Snuggies already look like day-glo robes from a freak religious cult. But throw in a couple of overly-enthusiastic white people dancing in the kitchen with lunatic grins and, well, just look at the photo.
[c] 2009 Russ of America
7)
Getting water to major metropolitan areas such as Los Angeles is no joke. It requires a big, old, failing infrastructure, pushed to its limits with the influx of new dreamy-eyed residents into Southern California each year. To make matters worse, SoCal wants to be a desert. That’s its natural state. So it’s no surprise that residents are experiencing the panic and discomfort of its perpetual drought. Naturally, our state leaders wait until June to amp up awareness and pepper the airwaves with water conservation PSAs in a futile hope that people will realize how serious our annual water shortage is and then cooperate. Of course, by June it’s … Click Here to Read On! …
Did you ever see anyone cite a book from the bible that you’d never heard before? WTF: Nahum? Habakkuk? Obadiah? Haggai? Titus?
Yeah, obviously I’m not as familiar with The Great Book as you are. I’m just a little surprised that I’ve never heard of Nahum. Mebbe it’s because zealots never hold up signs at sporting events with obscure bible citations.
After all of the major religions have it out with one another once and for all in the upcoming religious wars, the only two things that will remain alive on earth will be cockroaches and atheists.
The atheists will look confusedly at the roaches and ask pensively, “What the FUCK just happened?!” The roaches will shrug their exo-shoulders, and scurry away. The atheists will smoosh them with a shoe and embark upon a new human journey based on a re-evaluated, scientifically supported, atheistic, anthropologically sound morality, which will prosper and flourish and eventually fracture and denominationalize, only to result in yet another warrior holocaust, the end of which will yield more atheists and more smooshed roaches.
[c] 2009 Russ of America
On February 21st, 2009, fans of Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) invested a good quarter-hour to watch Ultimate Fighting Championship 95 (UFC 95) Diego “The Nightmare” Sanchez vs. Joe “Daddy” Stevenson.
Sorry for the spoiler, but Diego Sanchez won by unanimous decision. Stevenson, a skilled ground man, put up a very strong, albeit simple boxing match, and traded almost blow-to-blow with the equally-skilled wrestler Sanchez. Stevenson got the crowd amped and performed a few silly theatrics, but ultimately contributed to and worked a pretty exciting, albeit losing, fight.
However it was clear that something wasn’t quite right from the moment Diego Sanchez entered the ring and started drawing crosses on himself, until the end of the match where he audaciously proclaimed that he was infused with a substance called “Jesus Christ” which he described as his “personal Lord and Savior.” At face value, it seemed to me that Diego “Nightmare” Sanchez might not have played fairly, but I don’t know if his advantage would otherwise ever be contested in this sport, except that I’m bringing it up here.
I’m not trying to start any controversies, but the entire show was acted out in front of us, brazenly, and nobody questioned it! During the recent Michael Phelps Bong Disappointment I mentioned the dubious political manipulation that forced MMA fighter Nick Diaz to forfeit his loss to Takanori Gomi after receiving an A+ on a marijuana test. As I said in the Phelps article, pot has never been considered a performance-enhancing drug unless you’re an artist, funk musician or a comedian, but still Diaz was forced to take a loss. I’m sure that nobody would dare claim that marijuana is more powerful than Jesus, so why is it acceptable that Diego Sanchez should retain his win after flaunting the use of a supernatural, omniscient, omnipresent, spiritual performance enhancement in his win over Joe Stevenson? Sanchez, in fact, probably had foreknowledge of every jab and take down attempt going through Joe Daddy’s mind! Every stick and every move was likely fed to Sanchez with enough time for him to parry and counter with the skill and speed of a Christian soldier. Having the Lord on your side is a well-established upper-hand and we must question whether it is legitimate, ethical or sportsmanlike to invoke Him in the world of sports.
And so it’s a no-brainer: The commission overseeing MMA needs to investigate The Nightmare’s actions and demand that he forfeit his win over Joe Stevenson on the basis that Sanchez had a supremely unfair advantage. This type of questionable behavior shouldn’t be limited to MMA. Any individual or whole team using Jesus to win competitions should be investigated by the official governing body of their sport. It’s wrong, just like praying to win the lottery. “Toe-To-Toe” and “One-On-One” are the creeds of fighting, and the Sanchez/Stevenson bout boils down to Father, Son, Holy Ghost and Man-To-One. That’s four against one! Not fair by any stretch and I am appalled that the judges didn’t take this into consideration when they decided the fight, although maybe they too had the (wink wink) “$pirit of the Lord” in their wallets when they made the decision. I’m not trying to outright imply pay-to-win corruption, but things aren’t looking good when a scandal of this magnitude is simply glossed over, you know?
I am asking for a swift, thorough and immediate review of this contemptible win by Diego Sanchez, and I assure my readers that I am not raising this stink just because I lost five hundred bucks on Stevenson.
[c] 2009 Russ of America
Easter is right around the corner. Why not celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ by blasphemously eating his chocolaty burden? Or by opening his egg and eating his candy therein. He won’t mind, for he is risen! (It says so on the egg!)
I’m no theological historian, but I’m fairly certain that He didn’t schlep this delicious crossy mess all the way to Golgotha. If He had, across the hot middle-eastern sun, there probably wouldn’t have been anything left for Him to be nailed to. I’m just sayin’ that nails in the arm don’t stick to chocolate. That could be a song! (But I hope it isn’t.)
Thank you Dollar Tree for making my Sunday afternoon a weird one. If you don’t have a Dollar Tree in your neck of the woods and you wish to indulge in this sinful, er, uh, sinless treat you can pick up a milk chocolate cross here. I guess chocolate crosses are everywhere, just like His love.
[c] 2009 Russ of America
Secrets Of Dental Perfection
Those of you who know me are aware that I have always taken tremendous, embarrassed pride at my perfect teeth. My teeth are straight, they are white, they shine with moisture and can win over any subversive with a short flash of my dreamy pearls.
But those who REALLY know me, (and if you didn’t know this, this doesn’t mean that you are not my friend, or that you are not a loyal fan — it only means that you didn’t know something about me because you’re not as close to me as you might want to be,) know that I’ve only been to the dentist 4 times in my entire life.
When I was a young boy I would beg my father to take me to the dentist. I’d clip out ads from the PennySaver or those coupon Val-U-Paks that come in the mail. Clippings with large bold print which advertised “FULL DENTAL CHECKUP + X-RAYS + CLEANING = $5″. I’d tape the scraps of paper to his bathroom door, sneak into his car and leave them on his dashboard and secrete them in his wallet when he wasn’t looking. 
My pops had gotten the hint after a few years of this that I really wanted to go to the dentist. I’d started to wonder if it was just a casualty of Reaganomics, his aversion to paying out the $5, but the truth was that he was so well aware of the litany of handsome perfection he’d created when he’d had me. One morning after I’d asked him for a trip to the dentist, he brought me in front of the mirror and said, “Smile, son.” I obeyed and smiled. “What good would ever come from spending money on these teeth? We might as well save the $5 toward that kitten you wanted.” I did want a kitten, after all, so it made sense. And he was definitely right about the quality of my teeth. Every time we’d visit the supermarket, the checkout ladies would all coo over my gorgeous eyelashes and fawn over my teeth. “Oh, you have such a wonderful smile. Did you know that you have a beautiful smile? Oh what straight teeth — Did you ever wear braces? I’ve never seen teeth that bright!” It was truly embarrassing and this type of oozing over my handsomeness never went away entirely. How could it?
On my 14th birthday my father cheerfully decided that it was time to humor me. He unstuck one of my dental coupons from his bathroom door and he slapped a fiver on the receptionist desk at the dental office. I got a good cleaning and a fluoride rinse. That was nice. I was intrigued by their frightening tooth-mangler apparatus. They poked and prodded and scraped and tapped. They were baffled that I had no signs of cavities or any history of dental procedures. It was a very pleasant experience for me aside from some discomfort at having their weird, pokey, water-leaking tools jabbing into the more sensitive parts of my mouth.
“Visit the dentist every 6 months” is the official recommendation by every dental professional, national health official, elementary school teacher and man-on-the-street, but the next time I would visit the dentist was 11 years later. That was embarrassing. When you go to a new dentist they always ask you, “How long has it been since you’ve seen a dentist.” When you answer “11 years” they act a little incredulous.
“11 years?”
“Yeah, but it’s not as bad as you think, I’ve never had any dental problems. Not even a cavity!”
“Well, we’ll see about that. It HAS been 11 years, hasn’t it?”
“Well yeah, but I don’t have any pain or anything.”
“Cavities don’t always cause pain. Anyway, we have an opening next week…”
I rolled into the office and they put me through the usual battery of disbelieving questions. “So you’ve never had a cavity?”
“No.”
“Not even one?”
“No.”
“Not even in your baby teeth?”
“No. I didn’t go to a dentist for the first time until I was 14.”
“So then how do you know you never had a cavity?”
“Well, I never saw anything wrong with my teeth. Never had any pain or anything.”
“Didn’t we already tell you that cavities don’t always cause pain?”
I went to another dentist about 5 years after that, and again I received the usual incredulity. “It’s been 5 years? You need to go to the dentist every 6 months.”
I argued, “Why do I have to go every 6 months if I never have any problems with my teeth?”
“Because going to the dentist is how you prevent problems from happening to your teeth.”
“But I don’t have any problems with my teeth.”
“How do you know if you never go to the dentist?”
And so I visited a dentist about a week ago, and all of the dental technicians praised my enamel, the straightness of my teeth, and the virgin quality of my mouth. They took digital photos of all of my teeth, x-rays, cleaned them, yadda. The dentist asked me if I’d ever had any teeth pulled. “No.”
“No? You’ve never had any teeth pulled?”
“No.”
“Not even your wisdom teeth?”
“No.”
“How often do you go to the dentist?”
“I’ve only been to a dentist about 4 times in my life.”
“4 times? You should go every 6 months!”
“I know…”
Another glowing bill of health. No cavities, etc. I didn’t expect anything different. When you’re born with the curse of unbridled handsomeness as I was, going to the dentist isn’t something you ever need worry about. At this stage, the only reason why I go to the dentist is because I like the feeling of extra-smooth teeth, and I get a kick out of shooting water out of the new-found gaps in my beautiful smile. I’m sure you are all wondering what my secret is to perfect dental hygiene. What do I do that’s so special that I’m rewarded with a Christ-like smile? Really I don’t have an official formula — I just go about doing my own thing. But if you follow all of these rules, maybe you’ll get perfect teeth. **
** These statements have not been evaluated by the FDA or ADA and are not intended to treat, prevent or cure any disease.
[c] 2009 Russ of America
I’ve heard of people who play the lottery and pray earnestly that they win. I’m sure that God loves a gambler. He must! After all, you took a gamble on him (instead of one of those other gods) so why wouldn’t he reward you? It seems the honorable thing to do. On the other hand, I wonder how God’s cabinet handles these kinds of requests. Does he have a reason to reward a person who asks to win the lottery? Would he? Is it in his divine grace, or would he favor someone who, instead of praying to win the lottery, prayed instead that there would be significant tax cuts for all individuals. If I were running things I’d reward the person who prays for the good of all humankind instead of the good of one person. Then again, if I were in charge of the universe, I’d be more lax in my rules. I’d let you get into heaven without accepting Jesus Christ as your personal savior, as long as you were doing good deeds. But as the pious will tell you, God works in mysterious ways and His will can’t be predicted or explained. I’m just sayin’ that it would be a nicer gesture that a greater number of people would save a couple of grand per year rather than one person getting $100,000,000.00. It just seems more fair from my unheavenly perspective.
I wonder a lot of things, and that often prevents me from having a day job.
[c] 2009 Russ of America
The three first-round weapons of fundamentalists:
[c] 2008 Russ of America
Lately, I’ve been thinking about joining a gang. I took down the pros and cons of a few of my gang options and I’ve chosen to set up with a motorcycle gang instead of a typical street gang. Motorcycle gangs are full of dudes about my age, so we’ll have a lot in common. They’re family oriented, tough, the average guy is probably not going to mess with you, and you don’t have to live in a bad neighborhood or do drive-bys if you don’t want to. And you get a 401k and prepaid dental. Did you know that? I’m sold!
Of the myriad available motorcycle gangs, I decided that the Hells Angels is where it’s at. If I’m going to join a motorcycle gang, I want to join the one with the best brand recognition. Hells Angels is the Coca Cola of motorcycle gangs. The Mongols, I guess, are Pepsi and even though I prefer Pepsi to Coke because it tastes better, I really believe that you either join the most popular gang (Coke) or no gang at all (Pepsi, Shasta, Tab). So I’m going with the Hells Angels (Coke).
But as I was riding down there today to fill out my application paperwork, W-4 and I-9, I pulled over to the shoulder when I realized that there was no way I could join the Hells Angels. Oh believe-you-me — It wasn’t fear — Russ of America is afraid of nothing! But it hit me like a ton of bricks that I couldn’t join the Hells Angels because of the faulty punctuation in their club’s name. Are they saying that hell *is* angels? What does that mean? That angels are annoying and it’s hell hanging with them? That hell is made of angels? I thought hell was made of sinners. Is the gang saying that the members are angels from multiple hells? Angels from a singular hell? What happens when hell freezes over? Hells freeze over?
I imagine that the whole club is probably locked in some sort of blood-thirsty theological debate about this very topic. I mean, has the club unwittingly pitted polytheism against monotheism? Is it deliberate? Which theology does the gang support? This confusion really has to affect everyone involved in this gang at the core of their deepest-held beliefs and I would imagine they’re all at odds with one another, back-biting and being disloyal and that’s not very attractive to me.
I’m definitely not a big fan of ambiguity, but bad grammar is a total deal-breaker!
I couldn’t go home empty handed though, so on my way back I joined the Birthday Club at Baskin-Robbins where I know what kind of gangsta treats to expect.
[c] 2008 Russ of America
Russ of America’s Green Earth Tips
3)
If you’ve gotten pregnant by accident and you’re on the fence about what to do, remember that abortion is the most environmentally responsible choice. The termination of an accidental pregnancy will really save a lot of natural resources and will help to protect our pristine wetlands. If you’re not sure, think about all the diapers you would have tossed nonchalantly into a landfill. And all of those plasticized Capri Sun packets and Chocodile wrappers, and the batteries you would have bought for all of his stupid toys. And once he was old enough to drink Red Bull, think of all the cans he’d simply toss away because he was too drunk to know better. And all of the menthol cigarette butts that would end up in the storm drain and the quarts of dirty motor oil he’d abandon behind the AutoZone, and electricity and water he’d waste. And you know that because you didn’t raise him right, one day this little macho jerk will one day want to drive the biggest gas-guzzling sport-futility vehicle in America.
While the religious are correct that the immortal soul is created with the first cell division, The soul can’t die, right? So we’re good! Fuck it! Pull the plug on that gurgling blemish before he can fuck up our glorious nation! It’s the responsible thing to do. : D
[c] 2008 Russ of America
Who put the salad dressing packet in my mail box? Is it a message? What does it mean? Does it mean that we’re Valentines? It’s Italian dressing — did an Italian do it? I’m one person who doesn’t love an Italian boy. (Except for Tomassi)
NEW UPDATE ON THE SALAD DRESSING (07.24.08 – 12:38pm)
Someone moved the dressing to Ray’s box! What the…?!
And then the salad dressing disappeared and now there’s an alcohol swab back in MY mailbox! What the…?!
UPDATE (07.24.08 – 2:56pm)
Someone took the alcohol swab, but now there’s a scrap of paper in my mailbox that says BLACK KIDS! What the…?! Who is doing this?! Is it racial? I hope not because I like all of the races. Anyway, don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted as things develop.
UPDATE (07.25.08 – 1:19pm)
What the…?!
The “black kids” scrap moved from my mailbox to Shawn’s mailbox! THAT’S DOWNWARD TWO MAILBOXES! How did that happen? Convectional air current? I DON’T THINK SO!!! Someone’s up to something! I’m not sure how it will all pan out, but I just hope that nobody is harmed from all this horseplay!
UPDATE (07.28.08 – 5:18pm)
What the…?! I dunno, guys — but nothing new has happened with the salad dressing. Except there’s no salad dressing involved anymore. The “Black Kids” scrap is still in Shawn’s mailbox, and I noticed earlier today when I was delivering mail that John has the alcohol swab in his box. I don’t know if that’s new or if that’s old because his mailbox is several inches above my head and I didn’t have a direct line of view inside of it.
So I’m not sure what to make of this. I should probably figure out who’s in the office today and then cross-reference that against my list of people who were in the office the last time I noticed a change. I’ll send the data off to the lab.
Thank you for your continued vigilance.
UPDATE (07.30.08 – 3:08pm)
Friends, you’ll be pleased, and relieved, to know that the salad dressing situation that was plaguing me has stopped completely, and there are absolutely no signs that the victimization will continue. Thank you for your kind words and assistance in this area. I’m quite relieved, as you must be as well.
UPDATE (07.30.08 – 3:41pm)
What the…?!
I seem to have jinxed myself because almost as soon as I sent out this latest missive expressing happiness that the reign of dressing had ended, my mailbox was polluted with more condiments. That’s what I get for having a big mouth! There is now ketchup, mustard AND EVEN MAYONNAISE IN MY MAILBOX! What the…?! What is going on?! What does it mean? If only there were some code to explain it all. HOLY!
UPDATE (07.30.08 – 4:47pm)
I’ve done a little investigation. I’ve gone to each person in this office, looked them right in the eyes and asked them if they were the salad dressing person. What is most odd to me, is that in spite of this, I’m not convinced that it’s anybody, and simultaneously I’m convinced that it’s everybody. Even the person who said “yes” I’m both convinced IS and IS NOT the salad dressing person. Yes, I still just don’t know. What I do know is this: not one of you is free from being scrutinized as the rogue who has turned my mailbox into a delicatessen. I will catch you, and you will pay.
UPDATE (07.31.08 – 11:28am)
Look folks, I think we have a really big problem here. I could be wrong, but I think that in addition to the ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise, someone brought back the salad dressing. What the…?! And then today when I came in — get this — someone had put a spatula in my mailbox. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? A SPATULA! WHAT THE…?! A SPATULA? YOU SICK FREAK! I’ve got to get to the bottom of this. If anyone has any leads or advice on how to tackle this issue, it is imperative that you contact me immediately.
UPDATE (07.31.08 – 3:41pm)
What the…?!
Vegemite? Honey? SOMEBODY PUT THEM BOTH IN MY MAILBOX!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Yeah, I’m NOT KIDDING! I’d never kid about something like this!!!
Sickness. Pure sickness. One of you, whoever you are, needs to go to church and get saved! This evil madness is the product of the devil and you know it and you need to get saved so your sick devil-touched soul doesn’t rot in the fiery pit of hell.
I want you to go to church right now and ask for forgiveness and then stop your insane sickness!
UPDATE (08.01.08 – 11:55am)
Did you ever read that story by that guy who wrote a story about that guy who was in the cold and it was really really cold and the guy was going to die and he knew it and he’s talking about how tired he got and then he died? That’s how I feel, only instead of the cold, it’s the mailbox AND THIS TIME THERE’S PITA BREAD TOO!! WHAT THE…?! My end is near. Who is doing this to me and why?
UPDATE (08.01.08 – 2:34pm)
Oh, boy, this is big. Earlier today there was a ketchup, relish AND MAYONNAISE and SALAD DRESSING in my mailbox. And honey and Vegemite. AND THEN A PITA BREAD WITH A BAG AROUND IT!
They’re all gone.
Whoever this fiend is, THEY ARE QUITE COMPLEX. Like a Lipovitan sustained energy drink. This fiend replaced all of the above-catalogued litters with:
A hot mustard
A soy sauce
A Smuckers.
I sent this data to a local criminology lab, and here’s what they came up with:
* Hot mustard is a symbol for how hot the fiend thinks I am. (I’m not saying it’s *my* perception, I’m just telling you what the crime lab told me.)
* Soy sauce is fairly literal. There was a packet of sauce, and “soy” is Spanish for “I am.” It is true that I am saucy. Code = cracked.
* The agents at the lab were stumped by Smuckers. At first they thought it was some kind of rhyme, but they ran it a few more times and realized that what is contained in the Smuckers packet is marmalade. They then ran THAT datum back through their mainframe and concluded that the criminal is hinting at the chorus of the popular (but horrible) song Lady Marmalade, where the singer asks, “do you want to sleep with me this evening?”
I do have plans for this evening, so the answer is, tentatively, no. In the interim, I’m going to get the Human Resources contact information from La Nida and begin the complaint process for Sexual Harrassment, just in case the criminal does turn out to be Kevin after all.
Thank you for being there with me through this rough time.
UPDATE (08.01.08 – 02:40pm)
And an espresso cup.
What the…?!
[c] 2008 Russ of America
Science deals with facts. Fortunately, I don’t.
The difficult-to-categorize, but extraordinarily brilliant musical group Talking Heads said, “Facts just twist the truth around. Facts are living turned inside-out.” That’s a profound excerpt, I think. As they are have a published opinion on facts, this expert, authoritative citation I’ve quoted is good-enough to support my argument, even if I may have misquoted them or taken their ideas out of context.
I believe in ghosts, UFOs, angels, goblins, sprites, spirits, fairies, poltergeists, leprechauns, chupacabras, space aliens, any kind of loch monster, bigfeet, dragons, children of the corn, the Shining, psychics, necromancy, demonic possession, satanism, witchcraft (light, dark and caramel crunch,) Roman, Greek, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu and Christian gods, The Force, santeria, voodoo, zombies, the occcult, Aleister Crowley, Criss Angel, Teller but not Penn, The Mighty Atom, Hans Christian Anderson, Smurfs, the mythical Soma, Spanish fly, Hulda Clark’s zappicator, the healing power of magnets, homeopathy, hexagonal water, herbal penis enlargement and the legend of menehune.
All of you non-believers need to stop hating on me, you haters. Hatred is bad and it’s totally illegal to hate on me and you are hating with pure hatred streaming out of your hate-filled eyeballs. Why you hating so much, hater? Hatey Haterson. If you don’t believe in any of that stuff you’re just a no-good skeptic and you have no faith. Hater skeptic. You have no faith and I’ll pray for you.
[c] 2008 Russ of America
Employers in America have to make a reasonable accommodation for a person’s religious beliefs, no matter how ridiculous. So you could believe in ghosts and angels and employers have to give you some time to worship your ghosts and angels. But as soon as you start smoking pot and taking peyote as sacrament, these sacred rules do not apply, you fucking drug addict.
[c] 2008 Russ of America
