So I'm reading an article debating the importance of FDA-required labeling of cloned food. Trillions of dollars have been spent for testing and analyzing meat from cloned cows, sheep and pigs to find out that the meat is virtually indistinguishable from naturally grown meat.
I find myself curious as to why these particular animals are being cloned at all. Anyone with an olfactory nerve who has ever driven through the rural bits of the U.S. of A can tell you that there is no shortage of odiferous barnyard animals roaming around.
And I can't imagine that cloning is the only way to get a few more head of cattle. I'm no expert in animal husbandry, but I'm pretty sure that cows (and pigs and sheep) have been procreating for thousands of years all by themselves… well, in pairs of two, anyway. I would assume that if you introduce the mommy cow to the daddy cow, nature kind of takes its course, no laboratory equipment necessary.
At this point it seems like scientists are just cloning stuff for the sake of cloning – One can only imagine that a lab-coated social reject had a really great steak one night and wanted to see if he could recreate that magical night at Outback Steakhouse.
And, really, are those the best animals they could come up with? Couldn't they clone cooler animals? No offense to the farm set, but aren't there are more deserving animals in the world? What about bald eagles, polar bears, African Elephants or gorillas? You know, animals that don't seem to have as much luck with the procreation stuff.
Maybe scientists could take a break from the eternal quest to build a better burger and work on something a little more important, something like… oh, I don't know, curing cancer or sterilizing Britney Spears. Just a thought.
Do you ever wonder what you'll be like as an old person?
Are you going to be the high-waisted-polyester-pants-and-sensible-velcro-shoes type of old person with the little rubber coin purse and coupons for Fancy Feast?
Are you going to be the beehive-suntan-pantyhose-and-Keds type of sinewy old lady playing tennis on Thursdays and flashing your horsey dentures at the old men playing chess?
Are you going to be the threadbare-housedress-and-curlers-at-noon type of old lady peeking through your windows and keeping tabs on your neighbors?
Are you going to be the tight-pants-and-gold-sweater type of Goldie Hawn/Cher nipped/tucked senior citizen, flirting with the bagger at the grocery store while you lacquer your puckered lips with trashy coral pink lipstick?
Are you going to be the blue-windbreaker-and-a-plastic-visor type of oldster who lives for bingo, bake sales and that yearly trip to Laughlin?
Me, personally, I want to be the feather-boas-and-off-kilter-wigs-drunk-by-noon
type of grandma who tells inappropriate anecdotes at family gatherings and spends
the kids' inheritance on trips to Nepal.
So the family and I always go out to dinner on Friday nights, it's our thing (because, really, who wants to cook and do dishes on a Friday? Granted, to me, every day is Friday, but whatever) and last Friday night, we decided to try out a new restaurant, some shiny new-ish chain restaurant all painted up to look like an old roadhouse (you know the type of place, rough wood walls, peanut shells on the floor, staff wearing overalls, cutesy "rural" names for menu items, etc.)
We get seated in a booth and I look around, taking in the faux-gritty interior and I happen to glance at the table next to us and directly in my sight line, staring back at me from a pair of white jeans is half an inch of purple panties and at least 2 inches of ass crack.
Yep, ass crack. (__|__)
This woman's shirt and pants were, perhaps, reverse magnetized and were repelling each other. Her shirt, maybe a size too small, had crept up about 6 inches and her pants, already low-rise, were making a run for the border.
She wasn't a troll or a gargoyle, she was a normal, healthy sized woman, but this isn't the point. The point is that I should not have to be faced with butt crack bordered by violet granny panties.
Her crack became like a tractor beam, I couldn't stop staring. Obviously, I wasn't the only one because the entire wait staff "happened" to wander by and snicker. After a more few minutes, an older woman at her table hissed "keep your eyes on your own table!"
If I hadn't been trying not to yack, I might have said "keep your crack to yourself" or "tell her to put her ass away", but I figured that she was being humiliated enough by flashing her butt to an entire restaurant.
Now, I'm well aware that it's damn near impossible to find pants these days that aren't low-rise. No matter how unflattering they may be to anyone larger than a size 1, it's what the retailers are selling. Personally, though, I have enough body awareness to feel when my shirt creeps up half a centimeter and I tug it down right away. I don't know how this woman didn't feel 8 inches of bare back and AT LEAST 2 inches of ass crack. When I got home, I decided to try a completely scientific experiment to see how low I would have to sag my pants to expose that much crack... it was completely ridiculous, I practically had my jeans around my thighs! Unless you have some kind of serious nerve damage that keeps you from feeling a breeze on the entire back side of your body, how can you just let it hang out like that?
She's lucky that I kept my kid from tossing a chicken nugget down there. Because I'm a responsible parent like that.
It's painfully obvious that America, home of apple pie, baseball and the Grand
Old Flag, has begun sliding down the slippery slope of stupidity, dumbing down
daily life for the lowest common denominator...
Oh, you don't believe me? Conveniently enough, I happen to have a couple of examples:
How about -
The fast food chains with pictures of food on their menus because of the people who can't be bothered to learn to read a fucking menu (or anything else, for that matter)
or
The people who kept "Everybody Loves Raymond" on tv for so long
or
The people who cancelled "Arrested Development"
or
The fucking president who can't correctly pronounce the word "NUCLEAR"
or
Nascar
but it's reached a point where some sanctions need to be imposed on repeat offenders like the entire Wayans clan who are responsible for the "Scary Movie" franchise, "White Chicks", "Little Man" and many, many other low brow horrors numbing the American psyche.
How does a movie like "Little Man" even get made, let alone become the #2 movie in the country?
How do the Wayans stroll into a movie studio and pitch "... it's a movie about a criminal who's a midget who dresses up like a baby and people actually believe it... you see, because they're adults with no concept of children... or the human body... or anything like that... sounds hilarious, right?"? Have movie executives (and the moviegoing public) been so numbed by low carb diets and cell phone brain tumors that they believe this passes for entertainment?
Where does it end, America? Where?
And there I went.
Here I Come -
Dear Fast Food Research and Development Teams:
I'm not going to google it or do any kind of actual research (because I'm a very busy and important girl), but I'm pretty sure that the good old hamburger has been around for quite some time. Meat, ketchup, mustard, pickles, maybe some cheese and a bun - it's kind of a classic.
So could you just ease up off of them?
Seriously, the burger's been doing fine by itself, it doesn't need thirteen different kinds of cheese (all at once), bacon, chipotle mayonnaise, onion straws, a slice of ham AND philly cheesesteak. It really doesn't. The burger is meat enough, it doesn't need the additional layers of flesh on top of it to keep it warm.
Maybe if you considered using something other than cheap kangaroo meat in the patties, you wouldn't have to disguise it.
Maybe you could think about trying to figure out some way to keep the soda machines from dispensing flat coke.
Just a suggestion!
And there I went.
Here I come -
Who knows when the world's current infatuation with movies, television and music
could end. Tomorrow people could just stop watching and go outside to *gasp*
experience life. It could happen, you know? And if it does, Hollywood's not
going to have the luxury of filing for unemployment like the rest of us, no,
Hollywood will have to go back to working the graveyard shift at the Denny's
on Sunset.
Like any small business, though, Hollywood is constantly looking for ways to
save money, ways to cut costs and keep overhead down so it can save up a nest
egg.
It's nothing new, Hollywood has been cutting corners since the dawn of... movies;
from using a guy in a gorilla suit instead of breeding and training an authentic
giant ape to using wires and a blue screen instead of hiring an actor who could
really fly.
I suppose I can see the value of cutting corners like that - What do you do
with a gigantic gorilla after the movie is wrapped? Whore him out to car dealerships
for sale weekends? Puh-lease, PETA would be on your ass before you could get
the giant foam top hat strapped to his head, and flying actors generally tend
to be one trick ponies.
But I would like to take Hollywood to task for a couple of things:
1) Sibling Revelry - Yes, I meant revelry. Just because a person is wonderful
and talented and so attractive that it hurts to look at him or her doesn't necessarily
mean that his or her siblings will share the same attributes. Does the name
Eric Roberts mean anything to you? What about Frank Stallone? Or Ashley Olsen?
Sure, Diet Pepsi kind of looks like Pepsi, but it's just not the same.
2) Age Discrimination - Just because it's more expensive to hire real high schoolers
(what with the necessary tutors and guardians) doesn't mean that anyone is buying
the 34-year-old you've hired to play an 8th grader. (Conversely, I'm opposed
to preternaturally mature fetuses being hired as actors, is it really necessary
for every role requiring an actor under the age of 16 to be given to Dakota
Fanning or that kid from the Sixth Sense?)
3) Deja Vu, all over again - Yep, I'm talking about remakes. Just because "The
Shaggy Dog" and "Summer School" were sort of charming in their
own ways doesn't mean that we need to relive them... and if we do need to relive
them, there's always Netflix or the USA Network. And "Robocop" and
"Revenge of the Nerds"? They weren't really even that good the first
time around.
and
4) Deja Vu, all over again - Yep, I'm talking about sequels. Just because "Beverly
Hills Cop" was hi-fucking-larious and Judge Reinhold can't get a job now
to save his life doesn't mean that the world needs "Beverly Hills Cop 2"...
or "Beverly Hills Cop 3"... or, for that matter, "Beverly Hills
Cop 4". And I'm not even going to bring up "Big Momma's House 2",
"The Bodyguard 2" or "Mrs. Doubtfire 2", I'm really not.
Hollywood, if you want to guard against the bottom falling out of that whole
Entertainment Industry thing you've got going on, you're going to need to come
up with something better than you've been coming up with lately.
And don't even think about gay cowboys, because it's been done and it's way
too soon for a remake.
And there I went
Can You Hear Me Now?
Here I come -
Remember when cell phones were the coolest thing on the planet and only the
coolest people on the planet had them? Do you remember that? Really? Because
that time has passed. Cell phones are no longer exclusive or impressive. You
can let that go now, they are no longer a sign of "cool". Everyone
with indoor plumbing now has at least one.
No one cares that itty bitty shiny toy plays a nearly unrecognizable version
of the theme song from "Land of the Lost" every time your BFF calls
you, or that your phone affords you the ability to pay money to download the
same Black Eyed Peas song that everyone else hears FOR FREE every 9 minutes
on the radio. No one is harboring any envy over the hand-tooled leather carrying
case for the phone, which you insist upon dangling from your belt like Wild
Bill Hickok or the sparkly pink cover that is probably sending out an SOS to
planets in distant galaxies. There is not a single person anywhere who is ever
going to be dazzled by your ability to use a cell phone ear piece which necessitates
you repeating everything you want to say at least three times before finally
moving the ear piece closer to your mouth. And as interesting as you think you
are, it's a safe bet that not everyone within earshot wants to hear the minutiae
of your life (this goes triple if you are in a crowded public place where people
have no choice in listening to you, especially restaurants and movie theaters).
I'm not saying that cell phones are without their uses - they are effective
tools for bosses to maintain constant contact with their employees; without
cell phones, we would be cheated out of the supreme pleasure of fake movie trailers
reminding us to turn off our cell phones (sidenote: I've noticed that people
who are going to turn off their cell phones have already done so prior to entering
the theater and people who aren't, aren't going to be swayed by the faux-trailer),
and without drivers with cell phones, many tow companies would sadly be out
of business with fewer traffic accidents to clean up after.
Really, though, the phones aren't the problem, Verizon and Singular can't be held solely responsible for the fall of the Western Civilization, it's the people who own the phones, the people who purchase the ringtones and make the extremely long-winded personal calls in crowded places and refuse to put their phones on silent, or at the very least, vibrate (come on, now, it can be enjoyable). Because cell phones don't annoy people, people annoy people.
The only hope is that excessive cell phone use will eventually cause sterilization, and natural selection can take its course.
And there I went.
Here I come...
I promise you that I will never ever EVER forward to you a forwarded email with
a picture of a smiling monkey, two kittens hugging, sleeping puppies or anything
else so cutesy and cloying that it will immediately send you into a diabetic
coma.
I promise you that I will never ever EVER forward to you a forwarded email of a life-affirming poem about the strength of a woman or the value of friendship or how true love will transform your life.
I promise you that I will never ever EVER forward to you a forwarded email containing any jokes pertaining to blondes, priests, parrots or the HILARIOUS differences between men and women.
I promise you that I will never ever
EVER forward to you any forwarded emails begging you to go to a website and
click somewhere so that some major company will provide food to undernourished
ostriches or shampoo to unwashed horses.
I promise you that I will never ever EVER forward to you a forwarded email of
an "amazing story" (complete with obviously doctored photographs)
about a giant nuclear cat, a predator killing mule, cockroach eggs in a friend
of a friend's ear, or serial kidnappers in mall parking lots (unless it is so
amazingly lame that I know it will make you laugh until Mountain Dew, Fresca,
Mello Yello and/or Shasta comes out your nose).
I promise you that I will never ever EVER forward to you any forwarded email
of a completely over-the-top alarmist warning about antiperspirant, gel candles
or Pop Rocks (unless it is so poorly written that I know it will make you laugh
until Mountain Dew, Fresca, Mello Yello and/or Shasta comes out your nose).
I promise you that I will never ever EVER EVER EVER forward to you a forwarded chain email ("just in case") promising wealth, riches and dreams come true if you forward it to 47 of your closest friends within the next 12 seconds, and threatens pestilence, death and/or chronic halitosis if you fail to do this.
In fact, I promise you that I will never ever forward to you anything that has been forwarded to me unless it will make you laugh until Mountain Dew, Fresca, Mello Yello and/or Shasta comes out your nose.
You have my word on it.
And there I went.
Here I come...
Celebrities are different from us. I know it's hard to accept, but it's a fact; a scientific fact.
On the surface, they have bigger paychecks, better vacations, cleaner houses and more energy efficient cars, but it goes so much deeper than that, their dna is different. No, I don't have any proof, scientific or otherwise, but how else can you explain the fact that they have better hair, flatter abs, whiter teeth and clearer skin than the rest of us?
The biggest piece of evidence of their difference from us is their reaction to exhaustion. When normal people, like myself, get tired, we lie down and take a nap, but would a celebrity be caught dead doing something as banal as sleeping?
Hell no!
Celebrities can't just stop their fabulous lives and sleep; there are movies to be made, papparazzi to keep busy and we all know those drinks aren't going to drink themselves. So what do celebrities do? They suck it up, they add a shot of Red Bull to their vodka and they keep on keepin' on, because it's in their blood.
Evolution hasn't completely separated celebrities from the human race (yet) and fatigue does eventually catch up with them. Unfortunately, though, their delicate celebrity systems aren't equipped for something as pedestrian as rest, so they have to be hospitalized for exhaustion. After a few days of being sedated with designer horse tranquilizers (and maybe a little shot of Botox to keep them from looking tired) they are back on the streets, revitalized and ready to get back to doing what they do best: bringing light to this dark, dark (crazy) world. For that, Celebrities of the world, I salute you and your craft.
And there I went
--
Can't get enough of me? Yeah, I get that alot. Why not wallow in the tedium
of my life at my blog http://supervelma.blogspot.com...
or not
Here I come...
How am I able to retain the trivial minutae of Britney Spears' marriage trouble (her husband is a douchebag), the tedium of Moby's feud with Eminem (Moby is a vegan and Eminem has short-man's syndrome) and the name of the guy who played the villain in "The Karate Kid" (Billy Zabka), but I can't seem to remember on which side of my car the gas tank is located?
I've had the car for over a year.
Honestly, other than the fact that my car is an older white Mercedes, I can't really tell you anything about it, but I dare you to ask me the names of the main cast members from "My Two Dads" or the leader of the Transformers - go ahead, I dare you (Paul Reiser, Greg Evigan and Stacy Keenan and Optimus Prime, respectively.)
It's not just my car, though.
I can barely remember my own cell phone number unless I look at the phone, but I've woken up singing the "Facts of Life" theme song more times than I'm willing to admit.
If you ask me for my home zip code, it could take me a full minute before I remember that it's not 90210.
And the fax machine that sits right next to my desk at work? Each time I give out the number (at least five times a day), I have to refer to the post-it note taped to the front, but if you wanted to know the names of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and I won't miss a beat before reciting "Michaelangelo, Donatello, Leonardo and Raphael".
It would be one thing if I were able to retain useful information like quadratic equations, tax codes or the correct cooking temperature for duck l'orange, but when my mind is stuffed with information like the only movie in which Nicholas Cage was credited with his real last name, Coppola ("Fast Time at Ridgemont High") or the song lip-synched by Ducky in "Pretty in Pink" ("Try a Little Tenderness" by Otis Redding), it would appear that my brain has reached it's saturation point.
Is it wrong that I live in the hope that "Rock and Roll Jeopardy" will make a comeback so I can compete against a Dixie Chick or two for the title of High Priestess of Useless Pop Culture Trivia?
And there I went.
Here I come -
In this age of FBI background checks and genetic testing, I personally believe that the true key to a person's personality is what they're like in bed. No, perverts, not like that, I'm talking about sleep positions.
According to a recent study, the six most common sleep positions are:
The Fetus: People who curl up in the fetal position are described as tough on the outside but sensitive at heart (like crab rangoon). They may be shy when they first meet somebody, but soon relax (usually with the help of several pina coladas). This is the most common sleeping position, adopted by as many as 41% of people.
The Log: People who lie on one side with both arms at their sides. These sleepers are easy going, social people who like being part of the in-crowd, and who are trusting of strangers (with or without candy). However, they may be gullible. (these are the people who fall for that Nigerian email scam) 15% of the planet sleeps like a log.
The Yearner: People who sleep on their side with both arms out in front are said to have an open nature, but can be suspicious, cynical (not to mention difficult to share a bed with - I mean, really, both arms out in front? What's that about?). They are slow to make up their minds, but once they have taken a position, they are unlikely ever to change it (These are the people who insist that the 8-track will be coming back into vogue). 13% of people are yearners.
The Soldier: Persons who lie on their backs with both arms pinned to their sides. People who sleep in this position are generally quiet and reserved (and total freaking serial killers). They don't like a fuss, but set for themselves and others high standards (they're supposedly very particular about where they hide the bodies ). 8% of the population should probably be under constant supervision by the authorities.
(This one is me >>>>> ) The Freefall: People who lie on their bellies with their hands under the pillow, and heads turned to one side. Often gregarious and brash people, but they can be nervy and thin-skinned underneath, and don't like criticism, or extreme situations (so, what are you saying? That my sleep position is wrong? Oh yeah? Well your sleep position is wrong... and you're an idiot). 7% of people have the correct sleep position.
The Starfish: People lying on their backs with both arms up around the pillow. These sleepers make good friends because they are always ready to listen to others, and offer help when needed (No word on whether or not they're willing to supply bail money, though). They generally don't like to be the center of attention (In other words, they make a great wingman and are usually willing to "take one for the team"). I bet Dr, Phil is in this 5%.
The other 11% of people in the study were too stupid to know how they slept and were put to sleep immediately after the study was completed (and, to be completely honest, no one really misses them).
And there I went.
With the holidays suddenly upon us,
odds are, everyone is going to get at least one gift that just doesn't make
sense.
Fortunately for you, I've put years (and by "years", I mean "minutes")
of exhaustive research into translating some of the commonly received gifts
into plain English.
If you receive: Slippers (or slipper socks)
The giver is saying: "Either you're a grandparent or other relative
I know nothing about, and I feel obligated to get you something, but I'm not
ponying up the cash for a gift card."
*Unless you asked for slippers, then you're just boring... or have poor circulation
in your feet.
If you receive: Lingerie
The giver is saying: "Why can't you dress like the girls in the
softcore Skinemax movies I watch after you've gone to bed?"
If you receive: A flannel robe
The giver is saying: "You dress like the girls in softcore Skinemax
movies, cover it up, would you?"
If you receive: A DVD of any movie starring C. Thomas Howell, Andrew
McCarthy and/or Kim Cattrall
The giver is saying: "I was at Walmart buying toilet paper and motor
oil and realized that I hadn't yet purchased anything for you when I walked
past the bin of $4 DVDs and picked the only one that didn't have a soccer playing
chimpanzee on the cover."
If you receive: Alcohol
The giver is saying: "I think you're an alcoholic. Drink up, Drunky
McStumbles."
*unless you asked for it, then you probably are an alcoholic and you should
get help.
If you receive: Exercise Equipment
The giver is saying: "Either (a) all you ever do is exercise or
(b) you might want to think about exercising once in a while."
If you receive: Fruity Scented Lotions, Body Sprays and Soaps
The giver is saying: "I noticed that you're a girl, you like that
kind of stuff, right? "
If you receive: Cologne
The giver is saying: "It's time to toss that bottle of Drakkar Noir
that you've had since 1993. Please."
If you receive: A Framed Glamourshot of the Giver.
The giver is saying: "The best gift I can give you is me, in soft
focus and draped in feathers."
*unless you asked for that, in which case, you're a stalker.
If you receive: An Engagement Ring
The giver is saying: "I was going to propose to you anyway, so I
decided to do it now and save myself the trouble of getting you Christmas presents
AND the ring."
If you receive: Expensive Jewelry (other than an engagement ring)
The giver is saying: "I screwed the babysitter/my secretary/your
sister and I hope you don't find out."
If you receive: Candy
The giver is saying: "Everybody likes candy."
If you receive: Flowers
The giver is saying: "I was on the way to your house and I realized
that I hadn't gotten you anything *or* I had eaten the entire box of candy I
bought you on the way over so I rolled down my window at a stoplight and handed
some shivering kid $10 for these ."
If you receive: A Vehicle
The giver is saying: Nothing, because no one in the history of ever has
ever gifted someone with a car on Christmas. Stop lying.
If you receive: A Fruit Basket
The giver is saying: "I decided to keep the cd player I got you
when we got this at my office and no one wanted it, so... enjoy your pears."
If you receive: A Gift Card From a Specialty Store (IE: a boutique you
like, a pro shop, your favorite jerky store)
The giver is saying to you: "All I know about you is that you have
shopped there at one time or another but I have absolutely no idea what you
want from there."
If you receive: a Gift Card From a Grocery Store
The giver (most likely your employer) is saying to you: "Happy Holidays,
Employee #339. You show up at work every day, so I feel obligated to get you
something. I've never bothered to know anything about you, though, but I feel
confident that you eat. Enjoy your carrots, paper towels and condensed soup,
I'll be in Tahiti."
And finally:
If you receive: A Gift Card from a Major Retailer (IE: Target, Walmart,
et al)
The giver is saying to you: "Happy Holidays, Jackass. Either (a)
you never like anything I get you and I'm not wasting any more time on you.
Or (b) I don't know anything about you, but feel obligated to get you something."
*unless you've specifically requested gift cards/gift certificates for the holiday,
in which case, you are a jackass. Next year, just be honest, ask for small,
unmarked bills in a plain envelope, shoved under your door on Christmas Eve.
Happy Non-Denominational Holiday of Your Choosing!