Henry VIII: The Saga Continues: In Search of Heir Balls

Warning: This is a continuation of the previous post. If you have not read the last one you may want to check it out so you know what the hell is going on. Or not if you are the type that reads the end of the book first. Or the middle in this case.

We resume our story in the year of our lord 1509, with our hero Henry VIII taking the throne after the demise of his father. Young Henry is saddled with a Spanish wife he doesn't really want - Catherine of Aragon - and a group of advisors led by the devious Cardinal Wolsey who try to dominant the young monarch and control English policy. Henry was still a teenager (18) and more interested in whoring (thus his nickname Hammerin' Hank) and hunting in his boundless private woods than in ruling England during these years and for the most part allowed Wolsey to make most of the important decisions. Check him out in the upper right hand corner there - he is definitely scheming something, that old, dirty bastard. I don't trust him for a second. Another one of Henry's advisers was Sir Thomas More. More wrote the book Utopia, about what life would be like if everything on Earth was perfect. I have had some fantasies like that myself, but there is no way in hell I would put them in a book.
The most important task Henry needed to accomplish as king was to produce an heir. A male heir. Back then nobody listened to anything a woman had to say because Gloria Steinem had not been invented yet. Therefore having a queen would be no good. Unfortunately, Queen Catherine of Aragon (you will see why I use her whole name later, these aristocrat-types aren't too creative with names) was only able to produce one child who lived to be an adult - Bloody Mary. Although useful to alcoholics who need a beverage in the morning, a Bloody Mary was not what Henry was looking for in a son due to her unfortunate lack of a penis.
Although considered a serious manho by most historians, Henry was married to Catherine for the majority of his roughly forty year reign. After fifteen years of marriage to Catherine, the king started to think their marriage was cursed, they had no prince and Cathy (as I call her, we are tight) was starting to get a bit haggard in the age department and was unlikely to be popping out any more children. Henry discovered around this time that a chapter in the Bible, Leviticus, says that anyone that marries his brother's widow will be doomed to have a barren marriage (conveniently forgetting the existence of Mary). Of course, the Catholic Church knew this fact when they let him get married, but conveniently forgot it since they did not want to witness the Hulk-like lunatic rage England and Spain, the main beneficiaries of the union, were capable of when you got them wifebeater-tearing mad.
Mr. VIII, with the help of Wolsey, decided to ask the Catholic Church for permission to have his marriage to Catherine annulled on the grounds that he had been unknowingly committing incest for a mere fifteen years. Whoops! The Catholic Church, much like any Washington bureaucrat worth his salt, took seven years to come up with a decision on the matter. Virtually imprisoned by the more powerful Spanish emperor Charles V, the pope chose to deny the request.
Henry was so upset upon hearing of the decision that he chose to take an unheard of step. He beheaded all Catholics. Actually, that is in fact not true (although only barely so), but it would have been cool as well as helping him to work through his anger management issues by giving him a proper direction to vent his uncontrollable rage. Seriously though, Henry chose to sever ties between England and the Catholic Church in Rome. He had always wanted to wear that funny hat the Pope had and now he could. In addition, the coffers could use some filling so all of the monasteries and other various properties that had previously belonged to the church now belonged to Henry. All holy men in the land had to take a break from their all-male orgies and swear fealty to Henry as the head of the new "Anglican" church. Those priests who failed to do so had their heads chopped off and used for to decorate England for the Anglican church grand opening . Sir Thomas More was one of those executed for this reason. Way to stand up for what you believe, Thomas! The Catholics will rise again, no doubt.
Most importantly, though, Henry was able to get his annulment from Catherine. The new archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas Cranmer, made it happen. The decision making process went something like this:
King Henry: Can I get divorced from that Spanish wench
Cranmer: Hell yea you can - everything you say is so awesomely true it causes God to weep (thus the current rainstorm). Oh, and please don't kill me.
King Henry: That is megasweet, let's get it on

Henry already had a new target for his kingly phallus in mind, a young hottie by the name of Anne Boleyn. Her reign would be a tumultuous and exciting 1000 days long - at least according to the movie I used to do my research.

Henry VIII - The Early Squirrelly Years

There have been many television shows and movies done dealing with history over the century long life of the two mediums. Books, as well, but they are way too long and require the pointless effort of reading. One example of historical enlightenment brought to the masses on a glowing box or screen is the life of Henry VIII, which has been dramatized countless times over the years, most notably in the movie "Anne of 1000 Days" and the current HBO series, "The Tudors." You certainly cannot blame Hollywood for wanting to use this story, for it is full of the intrigue, the romance, and the fascinating characters/total prostitutes that drive the greatest cinematic classics. The problem with turning life into a movie is that the reality inevitably gets thrown under a speeding Greyhound bus along the way. Here then, is the real story of one of history's most pleasantly plump tyrants. Be prepared for the occasional attempts at humor along the way. I may not have said anything funny so far, but it is just a matter of time unless you are just a cold, heartless bastard. Mel Brooks hasn't taken his shot at turning this story into a tale of the Jewish people yet so I thought what the fuck, let's do this thing.
First of all, was Henry always a corpulent slob, munching on a never-ending series of overloaded trenchers until the first Big and Tall store was created to deal with his unique fashion needs? In fact, he was actually quite a handsome, fetching lad during his youth. With a pretty nice ass to boot, I would rate him an 8.4 on the dude scale. Who would you rather trust, a historian or a flaming homosexual on this point? He was not as hot as the guy who plays him on the HBO program, that guy gets a 9.7 (a here is my phone number and address type rating). Congrats to straight dudes who survived those sentences with their manhood intact; I will move on now to the crux of our tale. Henry was not originally the heir of his father, who happened to be named Henry as well. His dad was the seventh because according to Sesame Street's The Count, this number comes before eight. The firstborn son of Henry VII, who was the first of the Tudor dynasty, was actually named Arthur. There has never been a king of England named Arthur, so guess what happened to that guy? Yes and I know after reading that you will say, but what about the King Arthur who had the magician named Merlin, the dirty, cheating tramp wife Guinnevere, and that round table? Sorry to crush your hopes and dreams, but that is a bunch of bullshit. Never happened. Most of it was written in a story called "L'Morte d' Arthur" by a freaking French dude hundreds of years after the Anglo-Saxon invasion used in the Arthur stories.
Anyway, this is a story about Henry VIII, so quit getting me off topic or we will never find out if Henry gets married six times or not. Our future monarch became the 2175 butterfly only in 1502, when his older brother died of diabetes, consumption, or a hantavirus (ask Web MD for further info on hantavirus, I am not a damn doctor Jim) at the age of fifteen. Hell, it could have been all three, even the rich people had crappy doctors back then and your autopsy was performed by the same guy that cut your hair. Full insurance coverage wasn't enough to save Arthur's behind. As a result, besides becoming first in line for the throne of England, Henry got the opportunity to bang his brother's wife. Daddy Henry, however, was a little bit creeped out by the idea and objected to his son going ice fishing in the same hole used by his elder brother. Since Arthur was around the age of puberty at the time of his death, it was unknown as to whether he had been icefishing there yet (this is how we talk about sex when the kids are around). Catherine claimed, in fact, that no pole had previously been dipped in her waters and she was wide open to the future possibility.
It was not long, though, until Hank VII was no longer calling the shots, which kicks ass because it is confusing to read/write about two people with the same name - I for one am glad he is about to exit stage left. So, in the year 1509, Henry VII passed away of a broken heart due to the loss of his first son and his wife seven years earlier. Apparently, it takes a really long time to die from a broken heart. I always wear a condom in hopes that I never acquire the condition.
The result of his delayed, yet tragic demise, was a new monarch for England and the beginning of the "Dallas"-like soap opera that would be the reign of Henry VIII. The king was immediately married to Catherine, cementing the alliance between Catholic England and Catholic Spain. Surely they would enjoy a lifetime of marital bliss. Of course, the monkeys from "The Wizard of Oz" might also fly out of my buttocks. Stay tuned for the epic conclusion, which will be a combination of all the greatest episodes of "Days of Our Lives" and "Dynasty!"

A Faith Reviewed

Warning: Unbelievable as it may seem this is actually a serious article. Move on to the following post if are looking for humor.

For many Americans, our faith is the center of our existence, a moral code that informs everything we do. We live, however, in an increasingly secular society where religion does not exert the force that it once did. I grew up in a household that was split in the center, between these two poles of religion and secularism. I was raised by a devout Lutheran, in the form of my mother and a non-believer, to whom I refer as dad. Mom has attended St Matthew’s Lutheran Church on a weekly basis for many years and has been closely involved in campus ministry work at the College of Charleston, the academic bastion where she has toiled as a professor and now dean for over thirty years. My brother and I were brought along to hundreds of services and Sunday school classes at St Matthew’s. We participated in the youth group there as well. Mom describes her relationship with religion thusly, “I guess I would say that religion to me has always meant the social gospel. I remember one of Cam's (former pastor at St Matthew’s) first sermons:
"When Jesus said love your neighbor, feed the hungry, and clothe the naked, he didn't qualify; e.g., love your neighbor unless he has AIDS, feed the hungry who share your political beliefs, and clothe the naked if they agree to get off welfare." If you're a Christian, you show it by your deeds. And they should be "random acts of kindness."
She continued; “you don't get brownie points with God. In fact, the thing I most like about Lutheranism is its emphasis on grace. You don't have to worry about saving yourself – this has already been done. God's love is truly unconditional and the world could certainly use more of that type of love. God's presence has really been incredibly comforting to me and I guess that's why I've been so happy and feel so blessed.”
My father, who is also a long-time professor at the college, grew up occasionally attending Catholic and Protestant churches and found he agreed with the tenets of neither. The hypocrisy he saw amongst his peers during his early church experiences bothered him. According to dad, “I remember some of fellow church goers stealing candy from the Jewish shop owner across the street during the break between Sunday school and the late service.” During my childhood, dad attended church with us sometimes, but was not terribly involved in my religious upbringing. It was only as an adult that I realized he did not believe in traditional Christianity
My parents were married for thirty-five years before divorcing a little over a year ago. I had long ago moved out and into my own independent existence, but what I learned about spirituality from them still affects me today.
So that is the kiln where my religiosity has been fired and scorched into existence. Now I don’t want you to get the idea that I was torn between religious zealotry and atheism. The extremes were not quite that great. My mother is by no means a firebrand trying to persuade the world that her version of religious truth is the only conceivable road to salvation. She believes that religion is personal and that church and state should be separate institutions. Dad, in turn, never pushed his beliefs upon myself or my brother, feeling that such decisions should be made on our own as free-thinking adults. Nor does he consider the Bible to be a worthless document. He points out that, “I do not toss aside all the Bible’s possible truths, as I agree with some of its ethical precepts and metaphorical lessons in the parables. I do reject all the supernatural stuff, of course.”
I am a grown man of thirty-two years now, so what shape has my faith taken as a result of these influences?
Not surprisingly given the open intellectual atmosphere which I grew up in, I have chosen none of the above. I am not a regular attendee at church nor am I willing to toss aside all the possible truths of Christianity as my father has. Like my father, however, I did ask for the church to rationalize itself to me. When I read the Bible I looked for it to be consistent and I also look to it as a document that can help me make sense of my existence. When viewed through my eyes the Old Testament does not pass muster. The God in that portion of the holy book comes across as a vengeful God, very different from the one seen in the New Testament who sends his son to die in order to forgive humanity’s sins. Although I remained skeptical in regard to the miracles Jesus is said to have wrought, I fell in love with the parables he told and saw in them real lessons that are applicable to humanity even two thousand years later.
My Sunday school and church experience also influenced my view of organized religion. I saw the behavior of many of my peers to be starkly hypocritical – they would act like bullies and jerks for the entirety of the week and afterward they expected that a couple hours in church would forgive all they had done. I do believe strongly in forgiveness, but I personally found their behavior to be a bit too cynical for my tastes. It never seemed to me that my fellow Sunday students took the teachings of Jesus to heart at all.
In summary, I am a believer in a personal religion rather than an organized one. This stance does not go over too well in many portions of America and it certainly does not in Greenville, South Carolina, the buckle of the Bible belt. I don’t hold my beliefs in order to make friends or impress others, though, they are just what I feel is right. A very rational argument, don’t you think? Or is there something inherently superstitious about going with your gut? I do know one thing, it sure would be nice if there were an afterlife just to have a chance to know the answers - and to see my friends and family again - I can never get enough of them, of that I am sure.

February Crushes Us in its Soul-Sucking Grip

February is upon us once more. The shortest of months. If February was an NBA player it would be the retired Spud Webb. If it was a dictator, it would have a Napoleon complex. If it was a straw and you drew it you would be in serious danger of being eaten to keep your compatriots alive. Just twenty eight short days hath February, plus one in the event of some sort of cosmic disturbance that reeks of the sulfurous stench of blasphemous scientific interference (or as you may call it, a leap year - hey I am being paid by the word here). A woeful time for those of us who live month to month, using our tips to pay the rent and the bills. Three less days of earning available to make the c-notes necessary to keep a roof over our heads and to pay for that Wii, without which our existence would be as pointless and uncentered as a chocolate doughnut missing the all important hole. So toil we must for the majority of that soul-crushing month, knowing that March and its new stack of bills lies over the ever-approaching horizon, a set of hungry sharks waiting for a chance to feed upon your corpse, bloated in hunger from endless meals of Ramen. And how is the weather? Cold and bitter, with few hours of sun, many days it seems until the flowering warmth of Spring. Only the fire of your cigarettes can keep you going in such blizzard-like conditions (this article originally written for residents of Minnesota).
What is there, then, to keep us going during this month, a time that tries men's souls (and women's on occasion too, but they are generally much tougher than you pansies, gentlemen)? We all deserve something to take our minds off of the Sisyphusian struggle that is the everyday grind. Usually I would suggest alcohol as a panacea to all ills, but I think in this case it would be a misdiagnosis. IMHO you should never ingest the good stuff when depressed. If the horrors of February are not enough to get you down than you are made of pretty stern stuff my man/woman. So how about a holiday? Its a chance to celebrate, with or without alcohol, a great opportunity to get your mind off of all of your problems and worries, whether it be money concerns or your various venereal diseases. The Super Bowl would be perfect for our use. Most of us get the day off already. Unfortunately it falls too early in the month, with 25 days of desolate desert and depression due to dip us into deep despair directly afterwards. Plus there is genearl mass quantities of booze involved and that does not jive with my earlier statement warning against its use during such troublesome times. So what else ya got? Well February does have one real holiday - it is called Valentine's Day. It falls right in the middle of the month, what perfect timing! A chance for us to emerse ourselves in the one we love the most, to fall into their arms and forget all our cares and just float away with our most cherished companion into a sea, a sea of love!
We now interrupt this cheese-ridden moment to remind you that, as a member of the industry, your ass is working on Valentine's Day. Not only that, it is one of the busiest, if not the busiest day of the year at your establishment. Plus (drumroll please), unless you work in the most upscale of establishments, you get to serve the absolute dregs your working year. Yes, there is nothing like slaving over the needs of a couple for an hour or two in exchange for the chance to be either stiffed or damn near close to it. You will put in twice the effort and be rewarded with half the tips. Quite a holiday, isn't it?
So, you might be saying to yourself, Allister or Al or Alastair or whoever the hell is writing this article sure is negative, but he, she, or it (what kind of a fucked up name is Alastair) does not seem to have any solution to the sticky problem that is February. Now calm down, I am sure to have one but I haven't thought of it yet so think of this article thus far as a delaying tactic. Surely dear reader, if it has taken you this long to take a shit you can hold on a minute longer. So what should we do about February? How about eliminating taxes on our tips - we could elect a president who would do that for us. Those previously lost tips would probably gain us the extra green needed to get us through these tough times, defeating the financially burdening albatross that is the second month. That seems like a good idea until you realize that waiters vote about as often as Pigpen uses soap or Wilt Chamberlain chooses abstinence (he is dead but I imagine he is still getting laid in heaven, otherwise what is the point of the place). During the 2004 national election the presidential race at my restaurant ended in a 1-1 tie - we had a staff of fifty (granted the kitchen workers were all unable to vote due to small legal issues such as lack of legal residency). So with all due respect to Ron Paul (good luck there guy) we are not likely to bring our unstoppable voting coalition out in the numbers required to change the system. Besides, this idea ignores the members of the industry who do not earn the majority of their pay through tips. Not that you care about them anyway ass hole.
So what is the answer to the February quandary? Maybe if we stopped smoking so much pot...... but anyway I need to quit dreaming (my favorite three dream related tunes: "Dreams" by TV on the Radio, "Dream all Day" by the Posies, and "In a Daydream" by the Freddy Johnston Band) and come up with an effective solution that is realistic and workable. My current plan is to ignore all bills and take the whole month off. No reason to have a damned heart attack over a little thing like money. What did you expect, some sort of pat answer? I'm an umemployed waiter, not Dear Abby.

?????????Question of the Week brought to you by the waterskiing squirrel???????????

Every now and again there is an important question that must be answered if the fabric of the universe is to be maintained in its properly quiltian pattern. When something so crucial comes to the forefront I turn to you the reader to find the solution. Basically, because I am barely smart enough to wipe my own backside. So here you are, without any further ado, your question of the week.


When the US Census counts the population of our fifty states, do they number Siamese twins as one person or two?

Remember your answer enlightens not only me, but a whopping several other people. So answer with care, a lot rests upon you!

When Sports Nuts Bust Their Shell

The Bastard Piper is an award winning reporter from somewhere in the devious and demented hills of North Carolina.

Guest blog column

By: The Bastard Piper

If you ever thought some people take sports a bit too seriously, maybe you should give your face-painting Panthers’ fan buddy at the office a break. At least he’s not Matthew Kowald of Pardeeville,Wisconsin.
Kowald was arrested Jan. 14 for a parental sports blooper of Hall of Shame proportions, when he duct-taped his seven-year-old boy to a chair in their home after the child refused to wear a Packers’ jersey during the team’s playoff game against Seattle on Jan. 12.
The 36-year-old Cheesehead is apparently not very sharp (a double pun intended as a play on the cheddar product and former Packers wide receiver Sterling Sharpe! Sharpe played for the Packers in the late 80s and early 90s and was very productive but his promising career was cut short by a devastating neck injury in 1994, a tragedy really, when you think about his talent and potential. I think he is a broadcaster for NFL Network now or something, so I’m glad to see him doing well, because he seems like an intelligent, quality human being, unlike Kowald who is a total fuckwad).
Anywho, Kowald then proceeded to duct tape a jersey onto his son while he lay trapped in the chair for an hour, no doubt wishing that Packers’ Linebacker AJ Hawk would rush in and sack his lunatic dad.
I can only imagine this very sick man muttering to his young son, “Don’t you embarrass me in front of Brett Favre boy, or I’ll fix you really good next time!”
The sad fact is this fanatic probably thought Favre could see him through the TV and would be judging the team loyalty of him and his family. “Must…not…upset…Favre…No. 4 jersey…too important to the cause.”
Did he perhaps think that coercing his child into donning Green Bay gear would cause him to establish a positive connection with the green and yellow?
“Gee thanks dad, I shouldn’t have resisted such a fine fitting jersey. The team really needs my unwavering support, and this negative karma could cost them a trip to the Super Bowl. Oh, and could you apply more duct tape to my elbow, the sleeves are peeling off a bit.”
Since star running back Ryan Grant wasn’t around to phone the police and save the day, the boy’s mother dialed authorities to report the incident and issued a restraining order against Kowald. She showed pictures of the incident to authorities snapped by her cell phone camera, so it is unlikely Kowald can challenge the call.
His illegal contact will likely back him up a full hundred yards or more away from his family, and officials also slapped him with a $186 fine, making this one costly penalty.
Kowald referred to the duct-taping incident as a joke and said his son was laughing with him, but if that’s how he plays nice with children, I’d hate to see him when he’s angry. I mean, what if the Packers had lost that game?
“You no root for Green Bay?” “Kowald Smash!”
Sadly, his son will now forever associate football with violence.

Fuku Domo

Yes, I am a Cubs fan - and my pain and sadness are more painful and sad than yours.
I have news hot off the presses for you Cubs fans out there. Your faith is reminiscent of the man who believes he can dig his way out of jail with a toothpick. No matter how many impediments are thrust in his way, regardless of the occasions he is told his task is impossible, he continues to saunter on - he ignores all of these obstacles, certain that in the end his goal will be reached. So too do you, the Cubs fan. You have seen "Shawshank Redemption" and you know with enough hard work and obstinance anything can be accomplished. What is a hundred years of failure? What of the fact that thousands of fans have died without ever witnessing a World Series title? These pieces of information are merely reality and should never interfere with our hopes and dreams, dreams that following the news of today, should be realized within a few short months. Yes you have surmised correctly, we have re-signed Jon Leiber. After several years as a Wandering Jew travelling the clubhouses of various franchises our prodigal son has returned. Once a twenty game winner for the Cubbies, Lieber comes back to the fold a few years older and no doubt wiser. Unfortunately, he has been injured for a large portion of the last two seasons, both of which he played phor the phucking Philadelphia Phillies. Also, he has aged to near Methusulahistic proportions - in fact the brittle bone and ligament structure that inherently goes with such advanced years probably goes a long way towards explaining his gimpiness during the previous two campaigns. If we can put Humpty Dumpty back together again, however, his acquisition should solidify the staff behind ace Carlos Zambrano, young phenom Rich Hill, and crafty lefty Ted Lilly. Along with the addition of that slanty-eyed Jap bastard Fukudomo (I have been told that this comment is racist and downright hypocritical since I am gay and also subject to prejudices - in response I have to say that I hate gay people and white people to for that matter so I am in a unique position to criticize everyone and make use of all ethnic, gender, and sexual preference based slurs as I see fit) in right field, odds are if we don't make the World Series, there will at least be a lot of good jokes to be had. Eamus Catuli!

My Party (continued)

I am proud to announce that the Happy Bunny American Patriot Unicorn Freedom Party has added two new members. The march to take Washington is starting to gain the kind of momentum only heretofore experienced by little particles of snow lucky enough to participate in an avalanche. Nothing outside of the interference of reality can keep us from taking over the American political frontier like Davy Crockett on HGH (but without the back acne)! A couple bits of party news to announce. First off, we will from now on be known as the Happy Bunny American Bacon Patriot Unicorn Freedom Party. It was pointed out to me that everyone, including vegetarians and pigs, loves bacon. That logic being irrefutable, we here at the HBABPUFP decided to add one tiny extra word to the party name. We are a party of inclusion and if bacon wants in, we have plenty of room for it. All future uniforms and paraphenalia related to the HBABPUFP should reflect this change. Secondly, we have added another plank to our platform. Although we as a party are not generally in favor of the death penalty, as party founder I realized this weekend that there should be one exception to this rule. Purveyors of alcohol who charge more than four dollars for a domestic beer will now be executed on the spot, no exceptions. I payed seven dollars this weekend for a Killians at RBC arena in Raleigh. These places that use the fact that you are trapped there to gouge prices have gotten out of control. Call me a communist, but this practice is not inherently capitalistic, but rather monopolistic in nature. Beer, as the drink of the Gods, should be sold in a more respectful manner and should be available to all for a reasonable price regardless of one's location. Any who violate this sacred trust should have their liver eaten out by starved hyenas. No politician has had the guts to take this issue on - the Republicans want to protect business/price-gouging ass holes and the pansy liberals say eating out people's organs is cruel and unusual punishment. Not us at the HBABPUFP - we hold this issue dear to our hearts and we promise action!

P.S.:A friend of the party is currently working on some Happy Bunny wear (t-shirt probably)- please let me know if you are interested. Long live the HBABPUFP.

Zambonis

I am off tomorrow to the great white North. Yes, Raleigh, North Carolina, in order to witness my first ever major league professional hockey game. I have attended several contests of lesser magnitude previously, but never have I personally had the opportunity to be in the midst of so many athletic Canadians (at least since the last time I saw J.J.). Should be entertaining if I can catch any of the action from the Himalayan heights that I will be perched upon. Oh well, at least I can fill my eyrie with cold frosty glasses of soothing liquid refreshment.

My Party (not that kind you worthless drunk)

Hey kids, its that time again. Every four years we have the opportunity to elect a new president of the USA. The leader of the free world. As usual we are faced with a bunch of losers and no-talent ass clowns to choose from, not to mention, only two viable political parties. That is, of course, a bunch of crap and damn near utter bullshit to boot. Now I could spend the entire length of this piece telling you how much the Republicans and Democrats are a bunch of skeezers who totally suck the anus of a six-toed Ecuadorian sloth, but what kind of a leader would I be if pointed out problems without having a solution of my own? That would be hypocritical, which of course puts me halfway to the qualifications necessary to becoming a politician. Since, however, I am a man of principles, I have come up with a platform for a new party that is destined to bring our country back to the lofty altitudinous heights of yore.
First, our new party must have a moniker. I most humbly suggest the Happy Bunny American Patriot Unicorn Freedom Party. All six words in this title bring a sense of ecstasy not experienced since my last trip on the stuff. Only a man or woman nearly consumed by their own evil hatefulness could vote against bunnies or patriots or freedom or parties or any of those other words I put in our name. Already we have a huge advantage as a party. Most people hate Democrats, Republicans, or both and almost no one can tell the difference between a democracy and a republic. Certainly these two parties are no where near as kick ass as unicorns.
Now that we have a name for our political party, we are going to need some issues. If the HBAPUFP is going to fool the American public into voting for it, we must at least pretend to believe in something that can get them fired up. Here are some suggestions:
1. Legalize drugs. In the words of JB, the tyranny and the bullshit have gone on far too long. Neither of the two major parties are pushing this idea in their platform. Since most of the people I have worked with enjoy a narcotic of one kind or another, I feel there is room for a political entity push the pro-legalization agenda. At the very least we can get the free publicity of a "High Times" cover. Hey idiot, you tell me, people who are high all the time never get out to vote. Well calm down there chopper, I have a solution. The HBAPUFP will provide free munchies and incense at all polling stations. I smell the oncoming approach of victory!
2. Vacation Days. After an eight year presidency which witnessed our fearless leader taking more time off than any executive in our long history, Americans are asking the question, when do I get mine? Well with the HBAPUFP in power, every day the president takes off is a national holiday. In addition, there will be a lottery before every holiday where the winner gets to name that holiday! Who wouldn't get excited about celebrating Magical Fairy Poop Day with a margarita out by the pool?
3. No taxes. We will pay for all government expenses with magic beans. Cancel that, apparently the Republicans have already taken that idea.
4. End the BCS. What a bunch of garbage to not have the championship of college football decided on the field. And if you don't think the American government should be meddling in sports go ahead and tell the US Congress they can't have their 209809209th hearing on steroids. I vote a 256-team playoff with all games held at Furman University. Maybe then they will quit bitching at me to make a contribution to the Alumni fund. *Reader Dan Herren suggests that employees not be required to show up until 10 the day after big football games. Great idea Dan!
5. No more new TV stations. Seriously, if we are showing marathons of "Different Strokes" there is no longer any available programming to fill all these time slots. Maybe a channel exclusively for midget porn, but after that the HBAPUFP is holding its ground on this issue. Oh and note to Coca-Cola - polar bears and penguins live on different poles so quit showing them together in commercials or I will make Pepsi the offical drink of the White House.
6. No more corporate sponsorships. Seriously, I do not want to watch a game at Home Depot Stadium. Screw that. I could not be more aware of McDonald's or Bank of America if I had their corporate logo tattooed onto my penis. And no damn commercials before movies! Is nothing sacred anymore? Time has come to return to a better era when nothing was labelled and we just figured shit out for ourselves instead of being told what to buy. (I will accept beer sponsorships for the White House if free kegs are involved)
7. No more army. Seriously, in recent years we have only used it to make the world more fucked up. Let's put our manpower to use creating things instead of destroying them. We can have a military again when we show that as Americans we have grown up enough to use it properly. If this makes the HBAPUFP a bunch of pussy-ass hippies, than so be it.
8. Increase pollution. Some people in the Democrat Party would tell you that global warming is a bad thing. This is a bunch of crap. According to recent estimations, when the ice caps melt the new shoreline should be somewhere around my front yard and I am sure many of you out there would benefit from shorter drives to the beach. Hell some of you will actually live in the ocean. I am talking beach front property brother and a serious rise in property values. We need to hurry up and melt those motherfuckers so I can get my tan going for the spring. Seriously, I bought a bunch of beach chairs and a paddleball set, let's get this done
9. More nuclear power. Not only does nuclear power burn cleaner than coal and gas, it also provides those who draw our comics with loads of material. Where would Spiderman or the Incredible Hulk be without the cleansing touch of radiation? Hell, Marvel Comics wouldn't even exist. Picture the new ads: the touch the feel of radiation, the fabric of our lives. Something like that anyways.
10. Health care. Look I already legalized drugs, just go get them. Doctors are even more over-rated than Ohio State. Hypochondriacs go nuts! Now you can diagnose yourself. Congrats you have every disease there is!
11. Gay Marriage and military service. This of course will be encouraged. It is unfair that the two things that make heterosexuals suffer the most - wives and generals - are verboten to the Friends of Dorothy. Under our watch that will of course change. No man or woman, regardless of sexual preference, should be allowed to miss out on the fabulous possibility of being bitched out by a loony spouse or an incompetent commanding officer.

Hopefully this platform will get all of you stoked about the HBAPUFP. If you have any other ideas that will help the party, please feel free to add them in the comments section and get out and vote on the 26th if you live in South Cacolacky.

You see how the Prague is nice

Aloha and Happy New Year to those of you not from Hawaii, a place I would have spent the last week of 2007 if it were not for the historian inside me - the one that thought 20 degrees F was somehow superior to a beach in Maui. So instead, my family and I headed for Prague, Czech Republic for five days of fun replete with a complete lack of sun. Czech is a country rich in history, most of which involves the people there being bludgeoned by a stronger foreign power. Sort of a junior version of Poland. The Hapsburgs, Nazis, and Soviets have all taken their turn at the invasion buffet that is the Czech land. They have supped repeatedly on goulash, pig's knee/knuckle (they really do use every part of the pig - more on that later), and pivo (beer, usually pilsner) and found it to be quite delightfully delicious. It is not for me, though to use this spot boring you about history that will be quickly forgotten. Who would bother to teach or learn bullshit like that? Instead, today's episode will discuss some of the idiosyncracies of Prague that I noticed along with the crack research/drinking team that accompanied me upon my visit.

1) Lost in translation. Prague is a tourist city and the main language of these travellers is English. As a result, many of the Czechs speak English and many of the signs are also in that language. Some Czechs spoke the language better than others and those that were less fluent provided some humorous moments for our group. My favorite language errors came from a restaurant we visited that had some interesting English sentences written on their menu. One example used the phrase preparednessing to digust. Feel free to contemplate what the hell that meant. The best, however, was this amazing sentence - "As you look out the window you will see how the Prague is nice." Obviously as someone with a twenty word knowledge of the Czech language I am hardly in position to criticize. Oh well, its never stopped me before. I did learn how to say beer, please. What else could you need to know?
2) Erotic supermarket. That the Czechs are amazing hornballs became quickly apparent as we journeyed throughout the city of Prague. There were ads all over the city advertising naked women (or more precisely places to see them). My brother Colin and I saw a man with his three year old daughter, checking out a tv ad for a restaurant complete with topless waitresses. But the coolest incidence of hornballery in Prague was the Erotic Supermarket, featuring topless cashiers. I really can't think of a better place to see naked women than at the grocery store. If you get too excited there is always a moldy canteloupe located conveniently nearby. When you are not sure which syrup is best to eat off of your lady's upper body, just let the cashier know you need a sample titty lick.
3) Czech music. Apparently there isn't any. All we ever heard was American pop music. A Czech rap station did play one song in the native language but that was it. Having heard the Czech language spoken for several days, I can assure you that it is not in any way a musical tongue. Its not even very good for writing - the most famous Czech author, Franz Kafka, wrote in German.
4) Bidet! Our apartment included a bidet in both bathrooms. I questioned their usefulness (and preparednessing) until someone suggested to me, "You wouldn't wipe shit off your hands with toilet paper would you? Does your beautiful poopshoot deserve anything less?"
I could not argue with this logic.
5) Beer is cheaper than water. If you go to a restaurant you will pay less for a beer than if you order water. I am not joking. Who would not want to live in such a place? Of course they have a ridiculous level of alcoholism there. You've got to take the good with the bad I suppose. If you ask for ice in your water they will look at you like you are retarded. Keep in mind that it is around zero celsius outside anyway, then rethink your request.
6) Pig Knees. Remember when your teacher told you that the Indians use every part of the buffalo? The Czech people have this same philosophy in regard to their good friend and dinner guest, the pig. Almost everything dish they consume is composed of pork and they eat parts of the animal that would cause an American diner to disgorge a week's worth of meals in horror. Our friend Jacob, who was born and raised in Brno, Czech Republic, dined on pig knee at one restaurant we visited. When the dish arrived, what I saw boggled my simple mind. A roundish, basketball shape hunk of flesh and fat, served utterly without vegetables or even some sort of potato product. Jacob let me try a piece and my heart immediately jumped out of my chest and ordered me to cut that shit out if I was going to get any further cooperation from any of its four chambers. The grease and fat explodes in your mouth with the force of a nuclear explosion, destroying in moments any chance you had at making it to retirement without undergoing more surgeries than the Chicago Bear's superfans.
7. Expanded vocabulary. While in Prague I learned the word defenestration. Definition: being removed from a building from an exit not on the first floor. The word dates back to an incident in the 17th century when the Protestants and Catholics were fighting over whether it was cool to bribe God to forgive your sins and let you into heaven. The Protestants (a term whose original meaning is "constantly bitching") were opposed to buying God;s forgiveness with dough (the money was held by bishops until they could go to heaven and deliver the money in person - some was accidentally spent) and the Catholics were in favor. The Catholics punished the Protestants for their silly beliefs by defenstrating twenty two of them, whose lifeless corpses' made abstract splatter patterns on the City Square upon landing. In other words, they threw them out of the window of the Town Hall. The Protestants retaliated by ejecting two Catholics from another building, where they fell on a pile of dung and walked away. Guess who won that war?

So you see now, why the Prague is nice?