Thoughtless for the Day

Those you who instinctively slow down to get a better look at traffic accidents will rejoice at the following news: the latest Aid or Invade has been published.

In other news, it's Fringe time here in Philly. On this Friday night (September 1st), Vienna and I will be attending the premier of Leopard Girl vs. Soul Sucker in the Evolutionary Arena of Doom!, and on Saturday night we'll be catching Every Day Above Ground. Remember; the overwhelming majority of doctors agree that if you don't attend at least four Fringe show, you'll go blind and bleed out the ass.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Too bad for those of you who had plans for September 13th...

Some smartass poster over at Portal of Evil pointed out that Yisrayl Hawkins doesn't have any books on his book shelves.

In other news...

The mighyt Paul Kircher sent in this item the other day, which will be of particular interest to those of you who remember Wayne the Caretaker form the Fort Mifflin radio reports.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Evilfuckingbitch! Fat and stupid may be no way to go through life, but that never slowed down professional "psychic" Sylvia Browne. Just because I don't own one of those ubber-moronic Ronald "I wet 'em again" Reagan commemorative dimes doesn't mean that I think the police officers and firemen who died saving lives on 9/11 weren't the best bravest people that this, or an other country ever produced. Here's a clip that's been making the rounds today: it's of Sylvia Browne pissing all over the hopes of a loved one of one of those 9/11 heroes. Don't judge the woman who asks about here late boyfriend too harshly. She's been suffered a devastating loss and is desperate for closure. But just because people might want to buy bullshit, that doesn't mean that scumbags like Sylvia should sell it to them. Had Sylvia been any sort of decent human being instead of a rasping she-moose, she would've told that woman that she was lucky, in this piss-poor excuse for a world, to find somebody that she loved: no matter for how short a time and it as certain as the fact that Sylvia's face will scare rats off of a wheel of cheese that the woman's boyfriend's last thoughts where about how he'd much rather be with her. None of us need the world ugliest psychic to tell us that

Just in case you've recently suffered a head injury and assumed that this was Sylvia's only miss, take a gander at this:

Speaking of malodorous cattle:

"If you're not electing Christians, then in essence you are going to legislate sin,"

- Katherine Harris

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The other day, one of my colleagues stopped by my office for the sole purpose of imparting the following bit of trivia:

SHAZAM is an acronym for Solomon, Hercules, Atlas, Zeus, Achilles, and Mercury, AKA the members of the Council of Elders. There's a whole lotta wrong there (even if you don't count two employees who hold relatively important positions in one of the world's largest corporations spending the better part of an hour discussing the subtle nuances of SHAZAM); let's round up some stray bits of info and hand 'em over to Cooky in the chuck wagon to gut and skin (assuming that he's sober and hasn't been spending all day hangin' 'round the school house askin' the younguns if they'd like to see the "Jizm Trail". Damn you, Cooky. It was the rattling of your pots that started that stampede! Now Billy is dead; and I promised his ma' that I'd look after him. Git a rope, fellas. Looks like ol' Cooky's gonna be the guest of honor at a "Necktie Party". Whooooeeee! )

If you're roughly between the ages of forty and fifty, then (like myself) you're entire knowledge of SHAZAM comes form of a painful collection of low production values, scraped together and presented as a Saturday Morning TV show (To this day, when I think of Saturday morning, I think of Coke and Frosted Pop Tarts. Hey, my folks wanted to make certain that I ate a hearty breakfast). If they word SHAZAM means Captain Marvel Comics to you, then you're obviously too old to own one of those new-fangled computing machines and are, therefore, not reading this post.

The Saturday Morning version of SHAZAM (for this moment forward to be known as the real version) would always kick off with Billy Batson getting some sort of touchy-feely advice from the aforementioned Council of Elders. I want you to know... that I try. When Jean and the kids at the school tell me that I'm supposed to control my violent temper, and be passive and nonviolent like they are, I try. I really try. Though when I think about the Council of Elders... of what a truly asinine concept it is... and I think of the number of years that the Shazam!/Isis Hour was on television (two: to be precise)... the savagery of this idiotic butchery of mythology... I just go BERSERK!

Are the Council of Elders really the right beings to be dispensing advice to a young man (or to anyone for that matter?) Many would say "No", but only RATYHTL says "No fuckin' way, me bucko" and then presents the cold, hard facts that back that statement up. Let's take an unflinching look at the members of this Council of Elders:

Solomon: Am I the only one who find it strange that a character from the Bible is on a council with a bunch of Greco-Roman gods and heroes? Sure, it's wonderfully subversive in that it sends the subtle message that the Bible is also a collection of myths; but I just hate to see different mythologies mixed together: "Well paint my testacies and call me Sal Mineo; if it ain't Jesus Christ and Thor battling Brahma and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir."

Solomon is on the Council of Elders owing to his alleged wisdom. Let's look at Solomon's most famous Jew-dicial decision: Two women come before Solomon claiming that each is the mother of the same child (Where's Poppa? Is the origin of Heather Has Two Mommies?). Nowadays, this entire episode would be settled in a matter of minutes with a DNA test on the Maury Povich Show (If you're at work, you'll wanna turn the sound down on your computing machine before clicking on that link), but these were much simpler times. Solomon produces a sword and says "OK, I'll just cut the baby down the middle and you can each have half. Then we'll all go to the deli for some whitefish." That's quite a gamble (of course Sol's not risking his own life). What if both women would've been just peachy with this proposal? As it was, according to this violent and dubious tale which has been repeated to countless generations of children, one of the women did think that hacking junior in half was a damn good idea. What was she going to do with half-a-baby? Was she hoping that no one would notice? Anyway, this incident clearly demonstrates that, at least in matters of child welfare, Solomon is unfit to hand out advice.

Hercules: First of all, the name is spelled HERACLES. Secondly, Heracles killed his wife and children. Sure, his defense was that he had been overtaken by a fit of madness sent by Hera (for whom he was named, oddly enough), but I've noticed that no one has ever claimed that in court since. Heracles would end up killing himself by jumping into a funeral pyre in order to end the pain caused by an aphrodisiac gone awry. Billy Batson, I hope you're taking notes.

Atlas: What the freewheelin' fuck is Atlas doing rubbing oily shoulders with Zeus and Heracles? Atlas had been the leader of the Titans: those child-devouring maniacs who overthrew and then castrated their own father. It was because Atlas had been on the losing side in the war with the Olympians that Zeus sentenced him to shoulder the pillars that keep the earth and the heavens separated (it's pretty unclear exactly what kept the earth and the heavens separated before Atlas got the gig).

After Heracles went all Richard Ramirez on his wife and kids, he was sentenced to Community Service: AKA "The Twelve Labors of Heracles". One of these labors was to retrieve some golden apples guarded by Chuck Norris in the Octagon. One his way to Whole Foods in order to pick up some apples which he later planned to paint gold, Heracles bumped into Atlas and a deal was struck wherein Heracles would temporarily hold up the sky while Atlas got a change of scenery by fetching the apples. Understandably, when Atlas returned he was more than a little reluctant to take up his former position. So Heracles asked Atlas to hold the sky one last time while Heracles placed a pad on his head (Apply directly to the forehead). The moment Atlas resumed holding up the sky, Heracles beat cheeks.

Scholars are still a little uncertain as to when Zeus, Heracles, and Atlas buried the hatchet and joined the dysfunctional Council of Elders, but they all tend to agree that anyone stupid enough to take advice form Atlas deserves what they get.

Zeus: Just because we here at RATYHTL worship Zeus as the King of the Gods doesn't mean that we're oblivious to his idiosyncrasies: like marrying his sister, kidnapping a young boy (Ganymede), his numerous seductions of young maidens, and then there's that whole "golden shower" episode between him and Danae. Oh, and he turned Io into a cow. The point is that while it's OK to pray to Zeus and beg his favor, if the Son of Cronos should offer you any advice, just smile, nod, and back away slowly. Of course there's one other obvious problem with having Billy gaze directly upon Zeus...

Achilles: The original Cpl. Klingler, Achilles attempted to avoid service in the Trojan War by dressing as a woman. So, unless you're one of these guys, Achilles won't be ponying up any information that you might find even remotely useful anytime in the near future.

Mercury: First of all, the name is spelled HERMES. Hermes invented the lyre which would be a plus if he hadn't done so during a break in the theft of a herd of cattle. So, Billy Batson, if you want to take advice from a cattle rustler, be my guest.

I suppose there are many, many even less qualified characters who could've been assigned to Council of Elders. After all, SHAZAM could've ended up being an acronym for Stalin, Hitler, Attila the Hun, Z arqawi, A imee Mann, and Charles Manson.

My point, if I ever actually had one, is that our gods and heroes used to be a great deal more like us: they were fallible. And that's the great lesson about taking direction on the advice of the gods: whether it be invading Troy or Iraq.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 12:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Gawdmudderfuggindammit! I am in a foul, foul mood. In descending order, here's what's pissing me off today:

1) Last night, those of us who attempted to phone in to It's Your Call with Lynn Doyle learned two disturbing things. The first was that, according to "psychic" lardtard Joan Marie Whelan, the afterlife consists mostly of sitting around and playing cards (I shit thee nigh! She actually said this), and the second was that Comcast doesn't feel the need to run any sort of announcement that might say something akin to "THIS IS A GODDAMN REPEAT: DO NOT CALL IN; OK?".

You win this time, Doyle, but we'll be back. Oh yes, we will be back…

2) This morning, when Pluto woke it was a planet. By the late afternoon it was still a planet, only now it was a dwarf planet. Have the members of the International Astronomical Union been smoke formaldehyde soaked crack? Look, I realize that these nebula nerds took several factors including solar orbit, mass, hydrostatic equilibrium into consideration before pissing all over Pluto's surface, but one thing they never stopped to ponder was "Hey, what if it turns out that Pluto is both Vienna and Rodney Anonymous' favorite planet?" Well, guess what, you IAU fuckers? It is. In fact, every Goth loves Pluto and its cooler-than-shit satellite-of-love Charon (Named after the ferryman on the river Styx)

I don't mean to sound selfish, but the arbitrary rule-makers at the IAU need to start thinking about how every decision they make will affect me.

3) CWfA have pulled a crazy double-header. On Tuesday they joined forces with several other Fundie Front groups, forming a sort of Coalition of the Willies and announcing a war on hotel room porn. today they went completely apeshit over the news that the Plan B contraceptive will be made available over-the-counter to women over the age of 18. Give 'em hell, Broomhilda:

"If the FDA thinks that enacting an age restriction will work, or that the drug company will enforce it when it has already announced it has no intention of enforcing it, then they are living in a dream world."

Having CWfA tell you that you're living in a dream world is like having Kim Jong Il criticize your sense of fashion. You can only take it as a complement.

Next Time: The thing that pisses me off more than anything else - Shazam and the Council of Elders.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Don't forget; tonight's the night that we'll all be dialing in to It's Your Call with Lynn Doyle between 8:30 and 9:00 PM to test the psychic abilities (and patience) of Lynn's guest Joan Marie Whelan. Before you start feeling sorry for Ms. Whelen, be sure to check out her fees for her various "services".

Remember; although we're calling to challenge Ms. Whelen and to take Ms. Dole to rask for never balancing her "psychic" guests with skeptics, be polite!

That Number again is 1-877-CN8-LIVE. Head on: apply directly to the forehead.

Yesterday, I suggested that those of you who might be interested in my hobby of collecting 1/72 scale plastic soldiers should consider purchasing some Persians or Hittites (as well as possibly getting a life). Today I'd like to pitch another ancient army to you: The Carthaginians.

Sure, you know that the Carthaginians used battle elephants (and you probably knew that the few elephants who survived the trek with Hannibal across the Alps died shortly thereafter, but do you know what method the Romans used to counter a herd of charging elephants? Flaming pigs. Elephants apparently go apeshit at the smell of burning swine flesh (how someone figured this out is anybody's guess), so the Romans would cover pigs in pitch, set them ablaze, and steer them towards the enemy's pachyderms. Imagine recreating that in 1/72 scale. Shit Luther, the Punic Wars where the most PETA-unfriendly wars ever.

Of course, another reason to collect Carthaginians is that they practiced child sacrifice.

Like Sioux Indian and Free Gifts, Crazy-as-a-mule-turd Bill O'Reilly Fan is a redundancy. Here's actual footage of one in the wild:

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I used to make a living by pickin' the banana, but now I feel the need to clarify a statement I made in Yesterday's Thoughtless. I was guilty of making a gross generalization when I stated that all Christians are ignorant sociopaths. What I meant to say was that all Hindus* are secretly members of the Thugee cult and will strangle you in your sleep to appease the goddess Kali . I apologize for any confusion that my earlier comments may have caused and don't forget to dial into It's Your Call tomorrow night.

Now on to a more impotent matter: My tiny plastic Roman army.

Many of you have written me inquiring as to the present state of the tpRa. For the benefit of the curious among you, I offer this as a testament to my progress so far. If I keep working at my current pace, I should have this entire project wrapped up in a little under two years. Now here's the pisser: On Saturday I went to the hobby shop (AKA "The saddest place on Earth) to score either some Extra Heavy Roman Legionaries, Flavian era Roman Auxiliaries, Imperial Roman Auxiliary Cavalry, and some glue to sniff to make me forget how geekish my hobby is. Lo and behold, some evil bastard had purchased nearly all of the Roman soldiers.
Look people; collecting 1/72 scale plastic soldiers is a noble, if not painfully spastic, hobby, but I call "dibs" on Flavian era Roman soldiers. If you need your own tiny army, may I suggest you purchase some Persians or Hittites.

* as well as a majority of Quakers

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Don't forget to call 1-877-CN8-LIVE this Wednesday night around 8:45

I just want to take a moment to clear up a misconception about yesterday's Thoughtless. I was by no means implying any causality between the perceived "religiousness" of a country and its rate of violent crime (that'll teach me not to type with my eyes closed). The point I was hoping to make was that having a large segment of a county's population profess a belief in a divine being is not necessarily a guarantee of a stable society...and that all Christians, even the Quakers*, are a bunch of blood-thirsty homicidal maniacs and I have the graphs to prove it!

So if you were planning to show some Fundie the first graph in yesterday's piece expecting him or her to counter with "Yeah, but I America's a lot safer than those other countries", just so you could rebut the poor Babbitt with the second graph, I strongly implore you to abandon this idea. As clearly shown on both graphs, all Christians, even the Shakers**, are scientifically illiterate and violent to the point of psychosis. Those graphs will only anger them. And we all know what happens when Christians get angry: crusades, witch trials, book burning, Jew burning, Queer burning, and Bill O'Reilly rubbing down Brit Hume with a falafel.

Now here's another chart I ripp... found over at Pharygnula:

Apparently, this chart depicts the percentage of Fundies who suddenly decide to no longer be Born Again Christians after attending an assortment of types of colleges. You're all grown-ups. You're all capable of drawing your own conclusions. I don't need to add a single word... except to point out that this chart clearly proves that college cures Christianity...and gout.

There's one last thing I want to share with you today. I was reminded about this clip by a posting over at Reason

*Make that "especially the Quakers"

**Make that "especially the Shakers"

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

During my most recent hiatus, a group of surveys were released that I'd finally like to take the opportunity to focus on. Regular readers of Pharyngula may have already seen this:

It's a chart showing public acceptance of the Theory of Evolution among 34 "Western" countries. And yes, that's the good ol' US of A in next-to-last-place: just above Turkey.

Let the full implications of that chart sink in for a moment. Now I'd like to show you some more charts. You would've only seen these if you'd read this month's issue of Skeptic

You're all grown-ups. You're all capable of drawing your own conclusions. I don't need to add a single word. So I'll let Blair's August E-Letter do the talking:

Summer is winding down (will someone please tell "Mr. Thermometer" this!)

Right this very minute I am sitting in our church bookstore/coffee shop [For the love of fuck, Don't Eat The Brownies!] while my youngest daughter is attending the big student ministry "Crossover" event. This is when the freshman fish are initiated into the High School Youth Group. The day is filled with d[r]unk tanks, slip-n-slides, dodge ball, tons of fun, and a watermelon-eating contest. (I'm proud to announce that my sweet young thing, Clancy, beat [off] ten boys to win first place in this prestigious event.)

I have to admit, as much as I've enjoyed the summer, I'm actually looking forward to the school year beginning again. I prefer structure. I have so many new chore charts, meal calendars, and fresh, new, creative ways to attempt some semblance of order into an otherwise, chaotic fall schedule. How about you? Are you dreading the end of summer more or anticipating the beginning of fall? [How kind of you to ask. The company through which I contract insists that I work for a year before I can accumulate any vacation time, so autumn will be just like summer: a seemingly endless stream of workdays with no relief in site. And I'm one of the lucky ones: I get a decent salary and health care. So, to answer your question, unless there's going to be some sort of worker's revolution this October, I'm neither looking forward to fall, nor dreading the end of summer.]

A couple of weeks ago, when Tucker was on tour with "The Newsboys," I was praying for him and consecrating him to the Lord. Yet, my heart was still fretful. "Would Tucker make wise choices?" "Would he act with discernment?" "Would he be a diligent worker?" "Would he be safe, both physically and emotionally?" ["Would he return home 'intact'? You know; back there"]

While I was struggling to release him completely, the Lord reminded me of the fact that Tucker had only recently returned from a two week trip to California. I sent Tucker to spend that time working with his grandfather, Roy, and to hang out with my brother, Justice. While he was there, I never worried for a minute. I knew he was in good hands with Roy [Let it go.]. I was excited that he was learning a strong work ethic from him. I had confidence that he and Tucker were having good conversations in between jobs, talking about things that boys need to discuss with other men, and not their mom. ["And then, sometimes, when I'm showering with the other gym class..."]

When he wasn't working with Roy, he would be staying with Justice, who is now a [Hitler]youth leader. Just being around Justice was going to be good for Tucker. Listening to him teach, watching him interact with the junior high kids, praying with him and seeing that it was possible to be cool and a Christian.
God reminded me that when I hand Tucker over to the strong, loving, capable hands of my heavenly Father, he is certainly in even better hands that those of Roy and Justice. So why would I worry? God is more than capable of speaking into Tucker's heart, training him to exercise wisdom, encouraging him unto good works, and keeping him safe from all evil. If God is for him, who can be against him? [All six or sever readers of RATYHTL for starters]

What are you worried about today? You kids? Finances? Relationships? Work? Health?
Now, imagine who you would most trust in this area. What would it be like to have Dr. Phil or Oprah or Dave Ramsey or Billy Graham or the best surgeon in the world or Mother Theresa or anyone else you can think of, come alongside you and help you in this area of concern. You have someone [sic] even better and He's actually approachable, available and intimately interested. Use your imagination and "hand over" your anxieties to your heavenly Father. He is more than capable of taking good care of you and the people, things and situations you care about. [And while you're at it, why not ask the Easter Bunny to clean out your garage]

Moms, let me ask you a serious question. How many good girlfriends do you have today? [Is this some kinda Lesbo-MILF thing?] I'm talking about the kind you can call on to keep your toddler while you chaperone your elementary student's field trip. The kind of friend you can count on to organize meals when you have your next baby.["Oh, you mean a sucker that I can take advantage of?"] Friends you can laugh with, cry with, confess your shortcomings with, and invite over to your house with laundry on the couch and your kids fighting [Sounds charming. I'll be over right after I slit my wrists.]. If your answer is less than five then I highly recommend you do a little something for yourself by investing some time in making and growing some friendships. [Or weed]

I don't know what I'd do without my seven MomTime friends [Well Blair, judging from your description of friendship above, I'm going to guess that you'd be forced to watch and feed your own children]. We are all counting down the minutes until our weekly MomTime gatherings resume when school starts. Ask any one of us what the highlight of our week is and our answers would be the same -MomTime ["Fisting" came in second]. (Sorry, it wasn't something more spiritual, like church.) I want you to have something this fun to look forward to every week. If this sounds interesting, you can't sit around and wait for someone to invite you over to their house to play. You need to take the initiative. Even if that isn't your personality, you can do it. You will be so glad you did, when you have your first MomTime Christmas party in a few months and you wonder how you survived [your meaningless lives] before having the luxury of such great girlfriends.

www.thelivingstones.com - I recently attended a women's conference here in Texas.
In between sessions the church offered some great shopping opportunities. One of the vendors displayed these gorgeous stone signs with scriptures engraved [Perfect for stoning unbelievers to death with]. I immediately picked out two that I just had to have. The first one was 3 John 4, "I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth." The second stone had Proverbs 3:5,6 (my life verse) engraved on it. To make a long story short, in between choosing two and fetching my wallet, I realized that two stones really weren't in our new budget. When I went back to the booth, I explained [sic] that I better only buy one stone. Guess what happened. This sweet lady who owns this business just gave me the other one out of the kindness of her heart! I decided then and there that I must recommend her beautiful work to all of my friends. [Blair, I'm sure that the fact that she knew that you'd recommend these shitty little piles of rocks to your army of zombies had nothing to do with her decision to comp you a free crapburger]

Beth Moore's "Daniel" Bible Study - I'm two days away from completing Beth's latest
Bible study and I'm already having serious withdrawal pains. I couldn't wait to recommend this wonderful study. One of the things I appreciate most about Beth's
Bible studies, is the fact that she doesn't give us tiny sips of chocolate milk - she serves up Filet Mignon. Continuing that analogy I will have to say that this study on the book of Daniel is a thick cut of Chateaubriand Roast. I'm so glad she gives us women credit for being able to cut into some prophecy and eschatology. Granted, I had to chew on the Word a bit longer on some mornings but it was worth it! I think you'll agree.[Just keep reading. DO NOT re-read that paragraph hoping that it'll make sense. It won't; trust me.]

Disney/Pixar's movie, "Cars" - On the way to our family vacation last month, we had some time to kill before our hotel room was clean so we decided to go see a movie.
The only one clean enough and that nobody had already seen was the new Walt Disney/Pixar movie, "Cars." What a delightful surprise. It was family-friendly, with an engaging plot, winsome voice actors, and a good message. It may not even be in theaters anymore but, if not, then be sure and rent the video, pop some popcorn, [or cop some cop porn] and enjoy a great family night.

MomTime GetAway - If you've ever wanted to join me at a MomTime Getaway then this would be the time. We only have three more Getaways scheduled and, after that, it is up in the air [MomTime will become part of NASA]. I really hope you live somewhere near Texas, Michigan, or Kentucky ["and own some white sheets and rope"]. Let me tell you a little bit about the event. First of all, my favorite thing is the fact that my whole family comes and joins in the fun. With Tucker on guitar, Haven on drums, Clancy on the bass, Steve on the keyboard and me, singing, we have a great time praising the Lord [Clancy got Rubin to sell our song; but it really came together when Blair sucked his schlong.]. Between Friday night and Saturday afternoon, I also speak on six different topics revolving around the joys and [Nuremberg]trials of motherhood. Throw in some chocolate, spa fun, scrapbooking, games, prizes and a pajama party and, well you get the idea. You really need to be there! [Oh yes; yes I do]

If you have a friend who would enjoy receiving this E-letter click the follow link and we will forward it to them.

Dear Lord[make the pounding in my head stop], thank You for creating seasons. Not only summer, winter, fall and spring, but also times of mayhem and times of agendas. Busy moments of "milk" in the Word and 4-star dining experiences with Jesus [Hands up: who just burst a blood vessel?]. Mommy stages for giving and girlfriend interludes for receiving[AKA "pitching" and "catching"]. Missions' trips and family vacations. God, you are anything but boring [Wrathful, maybe. But never boring]. Bless my friends with peaceful balance in their lives. Help them to appreciate each moment, season, and stage of life, mindful that You set change in motion. And it is good. In Jesus name[sic]. Amen.

Lisa Whelchel - E-Letter

© 2006 Lisa Whelchel (dick jokes added by Rodney Anonymous)

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 04:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The colorful Norweign Turd Festival that is Ma and Pa conglomerate Comcast stretches for far too many blocks to be covered in a single post [For some audio-intensive hilarity, I strongly suggest you give a listen to this episode of the Paul Kircher Show in which Paul and I chat with Joe DiStefano, author of Comcasted- How Ralph and Brian Roberts Took Over America's TV, One Deal at a Time.. For weeks before this show, Paul and I had been amusing ourselves with impersonations of Suzanne Robert, hostmummy of Seeking Solutions With Suzanne asking for descriptions of bizarre sex acts: "What's a donkey-punch?" "What's a Mongolian cluster-fuck?"], so today I'd like to focus on It's Your Call with Lynn Doyle. [Yes, the words "Emmy Award-winning issues-oriented talk show" actually appear on that site. We can only hope that at the ceremony Lynn Doyle was presented with a gold-plated lump of Shut The Fuck Up. ]

If you've never caught an episode of IYC, but you have awoken in a syrupy mixture of your own vomit and your then you haven't really missed anything as both experiences are pretty much the same. Basically, each episode of IYC consists of human-bobblehead Doyle staring blankly into a camera and attempting to moderate a panel discussion while remaining anything but moderate. If you're a stammering maniac, rest assured that Lynn will identify with you and toss nothing but softballs in your direction.

But most of all, Lynn is a sucker for psychics. Here's Lynn with fellow traveler in the netherworld, Michele Livingston. A rational human being might counter the appearance of a table-tapping twit with a few words from a skeptic. Lynn Doyle is clearly not a rational human being. And that's why she deserves what we're about to do to her.

This Wednesday night at 9:00 PM EST, Lynn's guest will be "international medium and medical intuitive" Joan Marie Whelan as well every possible reader of RATYHTL who calls 1-877-CN8-LIVE and manages to get through [Call that number at 8:45 or you might never get to speak on the air. If you get a busy signal, keep trying]

Below are some suggested scenarios that you can use to help test Ms Whelan's psychic abilities:

Scenario Number One: So that's why there was an extra sausage at breakfast.
If you've never been taxed by the presence of a sibling in your life (or if you have only brothers or sisters), call in and ask to speak to your dead brother/sister whom you never really got to know because he or she snuffed it when you were very young. Missing imaginary relatives may be substituted for fictional dead ones (I'd ask to speak with "my brother, Raul, who disappeared while canoeing with Michael Rockefeller). After Ol' Crystal Balls delivers a special message from your non-existent sibling on the "other side", reveal the truth and wait for the psychic's prepared dodge: the spirit with whom they spoke was actually an evil spirit intent on trickery! That's when you get to ask how she knows that all of the other spirits with she has communicated aren't evil spirits with ectoplasmic wild hairs up their asses?

Scenario Number Two: "I'm seeing the letter 'B' and 'S'"
If Marie launches into that "I'm seeing the letter 'M'" (the most common first letter in the names of women) or "I'm picturing the letter 'J'" (the most common first letter in the names of women) crap, wait for her to say "Does this mean anything to you" before hitting back with "You tell me; you're the psychic."

Scenario Number Three: The truth shall set you free. Well, maybe not you, but somebody.
Ask for some info about a genuinely dead relative. Give short yes or no answers to medium Whelan questions and keep score of her hits and misses. Be sure to let her know how she did!

Scenario Number Four: You may have already won one million dollars.
Ask Marie why she hasn't contacted the James Randi Educational Foundation and applied for the Million Dollar Challenge; then sit back and watch the weaseling begin. If Whelan claims that she could never except that kind of money for her "gift", remind her that the JREF would gladly donate the money to the charity of her choice. If she claims that the test is rigged, ask her how she can be certain if she's never contacted the folks at the JREF to work out the details.

Scenario Number Five: "I get this sense of déjà vu when viewing The Passion of the Christ
Tell swami Whelan that you strongly believed that you lived one before... long time ago... in Judea... during the Roman occupation. Slowly reveal that, in a past life, you were Jesus H. Christ. A variation on this scenario is to claim that you're certain that you lived in ancient Egypt under the reign of pharaoh Chihoponopsin (who, naturally never existed) and that you were killed when the Amazon flooded (I'll bet you $20 that Lynn Doyle won't catch this). Be sure to ask Marie why it is that you can't speak Egyptian and why you recollections turn out to be historically inaccurate.

If you can't get through 1-877-CN8-LIVE, be sure to call the viewer line at 215-952-4999 and give Lynn Hell for her lack of skepticism (and brain cells).

Together, we can make this happen.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 12:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I should be back posting tomorrow (look for a new Blair post this weekend!). In the meantime, please enjoy (oh, you will) this clip of Fred "God Hates Fags" Phelps getting his ass handed to him via Aussie TV.

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Notice (kewl, you did): I'm overly swamped with work stuff, so I won't be blogging much (if at all) this week. In the meantime, please enjoy The Greatest Thing Ever Posted on the Internets.

The Second Greatest being "Buzz Aldrin Teaches You Self-Defense"

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

During two separate hearings on Capitol hill this week two pieces of information came forth. One we all saw coming nearly four years ago and left us shrugging and saying "no shit"; while the other we also saw coming, but it still left some of gazing back at the newspaper and mouthing "holy shit". It's time to gather up the crazy:

...And In Other News: That Stripper Is Only Interested In Your Money

On Thursday General and, judging by his last name, possible Ay-rab John Abizaid utilized all of his military training to keep a straight face while Senate Armed Services Committee that "it is possible that Iraq could move towards civil war". The Senate Armed Services Committee needed a General to tell them this? Are all of the TV's at the Pentagon tuned to FOX News? Sweet ducking Jesus screaming "Get down, Judas, we've got incoming!", I've never even been to Iraq and I spotted this parade long before it turned the corner onto Main Street and started lobbing grenades from the floats instead of tossing plastic beads (and to think that we showed 'em our tits!). Then again, I've know the difference between Sunni and Shiite Muslims since I was in sixth grade: unlike some people out there.

He Stole What???

Also on Thursday we learned the full extent of the corruption that has permeated Iraqi society via U.S. special inspector general for Iraq reconstruction Stuart Bowen (Fun Fact: Plan A was "You can build it with Legos"). Among the more interesting things we learned is that one individual managed to single-handedly steal one billion dollars. While the most of the Americans who actually heard about this reacted with shock and awe, I said to myself "How can I get a piece of this action?" This answer is RATYHTL's first annual How Much Good Publicity Can Your Stolen Iraqi Money Buy Contest. The rules are so simple that even Donald Rumsfeld and Paul Bremer on a combination of acid, 'shrooms, Iron City beer couldn't fuck it: The Iraqi official who sends me the largest bribe by midnight on August 26th will wake up the next morning to find a glowing piece about themselves on this very blog!

Gentlemen (as most of the women over there are forbidden to leave their homes), let the bribery begin!

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 12:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

As should be expected, my inner-Green often wars with my inner-Libertarian. Case-in-point: Ma and Pa stores (or, for those of you residing in Utah, Ma and Ma and Ma and Pa stores). My inner-Green tells me that these stores are good for the local economy, as they tend to not pack up in the middle of the night and shift their operations to Mexico (shit Luther, I. Goldberg* sat in the same spot for nearly a century; and when they were finally forced to move, they relocated four blocks away). My inner-Libertarian tells me that, under their sweet, wrinkly exteriors, both Ma and Pa are a pair of evil dicks.

Let me put that another way: If the president of Whole Foods and his wife are attacked by rabid wolverines and never heard from again, life goes on (OK, maybe not for Mr. & Mrs. Whole Foods, but fuck them: $21.95 for two gallons of orange juice and some muffins?): by which I mean that I can still stroll down to 10th and South and get my chowdown on. If Ma and Pa Cornerstore decide to attend an Smelly Elderly Bastards Convention in Sarasota, I either have to spend a week not eating or walk seven extra blocks to get to one of the few Ma and Pa stores that does not have my picture with the words "Do NOT sell this man beer" scrawled under it in red marker taped up behind the counter (I went through a rather rocky phase during my twenties...and again in my mid-thirties...oh, and shortly after I turned forty I was diagnosed as being "Clinically Batshit".).

Would you go to a Ma and Pa hospital? Can you imagine yourself ever saying, "Call the Ma and Pa fire brigade. Sure they'll take longer to get here, but they're good for the local economy"? Hell no!

*Mel Gibson once claimed that the Goldberg family was responsible for every surplus war supply ever sold

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 06:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Rabbit, rabbit.

Mel Gibson, despite having issued a plea for forgiveness to Jewish community (I encourage all Jewy readers of RATYHTL to take a break from sacrificing Gentile babies and tell us non-mud people exactly what Mel can do to earn your forgiveness ), may have wanted to spend the day avoiding the Jewboy owned serious of tubes that is the Internets. In particular, Mel "I'm not an anti-Semite; I just hate Jews" Gibson would've wanted to steer clear of this literary knee-drop from Christopher Hitchens in which Hitch refers to Gibson's The Passion as a "twistedly homoerotic spank-movie"

It just hasn't been a good couple of days for some of the more delusional branches of Christianity. Last week a bunch of End-timers got all worked up [possibly the scariest link I've ever posted!] over the discovery of a Medieval Bible in an Irish bog. It's not that these booger-mining morons are fans of Archeology; no, these folks were falling on the floor and speaking in tongues because it was reported that the Bible was opened Psalm 83 which, in part, references the "wiping out Israel" by other nations (but not Mel Gibson). Those of us with some knowledge of Latin and history just smiled, sat back, and waited for the other sandal to drop. And on last Tuesday it did.

You see, while Psalm 83 does invoke the "wiping out Israel" it only does so in the King James Bible. What the Irish Archeologist (no doubt digging for potatoes) found was a copy of the Latin Vulgate. Psalm 83 in the Vulgate concerns the "vale of tears". Cry me a river, Fundies.

And in Kansas, some batshit crazy school board members are in serious danger of losing their seats.

Congratulations to the Greens of PA for gathering 100,000 signatures on their petitions to place Carl Romanelli, Marakay Rogers, and Christina Valente on the ballot. I'd like to say I helped, but other than signing myself, I was useless. And yes, I'm well aware that many Santorum supports have donated to the Romanelli campaign. Would you rather these fuckwits spend their cash on "Worlds Most Bigoted Grandpa" figurines or FOX News mugs?

Posted by Rodney Anonymous at 07:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)