Death all around us.

Poor Farrah.  Christ, of all the days to go, you know?

“Coming up later, we’ll talk to Michael Jackson’s former publicist and find out what she thinks of this tragedy which could have been forestalled if his physician hadn’t been such a money hungry, yes-man geek.  Oh, yeah, and some chick named Farrah died?  We’ll take a look at her sobbing fat-head of an ex-husband and watch rare outtakes from her stupid reality show.”

What is it about death that suddenly makes us want to congregate around the wrong star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame?

Well, let’s face it.  Wacko Jacko transcended racial barriers.  He was a black man that white people could relate to, and then later in life, he was a white man that black people could relate to.

JOKE TIME!

Q.  What’s the difference between Neil Armstrong and Michael Jackson?

A.  One did the moon walk, the other one fucks little kids.

And we lost the OxiClean guy, too.

But here’s the big pisser of them all:  Losing the Queen of the Blues.

Fly in the face of reason.

Let me preface this post with a little bit about myself (although I’ve touched on this before):  I am a vegan, which means I do not eat any animal products whatsoever.  No meat, no dairy, etc.  You’ve all met at least one crazy, skinny, hippy-dippy stoner vegan in your time, am I right?

But I’m not one of those vegans.  I don’t go around screaming and yelling about the cruelties of the factory farm industry.  I keep my opinions to myself, largely because people are SO damned sensitive about what they eat.  You should hear the apologies I hear from people who are eating meat around me:  “Oh, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be eating this in front of you… you know, I don’t eat that much red meat..” etc etc.  I’m sure fellow vegans and vegetarians can relate.  But you can eat a 5 pound rare ribeye right in front of me and I don’t give a shit.  Why?  Oh, because I’m a live-and-let-die sort of person.  Do what you want, it’s your body.

Don’t get me wrong, though – nothing boils my blood or nauseates me quite like animal cruelty.  It is beyond despicable to me.  Those now-and-again news reports you hear of people leaving dogs and cats in cages in large numbers to starve to death… I can’t even tell you how much that kind of shit enrages me.  And I don’t have any pets (the reasons for which are perhaps fodder for a future post – stay tuned) but puppies and baby cows and ducks and kittens get me all warm and fuzzy.

But I am certainly not a card-carrying member of PETA.  Yes, I believe animals have rights – but I don’t shoo every house fly and mosquito out the door.  No sir.  If a tick or a mosquito or a fly lands of me, it’s gonzo for the poor little bastard.

Can you even believe the wackos over at PETA are calling Obama to the carpet for killing that fly?  Honest to christ, what the fuck is wrong with these people?  Sorry – being a Jain and tiptoeing around in life wearing a gauze mask in front of your unwashed face is not my idea of loftiness.  I’m far from perfect – but what I do works for me and I’m not harming anyone – except that I eat what I’m willing to kill.  Life is about extracting life from the living things around you – it’s called survival.  I mean, we’re human mammals, for crying out loud.

Jugs and java and prudish neighbors.

I’d bet my left arm that the arsonist who burned down the Grand View Coffee Shop was in the crowd at Monday night’s special town meeting in Vassalboro, Maine.  At the meeting, residents voted overwhelmingly to restrict new adult businesses in their quaint little town.  Some folks even wanted an outright ban on adult businesses – but the town warned all those holier-than-thou folks that such an ordinance could leave the town vulnerable to lawsuits.  Gotta guard that precious tax revenue, after all.

I bet all those nearly 400 people who voted in favor of the new ordinance felt so good about themselves: “We’ll teach that no good Crabtree not to bring immorality and indecency to our little town.”  Yeah, torch his business and then make a new rule.  Nah nah n-nah nah, middle finger extended, yada yada…

Oh, but wait – it gets better.

The town’s selectmen have already decided that Crabtree’s business, if and when he rebuilds, would be grandfathered – so long as he builds just what he had before, which was your average, run-of-the-mill topless coffee and donut shop.

Take THAT, you pious nosy fuckers!

So, let me get this straight – these prudish wackos have made a new rule that will basically help Crabtree’s business – he will have a monopoly, however small, in his town on adult-oriented business.  This will actually make his business even more unique and desirable – and, as a result, it will bring even more of these immoral riff raff types into the town who enjoy coffee like they enjoy their women – with boobs.

The crazy thing is if the waitstaff at the Grand View were male, we wouldn’t be having this discussion.  At all.  What the fuck is up with that?

Brown horse beats other brown horses in horse race.

A brown colored horse with a strange name was the winner in Saturday’s Belmont Stakes race, beating out an entire group of brown horses similarly named in a peculiar manner.

The winning animal, a very fast and lean muscular type, was apparently not favored to win the race.  Another brown horse, with a slightly differently colored nose, was heavily favored to win.

The winning horse’s owner, a man of immeasurable monetary wealth, expressed his gratitude for winning the race and offered condolences to the other immeasurable wealthy men who suffered defeat.  “Our horse and jockey went out there and gave 100%,” the winning wealthy man said, who is set to add even more money to his already immense holdings as a result of Saturday’s race.

The winning jockey – a very short and skinny, effeminate man with a history of eating disorders, born into a wealthy family of horse breeders and whose diminutive physical stature and insatiably competitive nature left him no choice but to give up any dreams of other professional sports and pursue a career as a racing jockey – also commented on the race, saying, “This horse is just fast and powerful.  This animal did an amazing job.”

Insomnia just became fun again.

I am so glad Conan is back.

I couldn’t ever stand Jay Leno and his puerile, sexually fixated humor – not because I’m a prude (look around the blog a bit if you’re new – you’ll figure it out) – it’s just that he’s a one trick pony.  The only time he was ever funny was during “Headlines” and “Stuff We Found On eBay” – and that was only because it was found or submitted material, not because of his alleged comic genius.  Good riddance.  I hope his prime-time show tanks.

And Andy Richter is back!  That’s good news, too – but his annoying laughter sounds a bit forced and is already driving me crazy.  Can’t have everything, I suppose.  But I’ll take Andy’s nasal snickering over Jimmy Fallon any night.