because “I bring a lot of people.”

To lunch?

To bankruptcy proceedings?

He doesn’t elaborate.

Matt probes deeper.

"I think your hair looks very natural."

Do you want to be the king of the world or something to that effect, Matt asks.

Trump wants to make this country great again, he says. He wants to bring it back to the  time when Bret Michaels sang “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” on Celebrity Apprentice. I have never seen Celebrity Apprentice, but considering Bret Michaels has sung it on every other reality show, I feel safe in saying this is what Donald Trump is talking about.

The interview continues with Matt Lauer asking for Donald Trump’s take on the various candidates, and this is about as meaningful to me as if Matt Lauer interviewed a wadded up piece of paper about the state of affairs.

In fact that would be preferable.

"I bring a lot of paper"

Matt Lauer decides to get real with Donald Trump saying “You are never shy about expressing an opinion so I want you to express a heartfelt opinion right now.”

I wipe a tear running down my face with a wadded up piece of paper in a bad toupee.

“You talk about the country as not being great anymore and it needs to return to its greatness. Of the candidates you see out there, which one is most likely to return this country to greatness.”

I personally would rather hear heartfelt opinions from the following:

A dog.

A plunger.

A wad of gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe.

An actual turd.

The turd says he doesn’t want to say, he can’t say who he will endorse because it would not be fair to the other candidates.

Oh, I’m sorry…that’s how Donald Trump answered. I just got him mixed up with a turd.

Real Fact #903: That happens a lot.

The Great NYS Fair

An apology to our readers: the following blog entry was inadvertently published whilst still in draft form therefore the post made as much sense as a grown woman covering a tween goat-herder for a news story. Here is the post in all its glorious entirety.

The main reason I agreed to have a baby was to have an excuse to never go anywhere again. But something happens when you have a child. You see nothing strange about keeping a log of your infant’s bowel movements. You use the word “poopy” a lot. You attend functions willingly that you normally wished you had a good excuse, like having a baby at home, to avoid attending. So I’m bringing my son to the NYS Fair.

I hate the fair.

I have only been a few times and the occasions have always been unpleasant.

Once I followed a 13-year-old goat herder around for a riveting news story about spending 14 hours with a 13-year-old goat herder (spoiler: lots of sitting in lawn chairs and looking at goats). I was a correspondent for the local newspaper so I was being paid for the article not my time–14 hours for $25, or $0.56 an hour. After about 20 minutes, you run out of questions to ask (so…why goat-herding?) and it’s mainly sitting around being uncomfortable, a situation made even worse by the powerful aroma of goat shit.

Another time, I paid $2 to see the “world’s littlest woman.” Having just left the Ripley’s Believe it or Not Tent, I thought I would see a Barbie Doll in a fish bowl–the Ripley’s tent was full of fakety fake fakery, but I chose to believe it rather than not, man–so I was horrified to come into the tent, and see an actual person sitting in a toddler-sized armchair, watching a mini-television and eating dinner. She was propped up on a table to be at eye-level. She looked wearily at me and said “hello.” I know I had a horrified look on my face because I just paid $2 to gawk at another human being who happens to be a little short. Instead of saying “I am a horrible, horrible person,” I mumbled “hi” and got the hell out of there.

Now for some completely illogical reason, I’m all pepped to go and expose my son to the urine-and-fecal-soaked barns and midway, the freak shows run by the worst people alive and the crown jewel–the butter sculpture, which I hope is just a giant stick of butter.

I am a horrible, horrible person.