Coronal Mass Ejection

I don't want to alarm any of you out there, but according to this story, a massive solar flare - dubbed "cosmic tsunami" - which may or may not have marked the end of times last night and/or in the next five minutes, is heading directly towards Earth, if not already here.

The Sun's surface erupted early Sunday morning, shooting a wall of ionized atoms directly at Earth, scientists say.  "This eruption is directed right at us and is expected to get here early in the day on Aug. 4," said Leon Golub of the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics.

The article continues to describe these eruptions as "coronal mass ejections," which sounds suspiciously like what happens after a long night of drinking cervezas at Senor Frogs - also known as a good time.  So what does this mean for us exactly?

When a coronal mass ejection reaches Earth, solar particles stream down our planet's magnetic field lines toward the poles. In the process, the particles collide with atoms of nitrogen and oxygen in the Earth's atmosphere, which then glow, creating an effect similar to miniature neon signs.

Numerous reports have been received that solar particles have already affected liquor stores and "man-caves" across the country.

As for the solar eruption's arrival, if the Sun's transportation industry is anything like ours, the flares should arrive several hours late, hungry (their ticket price did not include a meal), and with a full bladder.  Citizens are urged to avoid airport bars and public restrooms - this PSA has absolutely nothing to do with the solar flares.

Speaking of airlines, pilots and passengers may be at the most risk for exposure to radiation, described in this report as "levels akin to getting an X-ray."  So, if you are fortunate enough to be flying today, it is highly recommended that you call your dentist immediately upon arrival and schedule a regular appointment, so that he/she can examine your glowing roots from the convenience of their office while you're still in the parking lot - and you can avoid the expense of losing your lunch due to gag reflex when the dental assistant jams those lunchbox-sized film holders into the back of your mouth, roughly 3 inches from your large intestine.  Getting X-rayed at the dentist is about as much fun as trying to fit Shaq's fist in your mouth, but with a little more discomfort.

Dental Assistant:  "Okay, just a few more pictures of your molars now.  I'm just going to use this ski pole to push the film back in place.  [prod][poke][jam]  There.  How's that?"

You:  "Aglglgllglagll." [drool]

Dental Assistant:  Good.  Don't move . . .
     
NASA scientists are also concerned about the negative effects of these electric pulses on our country's electricity grids.  They fear our electricity infrastructure could be crippled for years.  Upon hearing this warning, the House of Representatives, in a rare show of bipartisanship, leapt into action and passed a 750 trillion dollar "emergency" bill to cover our power stations in microwaveable plastic wrap.  The 50,000 page bill has been named the "Tsunamic-sized And Robust Pillaging" program or "TARP III" aka "Return of the TARP," which has many returning actors from the first two installments.  

No reports of outages have been received yet from cities across the nation, but Detroit seems to be especially quiet on the matter, which is believed to be due to the absence of - for lack of a better term - infrastructure.  Also, the cordless bulldozers leveling the city are assumed to be a modified version of the battery-operated Chevy Volt, whose 40-mile range has been deemed "more than enough" and "of no concern" by union officials if such a power failure is to occur.  Although cheaper to produce than a Chevy Volt, traditional bulldozers were scrapped last month because of their rumored "efficiency" in moving things.  This problem is not anticipated with the $41,000 Volt.    
Authorities are asking anyone who experiences power outages, radiation poisoning, or a tan - quote "darker than George Hamilton" - to report it immediately to Congress so that they can cast you in TARP IV - Jason Vs. Freddy.  

On a final note, if you need me I'll be at the bar and/or the polls for some much needed coronal mass ejection.

Goregasm - The Tale of the Adductored Masseuse

Well no wonder the world is warming.  Al Gore (Al is short for Almost, as in Almost President, Almost cool, and Almost sane) is getting hotter than a Penthouse Forum letter.

Here's an excerpt from the Washington Examiner setting the mood on his latest publicized escapade:

The police report of the masseuse's complaint is 73 pages long and extremely detailed. According to the document, she got a call from the front desk of the trendy Hotel Lucia on the night of Oct. 24, 2006. The hotel had a special guest. Could she come at 10:30 p.m.?

She went to Gore's room carrying a folding massage table and other equipment.

Nothing preheats my oven better than a good police report.  Other equipment?  My interest is officially piqued if you know what I mean.  Wink, wink.

Gore, whom she had never met, greeted her with a warm embrace. 

Ooh la la, things are starting to steam up and fast, just the way I like it.  Nothing's worse than these forum letters that try to pretend they're a real story with plot, character dynamics, and all that other horse shit.

Gore.  What a sexy, powerful name - like Cher.  He should seriously drop Almost and go with it.

"The hug went on a bit long, and I was taken just a bit aback by it," the masseuse told police. 

You coy little kitten you.  Trying to play hard to get, eh?  Cynicus likey.

But she went along because Gore "was a VIP and a powerful individual and the Hotel Lucia had made it clear to me by inference that they were giving him 'the royal treatment.'"

Nothing less for the man who guides the galaxy's celestial bodies.  You know, if it weren't for our Sun God sacrificing his wealth to preach the noble tenets of climate change, we'd be lopping off frost bitten digits in the Keys and feebly attempting to reattach melting faces in Minnesota.   All hail the mighty Goracle!

Gore said he was tired from travel and described in detail the massage he wanted. It included work on the adductor muscles, which are on the inside of the thighs. "I mentally noted that a request for adductor work is a bit unusual," the masseuse told police, because it can be "a precursor to inappropriate behavior by a male client."

Awww yeah, the temperature's rising higher than a million unused carbon credits burning in the desert!  Bring on the inappropriate, you naughty little oil vixen.

Gore also requested work on his abdomen. When that began, "He became somewhat vocal with muffled moans, etc.," the masseuse recounted. Gore then "demand[ed] that I go lower." When she remained focused on a "safe, nonsexual" area, Gore grew "angry, becoming verbally sharp and loud."

Tension?  Hmmm. I'm not sure where they're going with this, but I'll go along.  I mean the "muffled moans" from an AARP member in good standing is enough to send any hot blooded American woman into a sexual tizzy.  Am I right ladies?

The masseuse asked Gore what he wanted. "He grabbed my right hand, shoved it down under the sheet to his pubic hair area, my fingers brushing against his penis," she recalled, "and said to me, 'There!' in a very sharp, loud, angry-sounding tone." When she pulled back, Gore "angrily raged" and "bellowed" at her.

What?  Is she serious?  Now she's gone and made "The Gore" angry.  Talk about a mood killer.  Nice one lady.

Then, abruptly, the former vice president changed tone. It was "as though he had very suddenly switched personalities," she recalled, "and began in a pleading tone, pleading for release of his second chakra there."

No woman can resist the legendary Second Chakra (second only to the First Chakra, which is reserved for official Presidents).  It's a good thing this woman is dealing with a spiritual shaman.  Any common man would have given up on the encounter right then.

She wanted to end the session, but Gore "wrapped me in an inescapable embrace" and "caressed my back and buttocks and breasts." She tried to get away -- in the process calling Gore a "crazed sex poodle" -- but the former vice president was too strong for her.

Get away?  I'm starting to think this woman may be a lesbian.  But even then, it IS Algore and sexual identity shouldn't come into play.

"Crazed sex poodle?"  No ma'am, that's no poodle.  That's Man Bear Pig himself.

The accuser said Gore maneuvered her into the bedroom. His iPod docking station was there, he told her, and he wanted her to listen to "Dear Mr. President," a lachrymose attack on George W. Bush by the singer Pink.

Nice play Mr. Almost President.  Only a true Master of Foreplay would know that bringing your most intimate fixations into the bedroom is more entrancing than a thousand candles.

"As soon as he had it playing, he . . . pleaded, grabbed me, engulfed me in embrace, tongue kissed me, massaged me, groped by breasts and painfully squeezed my nipples through my clothing, pressed his pelvis against mine, rubbed my buttocks with his hands and fingers and rubbed himself against my crotch, saying, 'You know you want to do it.'"

I know this is a fantasy and I'm supposed to be turned on by all of this, but not once have I read erotica or watched porn where the lead said, "you know you want to do it."  It seems like the woman should be a willing participant.  Also, this description is a bit violent, kind of like a rape scene.  I'm going to give this story two thumbs down for not including enough romance.

Byron York really missed the mark on this piece.  He should go back to just covering politics.

And Citizen Gore should just go back to his mansion, where he'll continue concocting mad schemes of bilking the world of its wealth, like a morally bankrupt old man, incapable of love and desperate for the days when he thought he mattered.    

"Rosebud."

Oxytocin His Uncaring Ass

Ladies and Gentlemen (soon to be even more gentle),

I have some exciting news to report to you.  There has been a major scientific breakthrough that I truly believe will permanently bridge the rift that exists between man and woman.  Let me allow the esteemed Daily Mail the introduction:

Wish your husband or boyfriend would show his caring side more often? Scientists could have the answer to your prayers - and it's a lot simpler than you might think.

They have come up with a spray that makes men more affectionate and in tune with others' feelings. Just a puff or two of the so-called 'cuddle chemical' and even the most macho of males is as sensitive as a woman, they claim.

Can I get a soft and compassionate "Heck Yeah!?" 

Gone are the days of bickering over trivial issues such as whether or not to watch ESPN or E!, go shopping or go shooting, clean the gutters or sit around and paint each others nails.  Video games?  What are those?

You see Gents, just by giving a couple sprays up our unkempt and barbaric nostrils, we'll transform the world from one of heated arguments to a harmonious existence straight off the set of Sex and The City 2 (I call Charlotte!).

Won't it be absolutely Faaaaabulous girls?  I for one can't wait to see the new uniforms of our public figures.  I think Loro Piana scarves and Fendi handbags will bring a much needed "to-die-for" makeover of our servicemens' fatigues (not that we'll really need an army anymore). 

What could go wrong?  We'll both remember every single detail of everything that's ever happened between us for the lifetime of our relationship, so we'll be sure to frequently remember all the good stuff.  Since we won't be arguing about anything anymore, there'll be no need to bring up the bad stuff. 

And there's a bonus for the guys (sorry ladies).  Do you consider yourself a breastman?  Done.  Because you'll have an extra set to cuddle anytime you want!  Not that you'll really care about that anymore. 

The spray is based on oxytocin - a hormone naturally made in the body and involved in sex, sexual attraction, trust and confidence. It is released into the blood during labour - triggering the production of breast milk - and floods the brain during breastfeeding, helping mother and baby bond.

No news on whether use by already effeminate men will result in a pendulum-like swing to the manly side or if these poor "fellows" will just be paralyzed by emotion.


The ladies out there might question, "But what if there are guys out there that haven't been spayed, I mean sprayed?  Will they still be able to hurt us?"

Simple enough.  I am confident this discovery is going to open up a whole new industry of products, very likely lifting us out of our economic recession.  Products such as pepper spray replacements for those more aggressive members of society, like muggers, rapists, and salesclerks at Express For Men. 

Edibles are in line as well for the primitive meat eaters out there - oxyburgers, New York strip Oxy, etc. 

Fashionable drinks at the lush lounges?  Why not?  "Yes, I'll have an Oxymoron please.  With extra lemon wedge."

The possibilities are endless.  Just don't expect to get any at a moment's notice ladies.  We expect to be wined and dined. 

Mother Earth Fires 500,000 Americans

The AP cites snow as the main culprit in a half-million Americans filing new jobless claims last week.

Why are you snickering?  This makes complete logical sense.  Think about it:

A.) Wouldn't you, being the cowardly and selfish fat-cat boss we hear so much about in the news, rather "can" your no-good employees from the comforts of home than face their pathetic pleas for mercy as you send them packing in person?  I know my preferred method is via email (it allows me time to wax poetic the number of ways they've failed my business - plus you can attach coupons to McDonald's; it's the right thing to do).

B.) Mother Earth is pissed. We've mocked her "cycles" for too long.  Just to show us who's boss, she'll sacrifice a half-million of our livelihoods a week until we correct our erroneous ways:  designer coffee, Smart Cars, and miniature dogs  (Her logic here is impeccable:  less jobs = less money = less of these items). 

Fellow citizens of Earth, we have a choice to make.  We can either abandon a few materialistic things to appease Mother, or we can continue to destroy our economy with winter storms.  I know where I stand, do you?

OMG!  Louis Vitton has their new line of handbags out that will be perfect for Poopi, my toy poodle!  Screw it, I don't even live in the Northeast.  Sorry Suckas!
   

Son of a Beach!

My.  God.  He actually did it.

If you're like me, you plan your warm weather excursions well in advance, but with the recent scurge of climate change threatening the sea levels you just don't feel comfortable planning your 2078 trip to Daytona Beach right now.  For all you know it may not even exist by the time you get there.  Best case, all the cash spent ordering Daytona Beach gear (DB bumberstickers, neon muscle-shirts, transparent visors, and license plate key-chains) online so that you fit in with the locals on day one will be a complete waste since the beach has moved . . . to Tulsa. 

Well fret no more my fellow Parrotheads, our fave beaches have been saved.

Of all the campaign promises President Obama put out there in 2008, I was most skeptical of his stopping the rising seas whopper, but boy am I green with embarrassment.  YES WE CAN!  

Freeze in D.C.

No, unfortunately this post's title is not referrning to a permanent freeze in federal spending, but rather the temperature of our representatives' nether regions.  You see, it's snowing like Rosie O'Donnell's toilet flushes after a 12-hour binge at the Sizzler - in other words, it's piling on and backing up:

From CNN:

Several cities had record snowfalls.


The storm canceled or delayed flights in several cities, kept federal workers home for a third straight day in Washington, and taxed local government budgets as cities and counties scrambled to pay for snow removal, overtime, salt, supplies and equipment.

Any time we can keep government "out of office" is an opportunity to delay the inevitable debt of our greatgreatgreatgreatgreatgreatgreatgrandchildren, and I'm all for it.  GO GLOBAL WARMING!!!