TANcast

The Michael Jackson trial goes to the jury today to decide the pop icon’s guilt on 10 felony counts including 7 counts of “lewd or lascivious acts on a child under the age of 14” and 2 of “administering an intoxicating agent” related to the molestation charges.

Happily, Jackson should be assured a fair deliberation thanks to the extraordinary, nay, Herculean lengths the Santa Maria courts went to to assure Jackson a jury of his peers. The deliberation will fall to:

• Two young black men
• Three middle-aged white women
• Eddie Murphy
• A hermaphrodite of indeterminate race
• A family of chimpanzees: Bobo, Suzee, and Mikey (no relation to Bubbles)
• Robert Kelly (known as “R.” to friends and fans)
• And jury foreperson: A Macy’s store mannequin

The Jolly Green Giant was excused from the jury pool early on when his past associations with Jackson came to light.

I wonder if Lindsay Lohan misses her boobs…

Before
After

For the love of God, somebody feed this girl!

Thanks to KCRA‘s love of “local fluff” slide shows, you can all get in line to meet me now…

I just figured out that Kwai Chang Caine from Kung Fu and his grandson Kwai Chang Caine from Kung Fu: The Legend Continues are really just allegorical representations of the life of Jesus Christ, with the wandering and the good-doing, and the ass-kicking with the beating stick, and so forth.

I think they upped the ass-kicking a bit for the ratings. Also I’m not sure Jesus was Buddhist.

PS: You should see Kung Fu Hustle. It is like Quentin Tarantino and Tex Avery got together to make a Kung Fu movie. Jesus said it totally kicks ass.

PPS: I think I set a record for pointless hyperlinks there.

Listen, children, as I impart a lesson learned by watching a dog take a shit.

Like Jimmy Pop said, I hate poopin’ in public places. The constant noise of others coming and going (pardon the pun) really makes my brown eye squint. I’m always super self-conscious about the rude noises and foul smells coming from my stall and even worry about the “dirt roads” left behind on the bowl when I flush. These low-flow toilets don’t seem to have much in the way of self-cleaning ability, at least not when dealing with my turds.

I can’t stop the people or the noises or the smells, but through a stroke of pure genius I have come up with a way to deal with poo-trail issues. Crap on paper.

Seriously. Crap on paper.

Every single public bathroom stall has a dispenser for those rings of tissue paper. I don’t know what those things are really for other than allowing piss/shit water to wick up to your thighs, but I have come up with a better use for them. Take two or three sheets of ass-gasket from the dispenser and float them on the water in the bowl. When you do the doo, your little torpedoes will land on and sink the floating paper, keeping the tissue layers between your butt mud and the pristine porcelain.

In order to avoid clogging the works and just on the general principal of doing right by those around you, it would be best to do a courtesy flush before you start wiping. When you flush you will send a little wrapped package of feces off to the Bay for the homeless to nourish themselves with, and nary a fleck left behind.

Who doesn’t like a brown-bag lunch, after all?

I only have one thing to say in reply to this video, and that is…

America! FUCK YEAH!
Coming again, to save the mother fucking day, yeah.

America! FUCK YEAH!
Freedom is the only way, yeah.

Terrorist your game is through cause now you have to answer too
America! FUCK YEAH!

So lick my butt and suck on my balls.
America! FUCK YEAH!

What you going to do when we come for you, now?

PS: Just how does Dennis Madalone think “America” is spelled?

PPS: Why is the baby in the cemetery (that sounds bad if you haven’t see the video) browner than its mom and what I presume is the dad?

PPPS: Anyone who finds “America We Stand as One” deep, meaningful, or touching needs to learn that cheesy, back-patting, pseudo-hair-metal, patriotic ballads are neither deep nor meaningful, and that the only thing that should have been touched was the “stop” button on the video player.

I sold my soul to a lovely temptress and the price was pizza, cake, and a “Birthday Girl” tiara for me to wear.

All is forgiven. Farewell, holy chonies…

My girlfriend demolished my last pair of old chonies last night. I had thought I was pretty fucking clear with her about my sentimental attachment to them the last time she destroyed a pair, or perhaps the time before that, or maybe the time before that.

Men are not supposed to throw tighty-whiteys away; they must gently fade and tear until they become translucent, nebulous things, things no longer of this earth, destined for a high purpose.

Holey chonies become holy chonies. Just ask the Pope.

Panda jizz
Panda jizz
Panda jizz
…

PS: FROG enclosure.

I read this article and laughed my silly ass off. I imagined the conversation went something like this:

i b n Ya: Hey, sexy islama-mama. I bet u’v got sum nice burka-biscuts.
Hottimah: LOL. U R 2 much. I M single and horny. Wanna go ‘la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la’ 2gether, u stud?
i b n Ya: U bet ur schweet Allah I do! I’ll show you 7 pillars you won’t forget.

later…

“Sanaa?”
“Bakr!”
“What the fuck? YOU SAID YOU WERE SINGLE! AND ALSO SOMEONE ELSE!”
“Well, you said you were hung like a camel, and we both know THAT isn’t true…”