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:

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:

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?

Progress.

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

“I got published.”

 

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. 

Where My Ladies At?

Hi Women!

Whas up, yo?

Sorry I began so awkwardly. It’s because I feel nervous.

I feel nervous because some of you are Republicans or people who think voting for Mitt Romney is a good idea. I fear you will drop me like Michael Jackson almost dropped Blanket from that hotel balcony or post something in the comments that will make me feel squicky.

I get it. I do, I honestly do. You like something that he stands for. I can’t imagine what that is, but I’m sure it’s something with economics or smaller government.

But here’s the rub: the way Republicans have been talking about women and acting about women is just fucking wrong. There’s no getting past it.

You may be thinking, but Mitt loves his wife, how can Speaker7 say Mitt is anti-women? And I would say if you are Ann Romney, by all means vote for Mitt because he seriously digs you. But if you’re somebody who relies on Planned Parenthood for your health care, believes you should be able to procure birth control easily and affordably, and be treated fairly in the workplace, then the Republican train ain’t the one to be on.

Here’s just a few examples of Republican exceptionalism:

• advocacy of a no-exceptions abortion ban, according to the GOP platform
• opposition to the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act of 2009
• mandated transvaginal ultrasounds
• promotion of the Blunt Amendment that would have allowed any employer to deny covering birth control on moral grounds
• discussion of rape distinctions–I’ll handle that later; it needs its own paragraph

I’m voting for Obama. There are things Obama stands for that I don’t like. I don’t like the Race for the Top education policy that basically continues the shittiness of No Child Left Behind. I don’t like the administration’s support of hydrofracking. But I overlook these things because otherwise I would never be able to vote for anyone ever.

But if I felt for a second that Obama thought women were less than, I would be out the door. Like if he continued to support a candidate who had the gall to say something like rape was a gift from God? I’d be thanks, but no thanks, fella.

I know women are not a uniform, monolithic voting bloc. I know we aren’t all on our periods at the same time and eagerly awaiting the latest sale of chocolate-dipped shoes. We have our own issues, concerns, and life experiences that shape the decisions we make at the ballot box. But cheezits cripes, we should band together when it comes to a political party advocating for policies that state our lives are worth less.

I get the distinct impression that Republicans–at least the ones in power and talking–don’t really like us all that much. I mean, they like us if we’re getting coffee or giving blow jobs, but otherwise? Not so much.

I mean how else can you explain those comments about rape? I can’t for the life of me understand why this is an issue that merits any discussion beyond “rape is a crime.” Now it’s been turned into something that can be categorized like forcible or legitimate or something that is so easy to do to some women. And it’s Republicans who are saying these things.

So I think it’s time we said “enough.” I think it’s time we put a stop to the nonsense and demand to be treated like thinking human beings because we are. And we’re the majority.

If you can’t vote for Obama, that’s okay. Write in something like “Vagina Queen” or “Speaker7.” I frankly think it’s time we started our own party and gave men a taste of the shit they’ve been shoveling in our direction since the beginning of time.

Here is the Speaker7 Party slogan: “Ball-Scratchers Beware.”

But enough with electing these shitballs to positions of power. Sure maybe they talk a good game about creating jobs and reducing the deficit, but they really seem to be about creating crazy legislation and reducing our opportunities and access to health care.

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 second post. She loves you very much. Even if you’re seething right now because you don’t like her positions, it doesn’t change the fact that she thinks you are wonderful.  She is looking for things to write about in the longest November since November existed. Please leave suggestions in the comments. The non-squicky type, please. 

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.

Alexander Hamilton Ain’t Got Nuthin on Me

Okay here’s what’s happenin’.

I’ve been forced into a blogging duel by a maniacal clown.

This, apparently, is me:

You realize there is no possible way to say no to a clown. That’s why they continue to perform at children’s birthday parties even though everyone hates them.

I’m ‘spose to square off against a team assembled by a half-man/half-dog, at least I think that’s what he is. And the “great” thing is the reader gets to choose what I write about. Awesome, right? Except what if some “funny” guy says “Write about butt plugs.” That’s offensive to my lady sense-a-ma-stuff.

Oh wait. . . I write about butt plugs all the time. I might actually win that one.

But what if the “funny” guy says “Write about poetry” or “Write about your feelings” for christ’s sake! I don’t do emotion. I bottle that shit up until it pours out my orifices like wastewater treatment plant sludge.

So this is where I need your help. Go comment on Le Clown’s blog and give me some workable topics, i.e. topics I’ve already written about so I can just plagiarize an old blog post.

Here is an acceptable list:

• turds
• fleece unitards

I realize now that Alexander Hamilton lost in that duel with Aaron Burr. This does not bode well.

Addendum: My fellow duel mate Madame Weebles made me this medal to acknowledge the sacrifices my brain has made in processing the garbled sentences contained inside Fifty Shats of Grey.

To honor her, I plan on using someone else’s brain to write a post that will kick some serious down there in the upcoming duel.

This Post Will Make You Blush

People hate being embarrassed. I remember reading an article about choking in restaurants. It stated one of the main reasons people died is because they left the table to deal with the choking in the privacy of the restroom so as not to embarrass themselves in front of others with all the gasping and eye-bulging. It embarrasses me that I cannot remember the name of the article or find a link to it.

In 10th grade, I was walking and waving to a group of friends on the front lawn of school. My head was not turned in the direction I was going, and I fell over a bicycle rack. To make it even better, the boy I had crush on witnessed the entire event. I immediately left school and joined a nunnery in the Himalayans. Here’s the kicker: There wasn’t a nunnery there. I was so mortified that I tried to pass myself off as a curvy monk, but my bright red cheeks and excessive sweating gave me away. And I’m not even curvy. Why did I say that? Oh my god. I’m completely humiliated.

Some sciency people say embarrassment is a good thing (is sciency people the right word? What are they called? Sciencers? Sciencence? This is mortifying). It’s a sign of virtue. It shows you can be trusted, and it makes motorists stop when they mistake your bright red face for a stop sign.

So what does it mean if you’re someone who is not easily embarrassed? Does it mean you’re an untrustworthy asshat? The sciency folks could not say for sure, but maybe would look into it in the future.

Well let’s look into it now, shall we. Let’s examine the behavior of one Donald Trump.

Donald Trump cannot be embarrassed. Just look at him:

He knows his hair looks like cotton candy run through a taffy pulling machine then set on fire and extinguished by a pound of cat fur mixed with sawdust.

His hair alone should cause his face to be the color of a fire hydrant. But the reason his face is the color of a fire hydrant is because he’s always blowing hot air out of his yawping maw.

“Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!” he screams like an over-sugared toddler.

He recently blathered some nonsense about Trump steaks. No wait. It was about his many bankruptcies. Nope. I’m wrong again. I’m totally blushing right now.

He said: “Celebrity Apprentice just ended, and I need to be on TV again so how ’bouts I prattle on about President Obama not being a U.S. citizen? Yeah, let’s do that. I’m fired…up. Did you see what I did there? Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!”

See, I would be embarrassed to say something that’s been so obviously refuted that it’s on par with saying something like “Donald Trump is virtuous.”

But that’s me.

Donald Trump said this right before hosting a fundraiser for Republican presidential nominee Mitt Romney. Mitt Romney said he believed Obama was a natural born citizen, which was very big of him. Using the word “believe” means there could be a tad uncertainty about it. Well done.

I believe Mitt Romney escaped from the Chuck E. Cheese automaton band, and is full of ricotta cheese. But that’s just what I believe, man. You can believe your own ride.

I also believe that Donald Trump is actually a robotic megaphone coated in spray tan and axe body spray.

It would explain the inability to be embarrassed.

And the hair.

But what I do know for certain is that he is an untrustworthy asshat.

Science!

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. 

Geraldo Geraldon’t

TV “journalist” Geraldo Rivera recently said if you present yourself a certain way expect a certain reaction from people. I’m paraphrasing. Geraldo actually used the word “gangsta” and kept saying “gangsta,” really overemphasizing the “sta” of the “gangsta” to an extent that I stuck my hand into a food processor so I could concentrate on something else.

Geraldo, of the Yosemite-Sam style mustache, should know about the damaging effects of appearance. Whenever I see him, he reminds me of  a silent movie villain who ties damsels in distress to railroad tracks.

"I kid you not. I've found more in my mustache than in Al Capone's vault."

It is uncertain whether Rivera has actually engaged in this behavior while twirling his scour-brush mustache, but he has been married five times, and these women couldn’t all have voluntarily agreed to it–some had to be under duress.

Whenever I hear him, I wish I could invent a time machine, and travel back to the time his parents met so I can break up their marriage with my serious gangsta-style seduction skillzz thereby preventing his birth.

It’s a conundrum. Does his Mario brothers’ mustache make me think he’s a narcissistic shithead or is it the shitty narcissistic things he says?

Then I think of Geraldo’s shitty, shitty words about the senseless murder of Trayvon Martin:

“People take you at what you look like” and “I think the hoodie is as much responsible for Trayvon Martin’s death as George Zimmerman was.”

Right.

The gun in Zimmerman’s hand was only slightly responsible…as was his racism.

So maybe it is Rivera’s 1970′s porn-star-style stache–the width of which makes the Monopoly’s  Rich Uncle Pennybag’s stache look like the width of John Waters’–that makes me assume that he is a giant hairy turdball.  I mean he does look like the great porn stars of the past like Saddam Hussein and Joseph Stalin (By the way, Joseph Stalin in Boinksheviks is a must-see).

Or maybe he is a giant turdball, as a matter of fact The Turd of the Week™.

Enjoy it gangsta stylz

Stillborn Turd

What are the differences between cows and women? I’m sorry I should probably rephrase that. Are there any differences between cows and women?

Hmmm.

I honestly don’t know. They both produce milk. They both can be moo-thers (did you see what I did there? No, I don’t either). They both are livestock.

I can see then why Terry England, a Georgia state representative, thought it completely appropriate to talk about livestock delivering stillborn babies in a discussion about a bill requiring women to deliver stillborn babies. Well, the bill prohibits any abortion after 20 weeks even if the fetus or mother are in distress.

Guys, Terry’s been there. He’s been there when his cow delivered a stillborn calf. He’s seen his pigs deliver stillborn piglets. It breaks his heart, but the point is–they can do it. So why can’t the ladies, am I right?

Why can’t the ladies just eat their cud, swish their tails and not worry about the dead fetal tissue inside of them until they lay on the barnyard floor and Terry shows up.

It’s completely the same.

Oh wait—I forgot the amazing incentive. Listen to this, it is seriously awesome. So Terry England was talking to some young feller about “dog or hog hunting” (that’s a thing?), and the feller’s like “Look, I make my living fighting chickens.”

This guy is total “salt of the earth people,” Terry assures.

He says “Terry, I’ve got to tell you something…when they quit killing babies, they can have every chicken I’ve got.”

Excuse me. I need to compose myself.

I’m back.

So can we do that everyone? Can we think of the poor, poor chickens? Aren’t chickens–like women–livestock too? I know they lay eggs, but sometimes those eggs are empty, and then used in Easter egg hunts.

I imagine Terry England has advisers, right? I wonder how that conversation went after Terry delivered that heartbreaking speech.

Adviser: Okay, so tell me again what you said.

England: I said calves and pigs deliver stillborn babies all the time so why not women who are mainly a different type of livestock.

Adviser: Wow. Okay. Um. Okay.

England: I was just speaking from my salt-of-the-earth heart.

Adviser: I understand. Not the best comparison, I might add.

England: Does it really matter? It’s not like they can vote.

Adviser: No..no actually they can. Since 1920, as a matter of fact. So yes, they do vote.

England: Shit. Are you sure? Cuz last I checked, my cows don’t go to the polls.

Adviser: Right, but see, women are humans.

England: No way. Really?

Adviser: Yes.

England: Goddang.Well, look, I was just talking to my buddies. No one’s going to care about that.

Adviser: You were giving a speech before the Georgia Legislature, and it was filmed.

England: I like hog hunting.

Adviser: It’s okay. I think we can spin it…..maybe we can say your microscopic penis made you say these things. It is really small. I mean, it’s almost a vagina, but the good thing is no one would make you actually carry dead fetal tissue because you have no reproductive organs, and that is beyond insane, but my point is, is that you have the smallest dick in the world.

England: Yup.

Adviser: So even if your career in politics is over, you could have a career going to state fairs as the man with smallest penis in the history of penises–so that’s something.

England: I like dog hunting.

What also is something, is that I found my Turd of the Week™ and it’s only Tuesday. Way to go America!

Hall of Famous Turd

I am appalled.

I am appalled that Missouri allows its Hall of Famous Missourians to be denigrated in such manner, but alas it is true.

The Hall of Famous Missourians will soon feature a bronze replica of the medicine ball-sized head of Rush Limbaugh placed precariously on a crate of Oxycontin.

That is not why I am appalled. I am appalled that such a great man will have to share the same space with such sluts as Laura Ingalls Wilder, Sacajawea and George Washington Carver, the man who “invented” the word “slut nut.”

Rush Limbaugh has given so much to the world. He has called members of the National Organization of Women “whores.” He referred to the torture of prisoners at Abu Ghraib as “people having a good time.” He called the poor Missourian children who receive free lunch “wanton little waifs and serfs.” He’s provided the reasoning behind Hillary Clinton’s inability to join the Marines as: “they didn’t have uniforms or boots big enough to fit that butt or those ankles.” In essence, he is a Missouri hero.

What did Laura Ingalls Wilder do? Slut it up with Almanzo Wilder.

Sacajawea? Lent herself out as an escort to Lewis and Clark.

George Washington Carver? Invented the peanut allergy…oh, and was a huge whorebag.

Luckily Missouri House Speaker Steven Tilley has provided the panacea to the scorching case of herpes that is the Hall of Famous Missourians.

Tilley is a political rain man–not only picking Limbaugh, but defending his choice during the firestorm surrounding the latest horrible comments uttered by a drug-addicted colostomy bag.

“I knew some people didn’t like him, but there’s a lot of people in the Hall of Famous Missourians that weren’t the most popular people and that took controversial stances,” said Tilley.

“I’m an excellent driver,” he added.

That’s true. Hall of Famous Missourians alum Dale Carnegie pissed people off all the time with his annoying ability to win friends and influence people. Carnegie said: “Any fool can criticize, condemn, and complain – and most fools do.”

What a dick.

Some people–let’s call them whores?..yes, whores–are upset by Tilley’s choice to honor an anal cyst (thanks Les!) over other Missourians like Maya Angelou and Langston Hughes. But I think Tilley shows courage. It takes courage to throw one’s political career into the toilet with a huge-crusted turd.

So Steven Tilley, you deserve your own award. You have received the coveted Turd of the Week™. I will get it bronzed posthaste.

.