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A Nice Hard Slap - EW, I Call Shenanigans on You

no@spam.com (Nick Nunziata) — Sun, 08 Nov 2009 00:00:00 EST

The Men Who Stare at Goats is not a masterpiece. It's a fun, light movie featuring some great actors having a good time entertaining us and the result is worth the time spent with it. In the pantheon of the comedy we're subjected to in a given year it's far better than most of the Happy Madison efforts and not up to something you'd get from the Coen brothers or Apatow [though he had an off year in 2009]. It is a good little flick and a nice debut for Grant Heslov.

EW gave it an F. The reviewer: Owen Gleiberman. Not that I'm surprised or anything. He's long been about as reliable as a home invader and his publication spends more time with Michael Jackson, Twilight, and reality television than anything actually relevant. But still, he fucked up.

Read it here if you want.

An F. Let's put in perspective with a few recent movies that fared better than The Men Who Stare at Goats, a fun film that had a marketing campaign giving a goat the same amount of advertising space as Hollywood megastars.

The Boondock Saints II: The movie got a D. Now I've not seen this film because the original is a fucking nightmare. I would bet good money it's undeserving of being on the same continent as the goat flick, let alone a full point better.

Saw VI: The movie got a D. It's a Saw movie. The best Saw movie deserves an F. That's how good they are.

Couples Retreat. The movie got a B-. It's dried AIDSblood and it got a better rating than the goat movie.

Tyler Perry's __________________. He released two films this year, because he's Lucifer. Both got far better ratings than the goat movie, and the goat movie didn't shit on dozens of years of great work by black filmmakers.

Halloween II. Rob Zombie put a death row shiv into the ballsack of John Carpenter's classic and got a C+ to The Men Who Stare at Goats' F.

Shorts. The most annoying trailer from one of the most head-scratchingly mediocre directors out there got a far better review than the goat film.

Pandorum. A horrible, horrible movie. Better review than the goat movie.

I could go on...

There has to be an agenda here. There's no way on Earth the goat movie is in the ballpark of any of the terrible movies mentioned above. There simply HAS to be an agenda. No reviewer could be this off the mark and this poor about explaining why he hated the movie. Makes me wonder, since EW is already really difficult to find in most retail outlets, why not trim the staff a little of some of the dead weight?

Here is a sampling of movies EW has given an F to. I also have highlighted in RED the ones they really fucked up. Oh and aside, they gave Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas a D-. Cocksuckers.

8 Heads in a Duffel Bag
88 Minutes
Alone in the Dark
Brenda Starr
Balls of Fury
Drop Dead Fred
Femme Fatale
Joe Versus the Volcano
Kids in the Hall: Brain Candy
Saving Silverman
Surviving Christmas
Wing Commander

None of those movies deserve to be compared equally to The Men Who Stare at Goats. Not even by a longshot.

These good to great movies got an F from this magazine:

The Exorcist III
A Life Less Ordinary
Navy Seals
Night Watch (2006)
O' Brother Where Art Thou?

Wow.

So what I'm saying is, continue doing exactly what you've been doing, attaching absolutely no significance at all to the reviews in EW.

The Official Handbook of the Nick Nunziata Universe #9

no@spam.com (Nick Nunziata) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 00:00:00 EDT

I understand that it's important to be GREEN*. To be conscious of energy concerns. My car gets decent mileage. I throw my shit in the trash. I get pissed at people who litter and wish I was allowed to shoot people in the face if I see them fucking up. I recycle my tampons. I do my part for the world around me when I can. That said, in my own home regarding stuff I pay for, people need to get the fuck out of my life.

There's a commercial that's been running for the better part of a year now that has the gall to suggest that a great way to heal the Earth is to set our thermostats to around 78 degrees in the summer and around 72 in the winter.

That's fucking dumb.

Our homes are the one place we are in control of our environment. I personally love the cold. In my office downstairs I try and maintain a very arctic environment and literally feel like a fish out of water when I'm someplace indoors and warm where someone has their A/C off (especially the car). I have trouble breathing. Moving air is vital. That said, the cooler the better.

For a company to tell us to make ourselves uncomfortable in our own homes is lazy and counter to the point. We make sacrifices and deal with headaches so we can enjoy our time at home. Our own happy place. If there's an energy problem, us changing our thermostats may save a few bucks, but at the cost of our comfort. Fuck that. Plus, it's not going to make some great change in the state of things. It's a stopgap. At best. It's not going to change anything. Except make our homes less fun to spend time in.

It pisses me off. When I'm at home my goal is to keep my thermostat at 70 degrees all year round. Perfection. When I'm on the road sometimes I'll go even lower and enjoy the chill. I'm an extreme and I know it, but when I go to a relative or friend's house and they've got it at 80 degrees you can guarantee my stay will be a short one. It's one of the reasons I always stay in a hotel when we visit family. There are other reasons, but I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.

So, keep your energy saving tips to yourself, power company. Or be more aggressive in serving your customers. Or in pursuing new, cleaner and more efficient energy. Don't put the onus on the end consumer. That's dumb and lazy. We're the ones paying you for your service.

I'm typing this in a chilly room, rain pounding the windows, and the Yankees beating the Red Sox on TV. This is why we work. To be in a good place that is conducive towards that most fleeting thing: Mental Health.

In my case it's a losing battle, but at least I'll be comfortable for the descent into madness.

Now, please enjoy the last two Nightsticks albums for free.

* - TRENDY!

A Nice Hard Slap - The Curious Case of Mothra Rainbow Sparkle

no@spam.com (Nick Nunziata) — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 00:00:00 EDT

This past Wednesday was a lot of things, and most of them were bad. But one very aspect of today was exciting, fun, and borderline enlightening. After dealing with nasty and baffling site related issues (I'm sure you were aware) I went to the cigar bar to enjoy a special event they were having. On its own, it was a pleasant experience. But, my delightful friend Andrea brought a special guest to the proceedings that literally changed the whole tapestry of the day.

An Imperial Moth.

With a wingspan of around five inches, these beautiful animals are as eye-catching as any I've seen. Elegant. Unique. An entity whose arrival was met with complete awe and interest.

How rare is that? What most people classify "a bug" is brought in and no one suggests smashing it or seeing if we can put it where a bird will eat it. We decide to take it outside to the safety of a copse of trees and release it on with the caveat that if it's still there in three hours when we leave that we'll take it to my newly created screened in deck gazebo. A sort of enclosed insect habitat if you defy the point of the thing (keeping pests OUT). Three hours later, the beautiful little creature was waiting for us and since we'd planned on plugging in our laptops (slang) and working on the deck we took the moth off the tree and it hitched a ride with Andrea.

Let's step back an hour or so. Though the cigar event was nice, and the Johnny Walker Green we were drinking was nicer, the moth continued to invade my mind. So I began searching for more information. Maybe it was the scotch, maybe it was residual stress seeping out from the virus that scuttled this site's productivity for three days, or maybe I'm just getting wimpy on the eve of my new kid's arrival... but the more I read the more poetic and sad and mysterious these animals were.

We've all learned about the life cycles of moths and butterflies in class and for many the sticking points were still there. As a huge fan of the natural world and its creatures I had what I thought was a good grasp.

Wrong.

First of all, dig this. These moths have no mouth. They don't eat. Neither the males nor the females have a mouth. This blew my mind. No, there's not a proboscis or anything that serves as the mouth. Mouths on these creatures have been 'reduced' over evolution. Deemed redundant. All of the eating these guys are going to do is done in previous stages in its life and they live on that stored energy. Sadly only for a short time.

No mouths. No hope for a decent length of life in one of the most interesting and beautiful forms nature has provided.

When you hold one of these, its heft and the strength of its legs is surprising. It'll cling to your finger and just lounge there, not burning precious fuel. Its "face" is an adorable fluffy mass with eyes that are tucked in during the daylight hours, though they'll pop out and check things out if it's disturbed. So much character and personality in this thing that at times has been a rather hideous and spiny caterpillar.

Egg to Larvae to Pupa to Adult in a bizarre and amazing year completely driven by instinct with no deviation. You don't hear of a cocoon hatching and the moth saying 'fuck it, I'm going south to find me a nice katydid and settling down". They exist in this perpetual cycle seemingly pulled from science fiction in the way it balances things we can understand and the almost unfairness of it all.

This moth was in the last days of its life. This form the one it inhabits the shortest time. All that work and survival from the weather, predators, lack of food, and whatever else has led this survivor to us. This docile, phenomenal animal had no future except to breed. Couldn't feed it. Couldn't give it water. Couldn't put it in a safe place to be free of danger. Time is the enemy for these guys and there's nothing we could do.

The goal was simple. Bring the moth to the gazebo, allow it to spend a night undisturbed so my daughter could meet it before we let it go. I knew for a fact that when Sofia saw this thing it would set off a light bulb of curiosity and fascination and love for it that would help further establish a respect and love for animals she's already shown a grace with at her age. Which is five and a half going on Pi.

Night crept in and so did the deeply implanted instincts for our friend the Imperial Moth.

As Andrea drove to the house she heard a rustling in the container housing the gentle giant. Was it scared? Dying? Shitting its proverbial pants?

No. The little boy was a little girl as it turns out.

You hear of so many roadside births where a couple is unable to get to the hospital in time and a child is delivered in the back seat of a car [fitting]. By the time the moth arrived at my house she had delivered quite a few clutches of eggs. Little tiny yellow beads all holding the promise of the unforgettable specimen we'd come to know.

Stressed out from the reality of her odd life, the moth was set gently on a paper orb lantern where she could do whatever it is that recently birthed moths do. She took a load off and rested her weary, furry little head.

What had begun with curiosity now carried purpose.

Nothing was going to fuck with these eggs.

As the night wore on I kept checking on the moth, now one able to add an 'er' to its classification. I was waiting for her to die. She had done everything life had asked of her. She had traveled more miles than most moths do, endured it all with class, and delivered her precious payload. I wanted to think how best to let her time in hospice go well. I feared letting her go because in reality all she'd have done was find a place to rest, only right in the crosshairs of the numerous predators patrolling the area.

Then there was my daughter. She had to see this creature. So I left the lights on for the moth and went to bed, leaving a note with Catherine to wake me up when Sofia wakes up (usually at an ungodly hour) so I could check and make sure this animal was still in a condition that wouldn't ruin the experience.

She was. Right where I left her. Alive and well.

The look on my daughter's face when she met the moth is the kind of thing that you remember when things are bad, reassurance that the world for all its puzzling travesties, is capable of pure and innocent perfection.

Everything from there revolved around the moth and her young. How we could create a perfect place for them to grow up safe and what kind of trees we needed to buy to feed them and where to make soft soil for them to burrow and on and on. It was phenomenal. I told Sofia she could name the moth and she took it very seriously. She tried to think of the most beautiful things in the world and on the ride to camp told my wife that the moth would be named Rainbow Sparkle, combining the best things she could think of to honor the majestic creature residing in our new guest house.

Later she gave it the first name Mothra, one of her very favorite characters from (I wish) non-fiction.

Mothra Rainbow Sparkle. I'll take it.

Now it's Friday and she's been with us through rain, sun, and a bout of horrible humidity. She's had two smaller moths hang out near her and been privy to hours of discussion, jazz, and hookah smoke. She's laid another three eggs and enjoyed a nice breeze blowing her face as she prepares for the inevitable. Her children will be born and protected and taken to the best possible location to ensure they carry out their mother's tradition. When she dies she will be immortalized in one way or another.

Though I secretly hope for nature to hiccup and forget this particular moth when it does its cleansing rounds and allows her to be a daily source of warmth and curiosity for this meager household and our extended family. That she'll grow a mouth and it'll be conducive to Italian food and multigrain waffles.

Yeah, in the grand scheme it's just a "bug". So was Charlotte the spider. Didn't stop you from bawling as a kid. Or as a grown-up.

In this case it was a reminder. A perspective changer. Therapy in the form of a simple elegant chassis.

The moth with the silly name is special and she's going to die soon. There's no perfect way for her to go, just so long as it doesn't end a millisecond earlier than it has to. Her journey to this place probably caused her to burn more energy than she should have. It's too valuable to waste. She will die but she will die not by a predator's beak or claw, not by the heat of a candle, or the treads of a boot. She will die when those strong little legs let go of whatever she's holding onto when she's damn good and ready and her body will be given a resting place worthy of a queen.

And she can die knowing she not only delivered on her life promise to absolute perfection, but take a little comfort that she also improved the lives of a handful of people she got to meet.

A Nice Hard Slap - Back off, WAY OFF... from Wal-Mart

no@spam.com (Nick Nunziata) — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 00:00:00 EDT

To kill time and entertain myself I'll walk through a store like a Target or Publix and watch the people and try to figure out which one is The Thing and how best to dispose of them before they infect the others. At a Wal-Mart I know I'm the only one who isn't The Thing. The result is that I get thoughts of exterminating the whole lot before they get better taste in stores and ruin the world.

This isn't an anarchist blog nor a snobby one. I am a snob [if I could shop exclusively at Whole Foods and The Fresh Market for groceries I would], but my hate for Wal-Mart has nothing to do with the business model or delightful deals they offer. Oftentimes Wal-Mart is a beacon of salvation in rural areas. Whenever we'd visit St. Simons Island in the 90's there was no denying that one must visit the Super Wal-Mart in Brunswick because otherwise there was no enjoying life without it. Remote locations are just shitholes in the wild until a Wal-Mart arrives and then they have evolved into the next awful phase of whatever their existence is. Wal-Mart is the weekend's festivities for many folks stuck out in the middle of nowhere. One of my formerly close friends has a beach house in Port St. Joe on the Florida Panhandle and the remoteness of the house was the key, but we had to make a few 30-minute treks to Wal-Mart to preserve our lives, because there's only so many times someone should visit The Trembling Pork*.

The problem with Wal-Mart is the people.

I don't mind that low income families and a lot of the immigrants both legal and illegal flock to it for reasons logical and sane. I also don't mind that some folks have no other geographical choice [though it's not entirely impossible to relocate your life if your current life sucks] and go there due to necessity. Wal-Mart is to many a supermarket, a bait and tackle shop, and the place to clothe your family on the cheap.

For the rest of the Lovecraftian entities patrolling the store, they are fair game to be ridiculed and pointed and laughed at.

Wal-Mart is not a place to go unless you are forced to by location or resources.

I went to one of these horrible stores to pick up a crib for the oncoming plague/infant provided by a generous relative, an event my wife prepped me for with a pot of coffee and no other chores (she knows of my disdain). I didn't bother being the proverbial Macready to their proverbial body-inhabiting space beings. I was outnumbered and it seemed that the Blairmonster had set up shop in the lingerie aisle already.

The Wal-Mart in question is located on Mansell Road in Roswell, Georgia. Once a really affluent area, Roswell has aged decently, though once you cross Holcomb Bridge Road on Highway 9 you'd best know at least Spanish, Korean, and Klingon. The rest of Roswell is still quite nice. There are plenty of shopping options. Enough to make me wonder why the people I saw had descended down from the mountains near military base from The Mist to shop.

Twisted, distorted white people. Morbidly obese, rail-thin, and very little in between. It was as if the carnival had come through town having responded to fliers that read "bring us your hideous, malformed, and surprisingly not handicapped". These are regular, "healthy" people, but ones seemingly run through a Photoshop filter in life. Spherized, Distended, Amalgamated, and Disturbing. Weird hair on head and face and beyond. Eyes that darted around as if hoping to spot the alien bounty hunter before it spotted them. Tongues that flicked in and out as if tasting the air for human fear to prey on.

In short, the weirdest and ugliest group of people I've ever seen outside of a comic book convention.

I was lucky to get the crib and leave before the shunting began.

What is it about Wal-Mart that summonds the misanthropes, cast-offs, and Moorlocks among us? Was it a curse which befell the Walton family? Was it something tied to a Skull & Bones ritual long thought lost to time? Was it a response to the end of Hitler's reign by the forces of the night?

Or is it that the foul needs a place to shop too?

Either way, I ain't going back without my flamethrower.

* Piggly Wiggly to you.

A Nice Hard Slap - Rise of the Animals, Part One

no@spam.com (Nick Nunziata) — Fri, 10 Jul 2009 00:00:00 EDT

We need more beasts to arrive from nowhere and fuck our perception of reality.

We need misshapen brethren from the sea to rise and give us a taste of horror.

We need scary entities who defy cognitive recognition to emerge with an attitude.

We need musky dwellers to envelop us in their wicked embrace.

We need science and religion to collectively shrug and say "we didn't expect this".

We need humans to move below the surface to avoid the sticky murder the surface threatens.

We need things we once believed to be a delicacy to become our devourers.

Until then we exist in oblivion.

The takeover is beginning...

http://baxterking.com/?p=362

A Nice Hard Slap - Rubbing the Twit of a Celebrity

no@spam.com (Nick Nunziata) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 00:00:00 EDT

Anyone can add a celebrity Twitter account to the list of accounts they follow. I have quite a few and I regret most of them. Like I really enjoy hearing all the fancy shit Frank Marshall's doing while I wait in futility for a programmer to fix my site...

It does not bring you one degree of separation closer to "greatness", folks. But I understand wanting to see what's on their mind, how they deliver information to their friends and public. How well they can put a sentence together.

But to respond to their comments? Dumb. And expecting a response? Dumber. And thinking you're somehow a part of their lives? Fuck off! Even if they throw you a bone and respond to something you say, it's vapor, gone the minute someone walks by in their real life. You're sitting at home with MS Paint Shop Pro painstakingly painting your avatar green because so and so said to. You're namedropping their Twitter comment at work because it makes you almost sort of involved.

You aren't. Just be you, however pitiful it may be. At least it's real.

A Nice Hard Slap - Whys iFans?

no@spam.com (Nick Nunziata) — Mon, 22 Jun 2009 00:00:00 EDT

I'll admit that's not a seaworthy pun. Secretly I love it.

I have to admit that I am a big fan of a lot of things. If cornered I'd say that yes, Morgan Freeman's voice is a textured, oaky bit of magic. If cornered. Only then.

Facebook, of which I am also a fan, can go fuck itself in the shower with all this 'become a fan' nonsense. It was acceptable when it was intermittent and available on a separate little sidebar. Every once in a while it'd pull some nugget from my tastes and actually pique my interest. Then again, it was way wide of the mark when it asked me if I wanted to be a fan of the Georgia Bulldogs. I have no loyalty to any college team or any college, but I have suffered watching Bulldog fans like no other, which leaves me feeling that there are some hiccups in the Facebook Big Brother search tactics.

But then they really fucked up by adding the 'become a fan' to the 'people you may know' section. I've actually found dozens of legitmate folks through that feature, people I'd had not thought of searching for or ones that joined Facebook post my last combthrough.

These fan things are dumb, insulting at times, and cheapen the experience. Who gives a doves pussyhole if someone is a fan of milk mustaches? Are we ready to be judged as humans dependent on whether or not our passion for Uriah Heep is enough to warrant an extra mouse click?

Now I just go to that section and brush my teeth since it's much easier when my jaw is on the floor.

People, some of them theoretically friends of mine, FUCKING CLICK ON THESE! If you're really a fan of sarcasm... you'd write a blog about this nonsense instead of taking the easy road and clicking.

That's why I'm me and so fucking bitching.

To become a fan of bitching, click here.

A Nice Hard Slap - Cruelty to Animals, BECAUSE THEY CAN.

no@spam.com (Nick Nunziata) — Tue, 16 Jun 2009 00:00:00 EDT

"Look, an animal!"

"Let's KILL it."

And this is how mistakes are made.

I'm not perfect. I killed a snake once when I was a kid. I massacred entire ant colonies. I did stupid shit like that.

The Flood, that was me.

I regret every moment of it and go way out of my way not to cause harm to our fine feathered, furred, and carapaced little friends. I've written a few times about the the Brown Recluse Spider I found in my home that I took to the woods and freed, hoping to create a few ripples of good animal karma for down the line. So far, not one Bengal Tiger has attacked me at the mall so I have to be doing something right.

But other people... they suck.

I cannot believe how many times I've been in a situation where I've been around people and upon seeing a bug, fish, or land animal, a person I'm with has the first reaction to showcase their human dominance and attempt to destroy it.

Sometimes its the hunters, who don't see a deer as a beautiful animal but something to shoot and theoretically turn into food and a trophy. Sometimes it's the people who are afraid of any insect whose first impulse is to swat, not thinking about how short these little creatures lives are without our interference. Sometimes it's people who are potential psychopaths, starting a killing path they'll follow to a clocktower some day.

I was at the home of my relatives in Florida recently and in their back patio spotted a snake. A ring snake, full adult size: 5 inches. It'd have to go to the gym three weeks straight just to attain harmlessness. My uncle's first instinct... KILL IT. The same goes for any lizard or bug who wanders in from the oppressive Florida heat. Left to their own devices the snake eat the lizards, the lizards eat the bugs, and whomever's left steers way clear of the humans. Sounds like harmony to me.

I'm sitting on someone's deck playing poker and one of the crew makes a big presentation about slamming their hands around a beetle flying in the vicinity. As if he were saving us from Pearl Harbor 2: The Teenage Years. It's a bug traveling from over there to across the way, one who was probably about to be tasted by a finch anyways... why interfere?

I'm at the bar and a little spider can be spotted in the sunlight hightailing down his web towards the ground where some little jackass gnat was probably causing some shit. A broom appears and is swung onto the tiny beast on its descent. Some people didn't get the memo: SPIDERS ARE HELPFUL.

I'm at my father in-law's house and there's a pellet gun leaned against the window, the weapon of choice to use upon the squirrels and rabbits who happen to head into his garden to enjoy the delicacies planted there. Suburban critters can't read but they do know that grocery stores were invented so modern folks don't need to be Early American settlers. Way I see it, if there's a squirrel in the garden let the dogs out. They'll keep 'em honest.

I'm on the golf course and a family of deer crosses the fairway. One of the group mentions that he wished he had his hunting rifle.

I never played golf with that cocksucker again. Fuck him.

Folks, they have exactly as much right living as you do. They are not one iota less a part of the world. Many times, their lifespans are a fraction of ours. Add that to the numerous things we are doing on purpose and inadvertently to kill them off and I think the hollow joy folks feel when they showcase their dominance ought to be snuffed out for the greater good.

Animals are great. Even the ugly ones. And remember, we are one scientific experiment away from having an onslaught of 20 foot-tall crickets shredding our homes and rupturing our eardrums with their sweet leg songs.

There will be a reckoning and even if there isn't, why not try being not an asshole.

A Nice Hard Slap - Jesus Built My Hot Rod. And Mansion.

no@spam.com (Nick Nunziata) — Wed, 13 May 2009 00:00:00 EDT

Shit like this drives me absolutely batshit.

Folks using religion as a get rich scheme, and in ways so transparent it only makes the folks who pony up look more sheep-like. In fact, it doesn't do much for the "Christianity isn't a Pyramid Scheme" paradigm.

A couple of guys have created "custom" t-shirts declaring the Christianity of the wearer. There's a branding to it and they are individually numbered 1 - 1,000,000. They are selling these shirts to Christians, starting at $20 a pop!

You figure... if they sell a million, that's $20,000,000 dollars for them!

But here's the silver lining... they're donating 30% of the proceeds to Christian missions. Which means only $14,000,000 for them! So, let's subtract the cost of making the shirts and the marketing aspect of the business.

Maybe they only have to split $7,000,000. Life's tough.

Here's the most simple way I can put it:

If you love your God and have faith in your faith, WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED?

If anyone is going to be swayed because you're wearing a shirt or because you have a fish on the back of your car, then they are absolutely dumb and not worth having in your group.

Also, if you are going to look for folks in public widely publicizing their religion so hardcore that they're wearing a damn I.D. shirt then you need to piss the hell away and steer clear of me because I have some minor but vital sinning to do and I don't need the grief.

If you buy one of these shirts you are dumb.

A Nice Hard Slap - Dr. Laura, In Praise of Hypocrisy

no@spam.com (Nick Nunziata) — Tue, 05 May 2009 00:00:00 EDT

Dr. Laura Schlessinger is a bitch. This is not news.

She's also a hypocrite and a dangerous weapon against the better judgment of women with radios all across this fine nation. She rode her gay listenership until in 1997 when she decided to turn on them in a fit of ultra-conservative fury, standing on a pulpit and denouncing their ways. She is the epitome of the right wing's worst tendencies, to use religion as a weapon and lay bone bare with the the text from scripture. Why? To govern their decisions as she sees fit and interpret it to her [and her ilk] whims depending on how the breeze blows. She turned on the gay people and condemned them as a biological error. Luckily, they didn't take that accusation casually [this site helped kick her ass a little]. She railed against promiscuity and illicit sex, but then was revealed to have taken nude photos for a married man she was banging back in the day. Then that 'sin' became something else she could use to "strengthen" her. It's folks like this who make me loathe organized religion. They condemn and look down upon people... until THEY are caught. Then they use the religion loophole as if God was testing them, preparing them for some purpose.

Bullshit. She's a hypocrite and a slimy bullshitter.

And she somehow STILL has the ears of millions of women, some of which probably actually take her word as bond even though Dr. Laura is a sham. In the 90's I had to endure my wife listening to her from time to time and it never failed that she'd lay down some blanket accusation on a caller that reeked of stupidity and condescension and I'd bet dollars to doughnuts that she really ruined the lives of some fragile people who called her for help.

They'd call in and once they mentioned that they'd done something 'bad', Dr, Laura would swoop in and focus on that.

"You're trying to cure cancer but you had sex with a black man so you're a horrible person who has no value on Earth."

That's not verbatim, but probably not too close to the truth. If someone had done something even superficially "sinny", whatever came out of their mouth afterwards fell on deaf Schlessinger ears.

Now she's all about Moms. Her audience. Moms. Moms with radios, the majority of which who probably think Barack Obama has spent all this time as a ruse and is just waiting for his moment to strike and declare dibs on all the white women.

I'm sure some fine people are fans of Dr. Laura. But I'm also sure there's a lot more idiots who are.

Now she's invading movie theaters tonight and tomorrow night with some bullshit thing for Mother's Day.

In Praise of Moms.

From what I understand, she'll tackle many of the tough things mothers face and give her invaluable advice on how to raise a child that will go into the real world as ill-prepared for reality as possible.

All for $20.00!

I was sitting in a theater the other day thrilled that I lived in a world where Dr. Laura didn't invade me and there she was in all her obviously cosmetically surgeried glory pimping [which is a sin!] this product.

http://www.drlaura.com/main/dr_laura_live_in_praise_of_mom.html

That anyone would buy a ticket to this nightmare is beyond me. If someone is a mother and has been doing it for some time, they're probably better equipped than this millionaire zealot to deal with life's trials. If someone is thinking about becoming a mother or wants to pay respect to the act of motherhood, THERE'S AN OVERRATED HOLIDAY THIS SUNDAY FOR THAT PURPOSE!

The woman has already proven she has the integrity of a Dorito, and somehow she's still finding ways to infiltrate the minds of potentially good people. The ones who are Dr. Laura automatons already, well maybe there'll be a building collapse at the theater [it's covered in your insurance, theater owners... THINK ABOUT IT] and life will prosper.

But the bottom line is that this is a dangerous, annoying, and useless piece of plastic wrinkleflesh that needs to be at least ignored, if not sealed in a mirror and sent spiraling off into the cosmos.

As an aside, she has apparently been involved with and founded some very effective charities for children and I commend her for taking time out from being a fuckface to do so. I think the greatest gift she can give these children is to get them help and never show her face again. Unless she gives the adoloescent boys her nude pics for much needed jackoff material.