Happy Birthday, Doc Logan! The Ticking Clock Edition!

Okay, it's 11:54 here on the west coast, which gives me six minutes to post these birthday greetings and claim they're not technically belated. First, a quick apology for the tardiness: my disc is bulging like Belgium in 1944, and I'm down to my last Hydrocodone pill, which I've been saving for a pitch meeting in Burbank on Thursday, so I'm currently reduced to laying immobile on the floor or bed, because whenever I attempt to move I emit a screaming noise like a howler monkey who's just slammed his prehensile tail in the car door, and that seems to disturb Mary as she goes about her lesson planning.

Even more disturbing are the persistent, yet fading wails of agony that follow, and seem to suggest the motorist was blithely unaware of the tail stuck in the door and drove away, dragging the monkey behind the car like Aunt Edna's dog in National Lampoon's Vacation.

Doctor Logan, artist's conception

I've been trying to watch a bad zombie movie, and as a sign of respect for Doc's nic de blog, gift him with a typically disrespectful review, but I can only sit at the computer for about ten minutes at a time, so I'm afraid this sucker's gonna have to be published in serial form (hey, it was good enough for Dickens!)

In the meantime, Moondoggie has seized control of my iPhone and is sexting the crap out of Doc with these sultry selfies.  (They're naughty, sure, yet dispatched with a sense of innocent fun which I just know is gonna boomerang, and all these shots are gonna show up on TMZ by tomorrow morning.)

Anyway, Doc is an old and valued member of the commentariat, and I didn't want to shortchange him on his special day, so we spent the extra $4.80 at Sears, and for the first time in Wo'C history, the cake itself is decorated with Sexy Birthday Lizards!

And as for the cheesecake portion of the festivities, we've secured the precode services of Frances Dee, from I Walked With a Zombie, who's here to give the seduction-by-selfie types another Master Class in the art of Bedroom Eyes:

I don't know what kind of filter she's using on her phone there, but...rrrrower!

Okay, let's see...cake, check. Lizards, check. Hollywood glamour, check.  Yep, I think I'm good to go and ready to make another attempt at The Dead and the Damned. But I can't promise it'll be done by tomorrow, so Doc, I'm afraid I'll have to pull the old Wimpy scam: I'll gladly pay you a Better Living Through Bad Movies-style review on Tuesday for a birthday wish today.

Hope it was a great one, and I ask all my more punctual friends to please feel free to hogpile on Doc with some appropriate felicitations of your own.

The Boss is Out of Town, and We've Gone CRAZY!

"Look gals, I know it ain't The Fleischmann's Yeast Hour, or Texaco Town, but podcasting's still in its infancy as a medium -- it'll get better. In the meantime, we can listen to these two jerks..."

Yes, it's time for another All Star Summer Jamboree, but this week things are a little different in the studio, since my co-host Jeff went to see a...let's call it a movie...and is now in a coma. As it happens, I went to see the same..."movie," let's say...but I'm fine, because I've seen so much Hollywood crap that I've developed a protective blister like the Martian war machines in War of the Worlds, except my blister is made out of futility, despair, and whatever actual blisters are made of.  Skin, I guess.  Or maybe I've developed giant protective corns.  Anyway, the point is that no crappy summer blockbuster can harm me, because I'm encased in a full-body Plantar's wart, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna take it lying down. And since I'm running the show this week, I called up the bullpen and asked them to send in a veteran fireballer to serve up a little chin music.

So if you have a little time, please click the link below, and listen to me talk with a guy about a thing (and about a thing without a thing).

AssJam Episode 64: "Late to the Party" 

Starring Scott Clevenger and ? 

Music by Josiah Yareff and Ralph Raymond Hayes 

Join our esteemed Mr. Clevenger and a special surprise guest for a discussion of the most important film of 2015

Happy Anniversary, You Pile O' Crap!

Today, August 20th, 2015, is the twelfth blogiversary of World O' Crap, with all the infamy that implies. Readers who've boned up on their Emily Post know that silk and linen are the traditional gifts for a year twelve anniversary, but don't just go to Mood and then heave a bolt of fabric at us -- that doesn't make it seem special! -- add some closures and notions; jute-covered buttons, say, or a Knit Picker. But since none of us here sew (well, s.z. might, but I doubt she has time; with all the animals she's constantly rescuing and nursing and fostering, every day of her life is like Noah's worst day on the Ark), allow me to pass on some ideas for making these materials useful to the modern consumer.

Happy-Anniversary.com lists not only the Traditional Gifts (silk, linen), but the Alternate Traditional (pearl) and the Alternate Jewelry Materials (opal, jade). More important, it provides helpful, expert-endorsed suggestions and sources for putting a contemporary twist on these ancient consolation prizes, and I've compiled our favorites into the Official World O' Crap Twelfth Anniversary Wish List:

Silk Gifts:

High quality realistic silk flower arrangements:  This actually seems like something more appropriate for a 60th anniversary, along with "adult diapers" and "one hard candy wrapped in a Kleenex and forgotten at the bottom of Grandma's purse," but as blogs go, we're gettin' up there, so why not?

Teddy bear holding a silk flower:  Again, this seems more like something you'd give to a terminally-ill child, since it doesn't seem to say "Happy Anniversary!" so much as "No, I can't hit a home run for you, please stop asking."

Silky Lingerie:

Heh, heh! Now we're talking...!

Spicy silky lingerie:  Huh. Well...okay, although that sounds less like erotic undergarments and more like an entree at a Chinese restaurant.

Plus-size lingerie recommended by Oprah:  All I need to do is shimmy into my cotton-poly blend boxer briefs with the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval and it's gonna be a hot time in the old town tonight!

Linen Gifts:

Pillows and throws in international designs: Nothing says "It's been twelve wonderful years" quite like a cushion in the distinctive shape of Moldova.

You know, I didn't see "corn silk" anywhere on that list, and that struck me as an obvious oversight. Admittedly, I didn't know exactly what "corn silk" was, and heydave wasn't around to ask, but I looked it up and apparently it's "[T]he styles and stigmas that appear as a silky tuft or tassel at the tip of an ear of corn." Well that certainly sounds sexy, what with the tassels and the tips and all, and goodness knows we could use a little more style around here. Plus, I long ago learned to live with the stigma. And best of all? It's "used as a diuretic in herbal medicine."

I think we've found our winner! (Especially since I also looked up "corn smut" and that wasn't at all what I thought it was going to be.)

So on behalf of s.z. and Mary, thanks for all your hilarious and thoughtful comments over the years, and for making World O' Crap one of your choices for blogs with the word "crap" in the url.  Happy anniversary to us, one and all!

Me and Mr. Jones

By Keith

I'm grateful to Scott C. for allowing me to announce an exciting new feature exclusively for World O' Crappers. Dropping in early September.

From here, to there, to hospital and perhaps beyond, your correspondent will cover exquisitely-constructed and recursively-linked bat-shit and bait-click conspiracy theories promoted by the One and Only Alex Jones, native of Austin, TX.

If you've not previously encountered Mr. Jones, he has a website titled Infowars and a daily podcast you can sample here. But why bother when I'll do the grunt work? You and your loved ones shall never trouble yourselves in the least.

August is never the best time for a product debut, but just to give a teaser, behold the "Alex Jones Conspiracy Convolution Matrix." It's based on a Chinese restaurant menu technique used by 60's print pornographers (also the editors at Fox Cable News). Mix and match ... it's easy. Create your own scenarios ... we'll merge them into a user database on github.

Tissue? I Barely Know You.

Things have been going relatively well for Republican presidential candidate Ben Carson. He performed respectably at the recent debate, he's been rising in the polls, and unlike Donald Trump he can enter his house justified, since he doesn't pay an esthetician to hose him down each day with a proprietary mixture of mineral oil and finely ground Cheetos. However, all that may change, after the Washington Post reported that Dr. Carson was a receiver of those bootlegged baby parts that seem to tumble out of Planned Parenthood the way color TVs fall off the backs of trucks in New Jersey.

Here's the heartbroken, yet gamely tapdancing headline at LifeNews.com:

Ben Carson on Report He Did Fetal Tissue Research: I Didn’t “Kill Babies and Take Their Tissue”

"I Only Beat Up Babies and Took Their Lunch Money."

Republican presidential candidate Ben Carson addressed reports today that, decades ago, he conducted research using tissue from an aborted baby.

Two aborted fetuses, actually.  Not because Dr. Carson is a monster whose lust for cord blood can never be sated, but because he's a conscientious and thorough researcher, and because Fetus 'R Us was having a two-for-one sale.  Anyway, it was decades ago, and if he hadn't taken that baby's tissue back then, some other doctor would be removing it's prostate about now.

Carson said what he did is entirely different from the scandal at Planned Parenthood — where unborn babies are purposefully killed in order to use their body parts for research purposes.

Oh, that's why those women came to Planned Parenthood -- they weren't patients in need of abortions, they were farmers in need of help with the harvest.  "Cyrus, it's a bumper crop this year, an' we're gonna need us a hired man to help ya thresh mah womb."

Carson has been critical of not only the Planned Parenthood abortion business for selling aborted babies and their body parts for research, but he said defenders of that have oversold the benefits of fetal tissue research.

"So-called scientists have been experimenting with fetal tissue for years without perfecting it. When you blow your nose in it, it still just makes a big mess."

But I'm relieved that you can be critical of people and organizations for things they haven't actually done. Now when I criticize LifeNews reporter Steven Ertelt for putting a tentacle-shaped snood on his penis before he masturbates because he can only achieve a chub by thinking about hentai, I don't feel like I need to get bogged down in tedious minutiae like whether I just totally made that up and where he'd even get a tentacle-shaped dick snood even if it was true.

Hm.  Hang on...

Okay, turns out they're available on Etsy, which makes my criticism slightly more fact-based than Dr. Carson's, and therefore, less newsworthy.

Carson calls the reports that he conducted research with aborted babies “desperate.” He appears to say that there is a difference between what he did and what Planned Parenthood and others are doing and what he did. 

And he appears to say it like a character from an Ed Wood movie.

Carson said that “you have to look at the intent” of using fetal tissue.

This is indeed the crucial distinction. Carson -- and Planned Parenthood, for that matter -- intended the fetal tissue be used to further medical research. Mr. Ertelt intends to use fetal tissue as a renewable source of snood lube.

He appears to say there’s a difference between specifically selling, as in the case of Planned Parenthood, or buying, as in the case of Colorado State University, University of Wisconsin and Oregon Health and Science University, aborted babies for research and using fetal tissue for comparative research along with other tissue samples because the tissue was already available.

I sure hope Mr. Ertelt is available to interpret for Dr. Carson if he ever wins the presidency, or we won't know what the hell is going on.

PRESIDENT CARSON: Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country!

MR. ERTELT:  He appears to say we should go to war with Iran. Also he appears to be angry that the West Wing break room is out of those little cheddar-flavored fish crackers...

“To willfully ignore evidence that you have for some ideological reason is wrong. If you’re killing babies and taking the tissue, that’s a very different thing than taking a dead specimen and keeping a record of it,” Carson said. 

So basically, Ben Carson is the wimpy John Dall character to Planned Parenthood's murderous Peggy Cummins in Gun Crazy. You can almost hear him mutter, "I let you do my killing for me."

Speaking of regrets, our good friend Anntichrist S. Coulter was kind enough to use some of her brief online time at the public library to inform me I screwed up and forgot to write a post in honor of Mentis Fugit, whose birthday was yesterday. Which is a fairly egregious bout of pooch-screwing, as Mentis has been a great friend of the blog, as many an O.G. Crapper can attest. So please join me in wishing him a very happy -- if embarrassingly belated -- birthday.

First, the traditional three-layer cake consisting of fruit triangles and banana Flippers...

Then the obligatory old timey cheesecake photo (how about a bit o' Barely Legal Myrna Loy in a bathing suit?):

And last but not least, the customary Sexy Birthday Lizard!

(Since Myrna is rocking that flat-chested Flapper look, I thought we could go with a curvier lizard for once.)

Happy birthday, Mentis! And Ben? Best of luck at the next debate explaining the nuanced differences between villainous tissue donors and virtuous tissue recipients.

Like Our Friend the Bird, We Must Sometimes Vent

Stolen (with her kind permission) from Sheri's Facebook page:

I guess I've been reading too many pet ads, because it's getting to me today. So, I made up my own ads.

Free to Good Home

Loving, friendly, sweet 90-year-old woman. We are sorry to do this, because we really love her. She has been a good family member through the years, and has always been there for us when we needed her, but we just don't have time for her any more. Comes with a bottle of Ensure.

ISO Yorkie baby puppy
Must be house-broken, fixed, crate-trained, and able to be left alone all day while we are at work. Also, must be good with toddlers, because we want it as a birthday present for our 2-year-old. We love puppies, and would give it a great home! Free only, because we don't shop, we adopt.

For Sale, Pure Bread Adobeman Pincher
Not fixed, so you can breed dogs yourself! Not vaccinated, because it's only 4 weeks old. Eats dry food okay we think, because somebody is eating that Ol' Roy! Asking $800, because we are professional breeders.

Adorable Kittens!
Our cat had her third litter of this year, and they are so sweet! There are 8 of them, and you can have the mother too because we never really wanted her in the first place.They must go today, or we are taking them to the pound because we are tired of taking care of them. We think they are Bangles, so we are asking $25 each to make sure they go to good homes.

Moving, Must Sell Beloved Dog Rover
We are devastated to do this, but we are moving, and our new place doesn't allow pets. Yes, we were sad to learn that the town we are moving to is strictly for people, and no animals of any kind are allowed. They also don't permit children, so Bobby and Emily, are also for sale to good homes.

Post-Friday Beast Blogging: The Duelist Edition

Moondoggie:  The time has come.  I challenge you to...

Moondoggie:  A STARING CONTEST!  One, two three, go!

Moondoggie: Did you start?  I started already.

Moondoggie:  (SINGING) Face to face, out in the heat/Hangin' tough, stayin' hungry...

Moondoggie: You know what? I forfeit.

Fasterbate!

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

World's Worst Toys R Us Spokesmodel

Updated below

So among the many jaw-dropping, gorge-raising articles I read today about the necro-decorative fun hunter (trophy, as opposed to subsistence) or "funter", Sabrina Corgatelli, was this Salon piece by Scott Eric Kaufman, which offered a wealth of tone-deaf quotations:

Corgatelli told Today’s Carson Daly that when she posted the image of her and the giraffe — which she captioned, “Such an amazing animal!! I couldn’t be any happier!! My emotion after getting him was a feeling I will never forget!!!” — 

Note: it's possible that Ms. Corgatelli didn't actually mean these astonishingly sociopathic and bone-headed vocalizations, but had a permit to cull the moron herd, and was simply blowing on her hand-carved Duck Dynasty-brand Idjit Call™ in order to bring the game into her crosshairs.

she never anticipated that the photograph would be commented on more than 13,000 times, or that she would become a flash-point in the discussion about the legitimacy of big game hunting. 

Because who could possibly gaze upon this anodyne image: 

...and feel anything but happy!! about this amazing animal!!

“To all the haters, stay tuned, you’re gonna have so much more to be p***ed about,” she wrote in response to some of those comments.

Oh oh...Sounds like she's already booked her next safari to the Most Dangerous Game Dude Ranch!

She was much more measured with Daly, saying that “everybody just thinks we’re cold-hearted killers, and it’s not that. There is a connection with the animal, and just because we hunt them doesn’t mean we don’t have a respect for them.”

You know who else feels a connection to the things they kill? Serial killers. And they also tend to take trophies from their victims, so maybe this giraffe murdering is just a phase she's going through, a chrysalis form as she transitions from John Wayne into John Wayne Gacy.

She added that she was, in effect, doing a public service, because despite being herbivores who mostly congregate in national parks, “giraffes are very dangerous animals” and “they could hurt you seriously very quickly.”

As opposed to a bow hunter, who can also hurt you seriously, but slowly and exquisitely over a two-day period. But Ms. Corgatelli is correct, giraffes can be dangerous. Between college and grad school my sister Katy worked at the Santa Barbara zoo, and her duties included tending to the giraffes. One day, an obnoxious African Crown Crane started hanging out in the exhibit and making vaguely mocking noises at the ungulates. The next day, Katy found the bird's headless body sprawled in the middle of the enclosure; forensic evidence suggested a giraffe had finally got fed up and decapitated it with a single kick, sending the crane's head tumbling into the next exhibit and scoring a badly needed extra point.  So, yes...Giraffes have evolved to become nature's perfect killing machine, assuming you're a douchebag bird.

But there's another part of this story that has received less scrutiny, and typically, it was Sheri who first noticed it, writing on Facebook:

This woman has Utah roots (from Portage, I believe) and she graduated from USU. Her boyfriend is reportedly from Logan. She works an accountant at an Idaho university. How does she afford her big game hunting "hobby"? ... [T]rips to Africa, guides, thousands of dollars in fees, etc.

That's a very good question. Dr. Walter Palmer, the Dentist of Death, paid $55,000 to kill Cecil the lion; do Idaho institutes of higher education really compensate their accountants that well? Because if so, this makes me think, for about the ten thousandth time, that I made a serious misjudgment at that high school Career Day Fair.

Update: And Sheri, as usual, breaks the case:

Well, the answer to the funding mystery is what you all thought: she hunts children and sells their hair to use as stuffing for Build-a-Bears. 

No, actually her new boyfriend is Aaron Nelson, professional lion killer. She goes along on the trophy hunts to add a woman's gentle touch to the slaughter. Here's Aaron's bio from his firm's web page:

"Since 1995 Aaron Neilson has specialized in hunting the African Lion. He has personally taken 11 trophy lions of his own. Not to mention, he has accompanied numerous clients and friends on some of their lion hunts around the African continent. He has personally hunted Lion in Zimbabwe, Zambia, Botswana, Tanzania, South Africa, Mozambique and Namibia. Over the past 16 years he has spent over 350 days pursuing lion in Africa, an accomplishment not matched by any other hunting consultant. When trusting your highly expensive, and long-awaited trophy lion hunt to an agent. Look no further than Global Hunting Resources, we have the experience and knowledge to back it up!"

And when the game population is finally exhausted thanks to these assholes, Aaron and his high calibre helpmeet Sabrina can diversify into the business of guiding actual serial killers on safari. Imagine helping Richard Speck to hunt the wily student nurse -- notoriously difficult to track at night because of their noiseless crepe shoes --by teaching him how to build a "nurse blind" out of hospital modesty screens and then hunker down by the watering hole -- or at least the vending machines in the breakroom -- and wait.

Deep in the night shift, their white uniforms and caps are softly luminous in the faint glow from the Bun-O-Matic Coffee Maker light, making it obvious that you're performing a public service, and that nature wants you to take these girls and get their heads, because student nurses are "very dangerous" and "they could hurt you seriously very quickly," especially if they're taking a blood sample and happen to miss the vein four or five times.

Sundays with S.Z.

Getting back to our roots, here's post by our beloved founderess, originally published August 24, 2006:

Old Favorites Day

I don’t feel all that great, and so I am in a mood for comfort wingnuts (you know, those familiar, homey wingnuts whose creamy texture, cheesy richness, and meatloaf-like consistency always hit the spot). 

So, here are the latest columns by some old favorites.

1.  Pastor Grant Swank: “Plane Mutiny, Olmert Demise, Mosque Killers, & Iraq Over“ 

Thesis: The only good Muslim is a dead Muslim. 

Excerpts:

Two men who looked like Muslim killers were speaking in what was concluded to be Arabic. They looked cagey. They kept looking at their watches. They darted looks to right and left. They whispered to one another. They wore heavy leather jackets. They were just plain mysterious.

Swarthy men on a plane who keep doing suspicious terrorist stuff like looking at their watches, whispering to each other, and wearing jackets?  Quick, somebody page Annie Jacobsen!

Brits on their way to vacationland Saturday decided the flight was too risky. They did not at all trust the two men. Therefore, they forced the pilot not to leave the ground.

One hundred fifty passengers felt safer on land than air. Two Muslim terrorist types were the cause of it all.

And just what are “Muslim terrorist types”?  Well, from the news article from which Pastor Swank got this story, we learn that they are “men of Asian appearance apparently talking Arabic.”  Yes, all men who look Asian and speak a language which might be Arabic (or possibly Russian or Hebrew, or something like that) are not only terrorists, but also Muslims, since you can apparently deduce a person’s religion from his race and his jacket.

And, per Pastor Swank, it’s about time that you “grass roots” realized that all Muslims are murderous demons who are planning to kill you. 

Islam is proving itself to be too weird to tolerate.

I think the only response to the above is “It takes one to know one.”

The plane mutiny is a reflection of the peace world’s thinking. In time, the entire peace community should get the harsh facts that Islam is out to do us all in.

Okay, Islam is out to do us in, so  what should the peace community do about it?
Well, per the good Pastor, the liberty republics must expel all Muslims, because they’re all bad.  Every single one of them.

Therefore, in every liberty republic, citizens must make choices to protect themselves, their communities, their laws, their judicial systems, educational systems and futures.

That means ousting Muslims. None can be trusted. Why? Because even the so-called kind Muslims say and do nothing to protest their killing “brothers and sisters.” Therefore, who within a Muslim conclave can finally be trusted?
All Muslims are born to be loyal to the Koran.

And this truth about how and why Muslims are born  has caused Pastor Swank to rethink his support of the Iraq War.

Yes, he has concluded that all that talk about “freedom spread” was just a lot of hooey, because the Muslims on our side are, at the end of the day, still Muslims, and as such are Satanic monsters who deserve killing just as much as the ones who are fighting us.
And so George Bush was wrong to lead us into a war to help them – we should have just nuked the whole Middle East.  And then we should have deported everyone who looked Asian and spoke what might have been Arabic. Deported them all to hell, where they came from!

We freedom lovers were sadly mistaken about planting a democracy in Iraq. One cannot plant a democracy over Islam, the cult. One cannot plant a democracy over Islam, the cult. That is why there is not one Muslim democracy on the planet. Democracy won’t fit. Freedom is the antithesis to cultic, demonic practices prescribed by the Koran. […]
Therefore, America should admit that a huge mistake was made in Iraq.

So, is Pastor Swank, the most fervent of Bush supporters, the guy who used to write five pieces a week praising the President’s wisdom and courage, now claiming that George made a huge mistake, and we should bring the troops home ???

Yup, pretty much.

You know, the Bush White House must be totally depressed about now, because when you’ve lost Pastor Grant Swank, it means that not even your mother supports you anymore.

Bush needs to admit that he made a mistake regarding his understanding of Islam. I personally believe that in his soul he knows that now far too much. So does Tony Blair. Then they need to admit their error and go forward to support our troops by bringing them home.

Remember when only traitors like Congressman Murtha used to say stuff like that?

2.  Dr. Miks S. Adams, Ph.D.:”Colleges for Jews to Avoid, Part I“

Thesis: Jews should avoid colleges where anybody on the faculty has called for a peace settlement between Israel and its enemies.

But more importantly, the military should waive its age, health, and psychological fitness standards and draft Dr. Mike, because he could kill thousands of those Muslim terrorists, if only he was sent to Iraq and given enough bullets.

Excerpts:

Over the course of my life, I have pondered many improbable situations. For example, what would it be like to play first base for the Atlanta Braves?

Translation: Despite all the brooding he does about those who have wronged him, and all intense satisfaction he gets from the hours he spends imagining their fiery deaths, Dr. Mike is really just a regular guy who enjoys the sane wholesome sporting events that you do. Really!

What would it be like to work as Anna Kournikova’s live-in masseuse?

Translation: Despite his hatred of women, and his fear of vaginas, Dr. Mike is very much a lady’s man, and he loves the babes. Really!

Just how many Muslim terrorists could I kill if the military would ignore my age and let me serve as a sniper?

Translation: When they set up canned hunts of swarthy people who speak what might be Arabic, Dr. Mike will so be there!

But I never pondered what life would be like as a Jewish student at the University of Texas at Austin – that is, until I read a letter written by 27 anti-Semites and self-hating Jews who teach there. The letter – addressed to Secretary of State Condi Rice – is reproduced below in its entirety.

Translation: Dr. Mike is going to try to get paid for a whole column, while only contributing about 100 words of his own. But don’t you try doing anything like that in any of his classes, you lazy snot-nosed punks!

3.  John Stossel: “Leave the decadent businessman alone!“

Thesis: Successful businessmen should be able to sexually harass women if they want to – after all, they’re rich!

Sub-thesis: There should be an official droit de seigneur policy at “20/20.” 

Excepts:

Dov Charney is a fast-talking 36-year-old entrepreneur whose company has a loose, sexy atmosphere. As you might guess, some former workers have sued him for sexual harassment.
Charney pays his 4,000 employees, mostly immigrants, an average $12.75 an hour, plus subsidized lunches, health care, and free English classes.
[…]
Charney feels free to engage in sexual relationships with staff members. “If it’s a truly consensual loving relationship,” he says, “there’s nothing wrong with it. I think that those relationships can be very healthy and are very much part of living in a free world.”

Yes, immigrant women, having sex with the boss is very much part of living in a free world.  Remember that!

But in today’s highly policed workplace, that belief brought Charney trouble. Three women who used to work for him sued, claiming he created a “hostile environment.” The plaintiffs say they were made to feel unwelcome, and Charney is accused of dropping his pants and revealing his underwear.
Charney told me, “I’ve never had any intimate intentions with these women. I never propositioned them in any way. All of these allegations are false.”

Of course, the women never said that he had “Intimate intentions” with them, they saidthat he gave them vibrators (shades of Bill O’Reilly!), invited them to masturbate with him, and he exposed himself to them.

But, per Stossel, that doesn’t mean they should be allowed to sue him, because “If you don’t like the atmosphere in a workplace, don’t work there.”

However, our stupid nanny state won’t let a bold,paternalistic entrepreneur like Charney rule his plantation as he sees fit. Damn it, it’s hardly worth being a boss anymore! 

Freedom is the most important thing. But now Charney is a maverick swimming against the tide of Big Government with its endless laws telling us how to live, what we may say, and even whom we can look at sexually.
Do the bureaucrats and labor lawyers really know best?
We’ll be better off when we can paraphrase what Jonathan Edwards said in his 1970s song “Sunshine”: “They can’t even run their own lives. I’ll be damned if they’ll run mine.”

Um, John honey, ”Sunshine” is about a rich guy who tries to run the lives of his workers — and how, after the revolution, we’ll all know where the “fruits of what we do” are going. So, John, are you sure this is the song you wanted to quote in this piece?

But you have proven your creds as a brave, young rebel by quoting both a pop song from the1970s AND a line from Ayn Rand in the same column.  I’m sure you’ll be getting lots of that sweet workplace sex too, now.

4. Meghan Cox Gurdon: “Kitchen Confidential“

When not reviewing children’s books for the Wall Street Journal, Meghan reviews anti-feminist books for The Weekly Standard. (She’s versatile, you see.)

This time she’s reviewing To Hell with All That: Loving and Loathing Our Inner Housewifeby Caitlin Flanagan. The piece’s subtitle, “Inside every feminist, a woman yearns to break free,” gives us a pretty good idea of what she thinks the moral we should take from the book is going to be.

I am aware that the words “candid memoir” have come to imply, in our memoir-littered literary landscape, ever-darker revelations of neglect, debauchery, and (if the publisher is lucky) incest.

Then we’ll take a moment right now to congratulate the future publishers of the inevitable memoirs of Victrola, Heliotrope, Dyspepsia, and Brock Samson Gurdon.

That’s what people seem to want to read, but, mercifully, Flanagan does not reveal anything so gruesome. What she does reveal, though, is in its effect plenty grim. You may laugh out loud at many passages–I certainly did–but what the book says about modern American women may make you want to bang your head against a wall.

I’m guessing that Flanagan says that modern women very rarely weave their own linen sheets these days, and they don’t wear attractive house dresses and pearls while they order the maid to mop and wax the floors. 

First, the good news: Flanagan is a sparkling stylist, and she is definitely on to something with her idea of an “inner housewife,” that secret part of emancipated womanhood that clings to old-fashioned feminine roles even as the outer lawyer, or whatever, rejects them. For who among us doesn’t resent the drudgery of battling squalor through repetitive acts of washing, wiping, and tidying? At the same time, what woman, in her heart of hearts, doesn’t get a weird charge out of a pile of…
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Okay, gentle readers, once again your assignment is to finish Meghan’s paragraph — tell us just what kind of a pile gives every women a weird charge in her heart of hearts?
I know you’ll do me proud with this one!

Original comments below the fold (lots of old favorites, including Doghouse Riley!):

Happy Birthday, Weird Dave! The Ten Weird Questions Edition

As you can tell from the title, which is a blabbermouth and a vicious gossip and always spoils the surprise, today is the natal anniversary of Weird Dave, a valued and respected member of the World O' Crap community for many, many years, and also one of our most prominent nudists.

So what do you say -- let's bring out the cake!  However, in order to maintain his svelte profile, I'm sure Dave eschews sugary desserts, so instead we've replaced the traditional birthday pastry with this tempting terrine of garden vegetables:

Mmm!  I'm sorry we don't have any candles, but the heat would melt the cake's gelatinous outer layer.

Now since it's the weekend, when we normally do this kind of thing, and since Dave is out and proud about his Weirdness, I thought I would cull some of the odder Google searches that have brought people to Wo'C lately and try to answer them, since Google, by virtue of the fact they led the questioners here, did a piss-poor job of it.  Feel free to play along at home...

1.  fence made of severed body parts: I'll take "Donald Trump's Border Security Solutions" for $200, Alex.

2.  dykes hug: Dear Sir, we are in receipt of your "super hot, but politically correct lesbian erotica" and regret to say it does not meet our present needs...

3.  kale shit morons idiots: Well, this being Hollywood, I know plenty of morons and idiots who shit kale, so it seems fair. Circle of life an' all.

4.  "kurt schlichter" “asshole”: Why do I suspect this is how even Kurt Schlichter Googles his own name.

5.  nude pix of ruth buzzi nude: We're not here to judge, Googler, but maybe you could calm down a little? One "nude" should be enough to uncover the photos, or summon the devil, or whatever it is you're trying to do here.

6.  hot love on a welding table - big mild...: This one is kind of a conundrum, since any love on a welding table is, by definition, hot love, while "big mild" sounds like ad copy for some bold but smooth brand of tobacco, so I guess what they're saying here is: Intercourse on a welding table is so hot -- despite the risk of sparks setting your pubic hair on fire -- that afterwards you're really gonna need a cigarette.

7.  inflatable skunk: RealDolls® have been a healing salve for the sexual frustrations of single men with lots of disposable income, while working class bachelors with paltry cash reserves but large, untapped reservoirs of semen may avail themselves of the latex touch of Blow-Up Wanda.  But what about the Furries?  Sure, there's Build-A-Bear, but despite years of disappointed Yelp reviews, they still fail to offer adequate genitalia options. Plus you have to make the bear's sexy costumes yourself, because B-A-B's designers are all prudes. So when you think about it, is a pneumatic skunk with an O-face really all that much to ask?

8.  satanic blasphemous sissy hypnosis: So, that's how gay marriage is going to destroy straight marriage! It all makes sense now....!  You show up at your gay friend's wedding, all set to have a good cry and do the Chicken Dance, but instead of a minister or a justice of the peace there's some weirdo in a hooded black robe standing in front of a statue of Baphomet; he lights some black candles, passes around a chalice of goat's blood, mumbles some mumbo-jumbo, and the next thing you know, you're stumbling out of the Courtyard By Marriott banquet room looking to swap spit and exchange rings with the first dude you see!

9.  chained mussels men movie: Hey guys! It’s that bi-valve BDSM porn we’ve been looking for!

10. i love ted nugent: This doesn't really come as a surprise; after all, somebody married Charles Manson.

And that concludes our broadcasting day. But a party wouldn't be a party without a little cheesecake to make up for whatever the hell that thing was at the top of the post. So, since Weird Dave -- as anyone who's seen his avatar can tell you -- is a known nude frolicker, we present Jean Harlow, who was not opposed to the occasional clothing optional idyl herself:

From Complicated Women: Sex and Power in Pre-Code Hollywood, "With Garbo, sex was a sacrament. With Shearer, sex was emancipation. With Crawford, sex was a commodity. With Harlow sex was just sex, and that’s refreshing. She had a beautiful body, and didn’t mind showing it. When Harlow wore a dress, the dress wanted to come off. Biographer David Stern reports that, with the cameras running for the rain barrel scene in Red Dust, Harlow stood up, topless, and shouted, “Something for the boys in the lab!”

And now here's someone who also enjoys frolicking naked in the desert:

Sexy Birthday Lizard!

Happy birthday, Weird Dave. Thanks for continuing to bring your flapping, sun-burnt body parts to World O' Crap.