Jersey.Girl.Genius

Those Teabaggers Have Balls

Ginny's fired up about Health Care ... and thinks those Teabaggers are taking things too far!  Who will put an end to all of this balls out blasphemy, I wonder? I'm simultaneously shocked, cringing and yet - proud - that I have a mother who knows the true meaning of teabagging.  How many people can say that?  Let's see ... there's Ginny, Margaret Cho's mother .... that about sums it up.  Teabagging has nothing to do with making home made Lipton iced-tea on a sweltering Jersey summer day, or taping bags to your temples, like the fine gentleman in the photo below is demonstrating.  Teabagging is something that Kathy Griffin must reference on The D List once an episode.  Sheesh, even Maggie Griffin must know what teabagging is, which now raises the teabagging know-how tally to three moms out of thousands.  They should start a club.  This discovery is slightly less awkward than the time I realized what the "massager" under the bathroom sink was really for.  So that's something.

The fact that my mom gets her sexual Wiki knowledge from Howard Stern makes things even better.  She didn't run a porn video store in SF, catering to the gays, she just turned on Sirius radio and let Robin, Howard and Stuttering John into her Toyota Corolla.  Then again, we did grow up with a copy of The National Enquirer on the kitchen table, which was considered news.  I thought "Baby Born With Alien Head" was worthy of show & tell, until I was 7.  May we all be as lucky, to have a mom like the Ginbomb.  Her message rant about the Teabaggers can be heard below.

Mom Hates Teabaggers

Year of the Mackerel

For all three of my loyal blog readers who were sent here looking for my SNL Weekend Update jokes, you'll have to wait until next week.  On the off chance that any of them are found to be "air" worthy, I can't actually publish them or risk having them disqualified for prime time.  You know the drill.

I feel a little fuzzy today.  I think it's the cronyism hangover I'm experiencing from Tuesday's debate.  If I hear the phrase "my friends" uttered from the stepford white haired puppet mouth one more time, I might have to send some beefy Italian cronies to Hofstra in order to give him a good talking to.  I read the debate transcripts and he addressed the town hall crowd with "my friends" 19 times.  Nineteen!  Crony or cronyism were also hurled out there so often that the words lost all meaning.  I started to hallucinate a little, thinking he was talking about Crones Disease.  WTF? Is he sick?  Can you rewind that please?  Did he just say he had Crones?  Wait ... did he actually move his shoulders when gesturing?  Nope, they're still broken.   But he did talk about hairplugs and golden cadillacs, so I didn't think I was that far off.

Still have five more jokes to crank out and am in desperate need of creative inspiration.  Thought about baking brownies or doing some macaroni art.  No dice.   When in doubt, it's time to whip out the old flashcards. 

The precious Weight Watchers Recipe Cards from 1974 are truly not to be believed.  Did people actually eat this stuff?  Apparently 1974 was the year of the mackerel.  And shit on a shingle.  Who knew?  The first time I breezed through these, I peed my pants a little.  Consider yourself forewarned.  All this talk of Polynesian snacks has made me a bit peckish.  Time to get crafty in the kitchen.  WWPDD?  What Would Paula Deen Do?

Confession:  I do wish I were related to Paula Deen.  We'd have such a great time in the kitchen.  I'd make sure she didn't forget to remove all of her big bling before she plunged those man hands into a pecan pie crust.  We'd joke about things like fluff and lard and how no one appreciates a good BBQ anymore.  Well, with all the cous cous eating and tofu grilling going on these days and all.  She'd pat me gently on the bum and scold me for using words like douche bag when talking about Emeril or questioning Rachel Ray's personal hygiene.  Oh Paula.  You've inspired me.  Time to get my lard on.

Smells Like Elephant Spirit

I played Palin Bingo last night with my own lucky catch phrases. I was one bloody square away from victory when Marta scored the Smoking Donkey with "Special Needs." Damn you, special needs!

I was sure that I'd bring home the bacon with gosh darnit, but that didn't come until later on - when the winking and the shout outs had reached an all-time high. Had I only written the word Maverick in every square, it would have been a crushing defeat. All this talk of Maverick has left me achy for the Kelly McGillis of old, some vintage Ray Bans and a perfectly weathered bomber jacket.

In other news - Lakota Industries, a sporting goods company out of Xenia, Ohio, has named a hunting bow after Sarah Palin. The pink camo bow is highlighted on the website alongside a touching tribute:

This is a tribute to women like Sarah Palin, who bear the responsibility of family and work while strengthening the moral fiber of society.

Nothing strengthens the ol' moral fiber like a cheek full of Skol and taking camo shots at chipmunks in the driveway.

In a similar move, fashion icon Calvin Klein has named a new fragrance after John McCain. In stores next week, CK Senility will be available in limited quantities or not at all or we've forgotten what quantity means. I'm told it also smells a bit like mothballs and gun powder with a hint of Efferdent.

Klein's EVP of Global Marketing & Licensing, Ellen Rodriguez, stated that "the fragrance will be marketed towards the Civil War reenactment crowd" and would launch a joint venture with Dr Scholl's Bunion Cushions.