A Postcard To Dr. James Dobson

Weather is great. Wish you were queer.
Signed - Your Porous Pal, SpongeBob

When I was preparing this post, the Captain chided, "Don't be giving SpongeBob a bad name now." Alright, alright. So maybe that postcard was a little harsh. But my friends know that me and Spongie go way back. I mean, I have SpongeBob pajamas, SpongeBob notebooks, SpongeBob floor mats in my Jeep, and yes, SpongeBob panties, ok?

So, how am I supposed to let this slide?

Christian Conservative Attacks SpongeBob

Look - I have nothing against the Christian Right. Some of my best friends are from the Christian Right . I have a problem with the Christian Wrong.

Do you mean to tell me that you have nothing better to do than criticize an innocent cartoon character, blaming the yellow fellow for "brainwashing" children into gay lifestyles? Sure the little guy is happy....but gay? Obviously, Dr. Dobson, you've never watched the fricking show.

For example, as Ben pointed out, SpongeBob is in love with Sandy - you know, the FEMALE squirrel from Texas! If he was gay, not only would the porous patty preparer avoid women, he would certainly avoid Texas! JEEZ-us! And the dude lives where? Hello! The Bikini Bottom? Come on! Only the most heterosexual of males dive down there face first! And then there's SpongeBizzle's attire. Look, I live in South Florida and I can tell you - a gay man would never wear a short-sleeved shirt with a tie. And a black belt with brown pants is a definite homo no-no.

Look, Dr. Dobson, if anyone on that show is gay, it's Squidward. (Ok, and possibly Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy, but I digress...) Go watch a few episodes and you'll understand. Squidward lives alone, plays the clarinet, and has never expressed any interest in female companionship. In fact, in one episode when SpongeBob offered him a Krabby Patty, Squidward said no. (What? You guys don't think that the Krabby Patty is a euphemism for female genitalia? Oh. Oops.)

So what if Spongie holds hands with Patrick? Patrick is a starfish for cripe's sake. (You know, a hermaphrodite.) That could be taken either way.

Dr. Dobson - you are clearly confused. For example, if you had seen the SpongeBob Square Pants movie, you would remember the scene where SpongeBob realizes that, as a man, he can spank himself. (Ok - I can NOT be the only one that thought that was a euphemism for....well, something else).

I personally have nothing against homosexuality. But if you do, Dr. Dobson, that's your prerogative. All I ask is that you keep your mealy mouth shut about my little square friend. There's plenty of other cartoons out there to defame. Hell, I'll even help you insult Barney and Bob The Builder if you want. But stay away from SpongeBob (and the Sesame Street characters too, by the way).

In fact, you know what, Dr. Dobson? Why don't you go spank yourself.

(Nothing but love. Nothing but love.)

Signed Sassy Squarepants

This Story Sucks...

Man Claims Ex-Fiancee Stole His Sperm And Impregnated Herself

Dude says his woman secreted his secretions on the sly. Seems that, after fellating the fellow, the chick mumbled "I'll be right back" and left the room. We don't have the details of what happened behind the closed bathroom door, but I imagine it involved some spitting and a turkey baster.

And now, all hell's gonna break loose in the backseats of cars across America. It's gonna be like the medication-dispensation scene from "Girl, Interrupted" with dudes insisting we open our mouths to prove we swallowed. Can't you picture it?


"Ok. Now lift up your tongue, please."

I'll tell you what - when there's no more hummers in Hummers, don't say I didn't warn you guys.

P.S. Thanks to The Boz for bringing this "juicy" story to my attention!

Is That A Cattle Prod?

The Bar Exam's For Dummies: A Beginner's Guide
by Sassy Esquire

Yes. The Bar exam is very much like a cattle prod. It's hard, it's long, and you take it right up the....street from my old house.

Yesterday, our good friend, Jazzy, completed that multi-day torture. Again. Yep. This was her second time around. Now - lest you think Jazzy is anything less than intelligent - be not alarmed. This time she took the exam in another state. And no, she isn't a fugitive. Like me, she simply chose to seek a license to practice law in a second state. And as such, she was required to study, sweat, and bend over again, even though she has already passed one of the (if not the) most difficult Bar exams in the country, i.e. Delaware's.

I see some of you are confused. Don't worry. That's what I'm here for - to confuse you. Actually, let me see if I can explain the folly of the Bar exam process.


Lack Of Concentration Camp.

Before we begin, let me set the scene: It's 8 am. You haven't slept for 3 months. You are about 25 pounds lighter than usual because you've lived on nothing but Diet Coke and No-Doze since you graduated law school in May. You are in an ice-cold auditorium, sitting on the most uncomfortable chair known to man, and surrounded by about 3,500 other exam takers. For some inexplicable reason, you have your belongings (pens, pencils, sharpener, and unwrapped Riccola candies) in a zip-lock bag. Everyone around you has 1000-yard stares and very bad breath.

You are anxious. You are trying to remember what the letters COAH stand for relevant to the doctrine of adverse possession. And, if you're me, you're hoping to god that the examiners forgot to include any criminal law questions because this morning at 3 am you realized you forgot to study that topic in its entirety.

Yeah - you're on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

And then you get some instructions from the proctologist - I mean, proctor:

"Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Day One of your State Bar Examination. Please remember, during the multiple choice sections, use a number 2 pencil only. If you use anything other than a number 2 pencil, the machine will not be able to register your answers correctly. Therefore, use a number 2 pencil for the multiple choice sections."

At this point, someone near the front of the auditorium puts his hand up. "Um....excuse me. I only brought a blue ink pen. Is that ok to use during the multiple choice sections?"

You fight the urge to run to the front of the room and...Ah ha! You suddenly remember the elements of aggravated assault and battery.

The proctor continues:

"As you will recall, before you entered this room today, we asked you to leave your cell phones, pagers, two way radios, and/or watches with alarms outside."

Yeah. So?

"So, if you have any cell phones, pagers, two way radios and/or watches with alarms here in this room, please bring them to me now." And, to your amazement, about 953 people stand up and form an orderly line, holding out those very items. What the hell? Did these people actually graduate from accredited law schools?

You take a deep breath and roll your shoulders, trying to ease the mounting tension. The girl next to you snaps her gum. You slowly turn and give her your most deadly glare. She blinks at you, and snaps her gum again. You clench your teeth and remember that if you wait until the exam is over and then ambush her in the parking lot, that would be considered murder in the first degree. However, if you kill her right now, it might be justifiable homicide. All good things to consider.

It's the proctor again.

"Ladies and gentlemen. You may begin."

The next 24 hours of your life go by in a blur. You vaguely remember that your gum-snapping neighbor started to weep around 1:30 in the afternoon, and that you lost all feeling in your dominant hand around 3. If you took a bathroom break, you don't recall, but your sweatpants are dry so that's a good sign. Next thing you know....

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Day Two of your State Bar Examination."

You look around, perplexed. You don't even remember going back to the hotel and changing clothes, let alone going to bed around 4 in the morning after trying to cram some more legal nonsense into your fried brain. But, here you are. Your ass is sore and you forgot to comb your hair. Then you notice that the gum-snapping girl is missing. Interesting.

"Ladies and gentlemen, today you will be taking the multistate portion of the Bar Examination. This consists of 200 multiple choice questions. Please remember, use only a number 2...."

You stop listening. You try to crack your knuckles and realize that your hand is permanently paralyzed into a misshapen mess. Shit. You become engrossed with your efforts to straighten out your fingers when the noise around you filters back in:

"....blue ink pen OK?"

For the love of everything International Shoe!? Is that guy for real!? You're all for accommodating the handicapped, but this is getting ridiculous.

"Ok, ladies and gentlemen. You may begin."

Around 2:30 in the afternoon, you realize that you have lost your will to live. You no longer care if you pass or fail. You read question number 123 again. For the sixth time. You can't even spot the issues in the fact pattern. In fact, you're not sure the question is even in English. You're just about to ask the proctor for a translation when she announces,

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have 30 minutes left."

This annoys you because you just want it to be over. You want to go home, curl up into a fetal position, and sleep until the results are published three months from now. (Yeah - three months from now.)

You read question number 124. It seems to be the exact same question as 123. Oh wait....It is question 123. Dammit! You think the answer is "C". You move on. You think the answer to that question is "C" too.... And the next one.... And the one after that. In fact, when you look at your answer sheet, you realize that you've been filling in the "C" bubble for the past 50 questions. That can't be right, can it?

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have 15 minutes left."

Fuck it. You decide to fill in the "C" bubble all the way down to question 200. There. You're done.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have 10 minutes left."

Aarrghh! Now, with all this extra time on your hands, you decide you better actually read question 200 and see what it's all about. You skim it. Amos apparently got a quit claim deed from Bobby. Huh. What's a quit claim deed? Blah blah blah and blah blah and now Charley wants to quiet title. Reading this question did not help you one bit. You leave your previous answer ("C") intact.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have 5 minutes left."

Sigh. You stop doodling on the desk and decide to read question 199 just in case. Sarah sold something to Betty and it got destroyed before Betty could pick it up. Sucks for Betty, you think. The four answers beneath the question have strange words like FOB in it. You shrug. You leave your previous answer ("C") intact.

Finally, after the proctor retrieves your answer sheets in the slowest manner possible, you are released from the meatlocker and you walk out into the sunlight. Actually, it's probably raining. It always rains and/or snows on the last day of the Bar exam. Just to piss you off even more. You get in your car, even though you really shouldn't be allowed on the road, what with your claw hand and blurred vision, and you drive to the nearest bar. And you drink. And drink.

And that's what the Bar exam is like.

And now, you are wondering why, oh why, would Jazzy and I suffer through that godawful shit twice, right? Well, you see, we had to.

If you want to practice law in different states, you are generally required to take the Bar exam in each state. Why? Beats the shit out of me. I mean, passing the Bar exam has no bearing whatsoever on your ability to practice law. In fact, the Bar exam is the most ridiculous, arcane, obsolete method of professional licensing in the entire world. In other words, it sucks.

I propose a national licensing program wherein, after you graduate from law school, you take the Multistate Performance Test (the MPT - that's the one where they give you the pertinent statutes and case law, and then ask you to write a brief or draft discovery or something to that effect). And you should only take the MPT once. Not fifty times for fifty states. I mean, the MPT is the closest thing to what we actually do as lawyers anyway. Seriously - when clients come in and ask us questions, we mumble some wishy washy bullshit, tell the client we will meet with them again next week, and then rush to the library to look up the answers. (And by the way, if you are a lawyer and you don't do that - you are basically committing malpractice; I don't care how long you've been practicing.)

And if the individual states want to make sure that you are familiar with their local rules, they can simply make it part of a CLE requirement. Not another fricking exam! I mean, even cows get the general idea the first time they're poked.

Well, there - I said it. I have a lot more to say on the topic but, my proctor has just announced that it's time to take him for a walk.

Ciao, for now.

Sassy

P.S. Jazzy, congratulations. I am sure you passed - I mean, at least you can count on scoring higher than "blue ink pen" guy.

Gone Yachtin'

Dear loyal reader(s):

There will be no Sassy Travels post today as the editor is spending the day aboard a 92 foot luxury yacht, cruising up the intracoastal from Miami to Fort Lauderdale in glorious weather and glorious company.

I know - you hate me. Hey, I'd hate me too, if I wasn't...well....me.

Ciao for now.

Sassy

And Then There's Belinda - The Wonderdog

Ya know...don't quote me but, I think Sam is cheating on Belinda. Readers - you tell me what you think.

It used to be that Belinda would come over to visit and Sam would go berserk. I mean, one hour with that bitch and our dog would be trotting on air for like a week. We figured they were canine soulmates. You could go up to a sulky Sam and simply say the word "Belinda" and he would sit up and smile. He even had her photo at doggie eye level on the fridge.

But now...not so much. Now, Belinda's human housemate chauffeurs her over for a play date and Sam appears...bored. He seems distant, uncaring even. And it's not like Belinda is behaving any differently: she's still digging holes under our fence and chasing lizards. But Sam is just laying in the shade ignoring her.


"Yeah, well, whatever."

"What is going on here?" I ask, addressing Sam and Ben at the same time as I often do. Belinda just looks at me with those beautiful eyes as if to say, "I don't know, Jo."

"I'll tell you what's going on," Ben says. "Sam heard 'the thing'. And now he's pissed."

Ut oh. Maybe that's true. Maybe Ben's right.

You see, one day last summer, Belinda's human housemate, Trish, was enjoying a glass of wine at our place, having recently returned from a trip up north. She was telling me and Ben about her journey of spiritual rejuvenation and she happened to mention "the thing". And we now speculate that Sam overheard...and that's the reason for his recent reservations towards Belinda.

"Did I tell you Belinda made tons of friends in Virginia?" Trish said.

"Really? Like who?" Ben asked, ever protective of his dog.

"Well, she's got at least one or two new boyfriends in Virginia now."

Yep. That's "the thing".

Truth be told, Sam seemed OK with it at first. But then, I suspect Belinda couldn't keep her mouth shut about her Virginian adventures, and maybe she shared one detail too many with Sam. You know - like when you mention an ex-boyfriend to your new lover and he's OK with it, right up 'til the point when you begin to graphically describe the time your ex ripped your panties off in the back of a taxi cab? Too much information.

And then, our other friend Dan came over with a female, black standard poodle. Sam had never met her before. And, judging by his reaction, he was apparently smitten. He never left her side. And she was all coy and cute. They pranced around the yard together for like...well, minutes.

Being the funny one, I said, "Hey, look at Sam. He figures if Ben can have a black chick, so can he."

I think Ben went, "Ha. Ha." Or something like that.

Anyway, I think the magic's gone between Sam and Belinda. I feel bad for Belinda because I think Sam's just punishing her adventurous, free spirit, as males of all species tend to do. The last time we dog-sat Belinda, Sam was particularly aloof.


"Why won't he play with me?"

I pulled Belinda aside and gave her a standard Sassy speech: "Listen to me. Don't pay any attention to him," I said. "He can either get over it, or not." She looked at me as if I was speaking a foreign language. "What I'm trying to say is," I forged ahead with my lecture, "Sam needs to understand who you are. And if he can't love you like that, then....forget him."

Apparently satisfied with my advice, Belinda jumped off the bed, shook her ass, and promptly ate all of the cat's food.

Ok then. I think my work here is done.

"Don't Eat That! You Don't Know Where's It's Been!"

(I'm sorry, guys....I couldn't pass this one up.)

My loyal reader(s) will recall that I recently alerted you to the British ball-busting epidemic. Well, I am now compelled to bring a story to your attention that is along the same vein, if you will. This past weekend, an Alaskan man had his penis pruned by an angry girlfriend. (I assume the couple has since broken up.)

As always, there are a number of things that disturb me about this story - aside from the actual amputation. First of all, during the course of a heated argument - he was apparently trying to dump her - the dude agrees to have sex with the woman. (I guess they call that "break up sex"....?) Then, as if that wasn't a bad enough idea, he agrees to let her tie his arms to the window during the act.

Look, guys...you know Sassy is always looking out for your best interests, so listen to me. Never, ever, ever let a pissed off woman tie your naked ass up, OK? You're just inviting trouble.

What do you think happened next? Yup. The chick gets a kitchen knife and surgically removes his wiener, which she flushes down the toilet. (That'll ruin your septic tank. I mean, Ben gets all crazy if I flush a tampon!)


"Quick! Call Roto Rooter!"

The crazy bitch then drove the dickless dude to the emergency room. Well, that was nice of her.

Anyway, the police arrested her (one of the charges was "tampering with evidence"...) and were able to call in the sewer experts, who unbolted the john and retrieved the johnson. Surgeons have since sewn the stump back on.

Here's my question for the guys: Would you want it back?

And to all the young ladies out there: Your mother is always right. When she tells you not to touch a boy's privates because you don't know where it's been.....well, think about it....! Does the five second rule apply here?

Ewwwwww.....!

P.S. To protect his privacy, police declined to reveal the poor man's name. But for those of you who live in Anchorage, it was Kim Tran's boyfriend.....

The Naked News

"Do you guys watch the Naked News?" our buddy asked.

"Yep," Ben replied, and I immediately realized that he had misunderstood Jim's question.

"Um, honey, I think he asked if we watch the Naked News, not the news naked."

Ben: "Ohhhhhh. Is that a TV show or something?" (That's my boy; he's innocent like that.)

Now Jim is animated. "Dude! The Naked News. You know, that program where the chicks take their clothes off while they report the news? Here - I'll show you!"

Ben and I look at each other apprehensively. Did Jim mean he was going to take his clothes off or......Oh, phew! He picked up the remote.

And sure enough, it was The Naked News.

Now, if you've never watched this show, let me tell you, it's highly entertaining. Especially if you watch it with men like Ben and Jim.

"Ewww!" Jim exclaims. "Why is her right nipple so puffy? That's gross."

"Check that one out," Ben interjects. "She looks like Hitler down there!"

And so on. I simply laugh, stare, and laugh some more. The funniest part is that the women sound intelligent enough and, I think, they are reporting legitimate news - it's hard to say because you get a little distracted by all the...well, nakedness. What's also interesting is that they don't do like a strip tease, they just undress. Like they're getting ready to try on a bathing suit at the mall or something.

Anyway, I thought, in honor of that groundbreaking newscast, I would do my own version of the Naked News today. Click here.

Gotcha.

Ok, but seriously now, I want to discuss the seemingly neverending nudity in the news lately. I mean, what in the sam hill is going on around here!

First you've got the Frosty Flasher. This guy apparently likes to whip out his willy on the highways in below-zero temperatures. Whatever, dude. Can I just give you one piece of advice, though? It doesn't look any bigger at those temperatures. I'm just saying....

And then there's the story about the "clothing optional" restaurant in New York. Who came up with the stupid term "clothing optional" anyway? Listen, white people, we all know what you mean when you say that. You mean "bare ass naked". JEEZ-us!

Anyway, according to one of the denuded diners, he was happy that people weren't looking around and staring. Gee - I wonder why? Could it possibly be that you were all so fricking old, fat, and wrinkly, you couldn't "bare" to look at one another?!?

I personally think there's something fishy going on at that restaurant.


"What is that smell?!"

I mean, is the food so bad they have to offer naked night in hopes that the nude noshers won't notice what they're nibbling? Like when the bowling alley does laser light league night and serves us all the stale nachos and hot dogs? Think about it.

Then you've got the guy who steals the cop car...naked. And then, to add insult to injury, he wrecks it...in front of the cops. Oy. And let's not forget the stitchless swimmer, who crossed Biscayne Bay in the buff because, he claimed, he had a date with tennis vamp, Anna Kournikova.

Yep. Clothing optional Caucasians have gotten out of control.

My favorite is the attorney from the Keys, who recently brought his new career to a grinding halt by drunkenly streaking across the parking lot and, sadly, getting into the wrong car. Is anyone thinking about "Frank the Tank" right about now? I am.


"Oh, I'm sorry. Is this your car?"

Well, all I have to say is this: I don't have a problem with nakedness. I have a problem with ugliness. Y'all know what I'm saying. You never see some hot chick on the beach in a thong. It's always some old hairy fat guy in a silver Speedo.

And that's today's Naked News. Yep cabbage.

Happy President's Day!

Um...what are you supposed to give as a President's Day gift? It's so soon after Valentine's Day that I suppose candy and crap like that are out of the question. Well, I think the only fitting thing is money...you know, dead presidents. Or a beer - Presidente, preferably.

Anyway, I'm taking the day off. I put in a solid 3 hours of work and now I'm going for a cruise in the new boat.

Ciao!
Sassy Sailorgal

A Post From Playdo....er...Socrates

In this day and age of rampant discrimination, I would like to voice my opinion regarding some recent editorial comments posted at the end of an article by Playdough here on Sassy Travels.

While it is true that cats don't generally care for dogs, that is only because dogs are such imbeciles...in my humble opinion, anyway. That being said, I don't think it was fair for the editor to restrict the prominent political pundit, Playdough, from posting on this website. His comments were not based on mere conjecture but, however, on empirical data as reported by other reliable sources.

As for the editor's speculation that Playdough has something against lawyers, I say, who doesn't? Just because Playdough voices what millions are thinking...does that make him a bad fellow? I think this is a clear cut case of discrimination and an overt attempt to silence the voice of yet another free thinking feline.

If Sassy Travels is so liberal and open-minded, maybe the editor should consider allowing both sides of a story to be published, rather than just her self-serving drivel.

Signed,
Socrates (a totally different cat)

And This One's For Jazzy...

U2's Bono Nominated For Nobel Peace Prize

Click if you want Peace On Earth too!


Bono - the activist pacifist.

In 1960, in a little town called Dublin, a star was born. Ok - that was a totally lame opener and so not worthy of Paul Hewson (a/k/a Bono). You should really read somewhere else for a decent Bonography. My point is simple: The dude kicks ass. The band kicks ass. When I uploaded my entire CD collection to my new MP3 player, I was amazed and pleased to find that I own more U2 albums than anything other band's. I have something like 16 albums (a couple of them courtesy of the afore-mentioned Jazzy).

So Bono, congratulations on the nomination. I hope you win! You have been an inspiration to me for over 20 years and nothing would please me more than the affirmation that someone I listened to intently was actually saying (and doing) something worthwhile the entire time. It makes me glad I cut my hair like yours in the late 80's.

You go, Bono!

Go ahead, Jimmy. Cry for joy. I know you want to.

Luv,
Danny Parker

P.S. Jimmy - if you click here you will get a bonus treat!

This One's For The Ladies

Research Study Uncovers What Attracts Male Cockroaches

Why didn't they just ask me?

Seriously. Instead of wasting all that time and money on some scientific study, they could have just called me up and asked. I would have been happy to impart my knowledge, shed some light on the subject, if you will. (See? That right there is proof that I am a certified cockroach specialist...cockroaches hate it when you turn on lights.) I know all about attracting pests and I've got about 20 years' experience. Ladies - y'all know what I'm talking about....


Possibly one of my exes....

Yep, that's right: if it slinks around the house doing nothing productive, eats my leftovers without asking, and scares the living shit out of me when I turn on the lights...well, that definition fits many of the men I've met (and some cockroaches, too).

I am impressed with the scientists' findings, however. I mean, they were able to confirm pretty much everything I would have told them anyway. Like the fact that cockroaches are persistent and tenacious. You're damn right they are. I've had some of those creeps hanging around me that I thought would never go away. The article also points out that the ones you usually see walking around are immature. Yep. Two for two, you smarty pants scientists.

And they also state that the female's attractive quality was hidden and hard to find. I know this is definitely true. Believe you me...if I could have figured out what it was about me that attracted all those pests, I would've had it surgically removed a long time ago! Well, now they've apparently found it and plan to put it in roach motels. Fair enough, but I think I should warn them that some roaches like the whole motel concept. Or maybe that was just the married ones......

In any event, through my extensive research, I have found that the best way to stamp out a cockroach infestation is just that...stamp it out. It's the only way. And that method works especially well if you do it in front of other roaches....it sends a message. Trust me, ladies, next time you see one of those bothersome bugs in your kitchen, hanging out with his buddies, nibbling on some cake crumbs, step on him. Hard. And repeatedly. In biker boots, if possible. And you'll see how fast his pals go running for cover.

Well, all I can say is that I hope from now on scientists will think about calling me before they invest tons of time and money into one of these ridiculous studies. I am an expert on loads of stuff, not just cockroaches. Seriously, just ask me anything you want about jackasses, snakes, and pondscum....

Did I Hear A Confession?

George Michael Says Pop Is Dead

I'm no criminal prosecutor but, usually when you say something is dead (and with that much conviction) it's because you have personal knowledge of the facts. As in...maybe you caused the death?

Here's a question for my readers: Did George Michael kill pop music? Sub-question: If so, was it justifiable homicide? Discuss amongst yourselves.

I Swear, It Wasn't Me!

Patriot's Bruschi Suffers Stroke

"Did you do this?" the Captain asked me.

His question was interesting - not because he was actually expecting an answer, but because my darling dude actually believed it was possible I had something to do with Bruschi's brain bruise. I mean, it is true that the Double O MoJo is an awesome and powerful force. Just ask Mr. Hughes, the school teacher who made me write "The way of the transgressor is exceedingly difficult" 500 times on the blackboard as punishment for giggling in class. I bet his hemorrhoids are still bothering him. And, yes...from time to time I have been known to exact revenge on other people who piss me off. And, yes...sometimes my cosmic curses required the recipient of my rage to be hospitalized and/or take prescription drugs. But I am different now...sort of.

"Um...well...." I hesitated because I didn't want to lie to my lover, and an outright "no" would have been one of those Caucasian creative impulses (i.e., white lies). "I just wanted him to stub a toe or pull a groin muscle," I said sheepishly.

"Well, now look what you've done," the Captain admonished. "I think the dude had a stroke. For god's sake, Sassy!"

"Hey! I can't be blamed if he was screaming and yelling so loudly during his Stupor Bowl victory dance that he burst a bloody vessel!" Yeah - I kinda got defensive. Not good.

"Harrumph," he said. At least that's what it sounded like. And then the Captain went back to watching TV.

"Look," I offered gently, "At least nowadays my shit list is shorter than my gift list. So I'm making progress, right?"

"Yeah, Sassy. That's just great." I don't think the Captain was particularly impressed with my closing argument and he didn't make me any coffee this morning. So maybe the jury's still out. Yeah, I need Ben hugs bad so I better make amends.

So, in my standard self-serving style, I just want to give a shout out to Tedy B and say, "Yo, Tizzle Bizzle! I hope you heal quickly and that no major damage was done." Of course, I am also famous for closing loopholes so I would have to add: "And if this means you can't play football anymore, so be it. I mean, being a professional football player is overrated and at 31 you should be focusing more on enjoying your love." That's ok to say, isn't it?

Ok - seriously, Tedy, I hope you feel better soon. (But I bet you'll think twice about picking off D-Nice next time, won't you?) Oops....um, I retract that last statement!

Go You Hokies!

NCAA Basketball: Hokies Pull Off Shocker, Beat No. 7 Duke

I know, I know...I'm not really a college basketball fan. (Although I do bet in March Madness pools most years just for the heck of it). But, I was ecstatic about the Hokies victory nonetheless. D'ya know why? Cuz I HATE Duke!

Woo hoo, Hokies!

Have You Ever Wanted To Do This?

Angry homeowner takes shot at workers who arrive almost 7 hours late

Dude went inside, got his piece, and popped a cap in their van! I know the feeling...like when the cable guy said he'd be here between noon and 5 pm and then didn't show up til 5:01 - two minutes after I had called customer service to complain. (The service rep pleasantly explained to me that the guy wasn't late yet because it was only 4:59 pm. I pleasantly responded by hanging up on her.)

Look, I'm not condoning the shooting, I'm just saying I understand. Hey, maybe some of these so-called service people will take note now and think twice about the value of our time. Ya feel me?

Warning: Bold Lyrical Content

Alanis Morissette Becomes U.S. Citizen

So Alanis says she will retain "dual citizenship" and never turn her back on Canada. Interesting, seeing as how she just swore to renounce all foreign allegiances! But then again, I guess when you are a rich rock star, you can go ahead and publicly flout federal laws the very minute you become an American.


You oughta know...when to keep your mouth shut.

Just what this country needed - another lefty lawbreaker....Isn't it ironic? Don't you think?

Ok - so admittedly I was channeling Jazzy there for a moment. But I do think it's time America revisits the oath of allegiance new citizens are required to take. I mean, my inability to comply with the oath's terms is a large part of the reason why I have never been inclined to sign on the dotted line as a Yankee.

As a citizen of the UK and Barbados, I will always foster fondness and fidelity to my native lands. So, America's requirement that I renounce all such allegiances (a request I think is perhaps fair, albeit outdated and unrealistic) simply prevents me from becoming a US citizen. (Well, that and the fact that after watching US elections for the past 20 years, I don't want any part of that whole mess.) Thus, rather than raise my right hand, I keep my hand in my pocket.

So where does that leave me? I'll tell you where - taxation without representation. Yep. I can't vote but I pay exorbitant taxes and contribute to Social Security and Medicare programs I can't use. And don't get me started about the hoops I have to jump through every time I want a disbursement from my 401k fund: As a non-US citizen, I am required to fill out reams of paperwork, attesting to the fact that I don't plan to do anything "bad" with the money - you know, my money! Oh - and, if I die here (that's not my plan, by the way), Uncle Sam gets to really give me the shaft on my Estate because I'm a "foreigner". Thank you, Uncle Sam.

Be that as it may, I don't really care. And, as my friends will tell you, I don't bitch about it either. I just go along, contributing my [un]fair share to the lifestyles of the impoverished, the imprisoned, and the impossibly rich. I figure - hey, if they need my money so badly, they can have it. I am rich beyond my wildest dreams right now...even though when I finally get around to balancing my check book, I am pretty sure I will find out that my bank account is overdrawn. [Insert Sassy's typical "Money Doesn't Matter" speech here.]

Here's a question though: If you are required to renounce all foreign allegiances when you become a US citizen, how can you then turn around and vote in foreign elections?

Alright - before you bake your noodles too much on that, I will put on my immigration attorney hat and explain to you that, while America doesn't recognize dual citizenship, most other countries do. So, US citizenship inandof itself does not preclude voter registration abroad. However, in theory at least, the minute you do punch a chad in, let's say, Chad, you have violated the terms of your oath of allegiance to America.....Is this making any sense to you? If so, run for office because you are clearly smarter than most politicians. If not, run for office anyway because you are at least thinking about this conundrum.

Well, the whole point of this blog was really to congratulate my American friends on their conversion of yet another Canadian to the Yankee way of life. I'm not sure you wanted her but she's all yours now! And for my Republican friend out there (you know who you are)...when the next elections roll around, think of Alanis exercising her new right to vote, and remember: "You lose, you learn."

Curve Ball Cuisine?

Pieces of infamous baseball to be served in soup

All I have to say is, "Ewwwwwww!" (Note to self: Don't ever eat in Chicago!)

Another Post From Playdough

Dog helps bust owner on drug charge

Do you see what I was saying earlier? Dogs suck.

A cat would never commit such an atrocity. First of all, we don't see the need to belittle ourselves by playing "fetch" in the park with humans. Secondly, you can damn well bet we're not gonna go diving into some stinking pond. And finally, I would never allow someone to address me by the initials J.D......What does that even stand for anyway? "Just Demented"? "Juvenile Delinquent"? Only a fool would have J.D. as a name (or any part thereof).....

Signed Playdough (the cat)

Ed. Note: Playdough will no longer be permitted to post on this blog. It is becoming clear to me that he has something against dogs and, possibly, lawyers.

Who Gives A Puck?

This just in - NHL cancels season.

Seriously, I couldn't care less. Frankly, I had forgotten what NHL stood for until I read that article. I had been entertaining myself by making up new names such as the "Nothin' Happenin' League" and the "Neverending Horsesh*t League".


Get the puck outta here....

I mean it - I just can't be bothered with those pucking idiots anymore. They can all puck off as far as I am concerned.

Ben is really excited, though, because this means SportsCenter won't get bogged down with stupid hockey scores. He makes a good point, as always.

More Lobster Tales

Norwegian study finds lobsters unlikely to feel pain in boiling water

Yeah right. Tell that to the lobster.


"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!"

Ya know what troubles me most about this study (aside from the fact that the Norwegian government actually spent money on it)? The conclusion that spineless animals suffer no pain.

Now I know y'all have heard me talk about my ex-husband, "Norman". And yes, I have described him as spineless. But I can't really sit here and say that he didn't feel pain. And I studied him for about 10 years.

For example, this one time, I whipped a crystal ashtray at his head. The thing weighed more than a shot putt; I guess that's why they call it "lead" crystal. And let's just say, my aim was dead on - of course, I had a big target and he was moving kinda slow because he was drunk (I know, predictable). Anyway, I distinctly heard him say "Ow!" when the missile met his melon. I think that is pretty good evidence that he felt pain, don't you?

And then there was the time when I accidentally almost smothered him. We were "play fighting" and I grabbed a pillow and...well, let's just say that watching him thrash around was kinda fun. The Norwegian study says that when lobsters thrash in a pot of boiling water, they're just trying to survive; they aren't hurting at all. Still, judging by Norman's reaction when I finally removed the pillow from his face, I would say he was in some kind of pain. I mean, why all the yelling and screaming otherwise?

Anyway, I am not sure this study is accurate. But I don't really care. Cuz if PETA thinks I am gonna stop eating Maine lobster, they're wrong. After all, as I've told Norman a thousand times: "Dude, I eat spineless invertebrates like you for lunch!"

Red Lobster anyone?

Starbucks Here I Come!

Sun-Sentinel: Coffee may help prevent liver cancer

Finally, one vice helps me prevent the effects of the other! It's like one of those logic problems we used to get in law school. You know: Coffee prevents liver disease. Liver disease is caused by drinking. Therefore, coffee causes drinking. Ok - that didn't come out as logical sounding on paper as it was in my head. But you get the idea.

Here's my plan: increase caffeine intake by three to four cups a day. (Note to self: check with Ben to make sure he doesn't mind fixing additional carafe.) I figure, if I drink about a gallon of java a day, I can justify the fifth of vodka. And no liver worries, mate! This is great news!

Alright - time for another cuppa joe. Or is it time for a screwdriver...? I get confused. Maybe I should just add vodka to my coffee....yeah, that's the ticket!

Got Milk?

by Sassy Stoner

So the officer pulls me over and asks me to step out of the car. Being the smart person that I am, I oblige him without any fuss whatsoever. I could hear Jazzy saying to me, Don't give 'em probable cause, dude!

"Is there a problem, sir?" I ask in my sweetest of voices.

"You were weaving a little and doing 23 mph." He's not a bad looking guy - shaved head, mid-twenties, buff. He's wearing Maui Jim sunglasses so I figure he might be a boater or a surfer. All in all, I think, I could have been arrested by someone much less appealing.

"Officer, I didn't realize that doing 23 mph was a bad thing," I offer timidly, trying to smile, flirt, and act innocent, all at the same time.

"Well, when you're in the middle lane, surrounded by cars going 75 mph, on I-95, in the middle of the day, it's not such a good thing." He doesn't even look up to say this. He is too busy writing a ticket already.

Dammit! He has a point! Why was I driving so slow? I haven't had any vodka cocktails yet. I mean, it's only 8:35 a.m. and I don't crack the seal on the Absolut 'til around 10:45 a.m. So why was I driving like an old maid leaving Bingo?

Friends, let me just tell you - I would torture myself with this question for days. And then, I read this article that explained it all: Cannabis-munching cows to get change of diet. Need I say more?


Surprise, surprise - cows eat grass.

Yep. You guessed it. Being the savvy, 30-something year old woman that I am, I drink at least a gallon of milk a day. Well, I started out drinking 8 oz a day for the calcium benefits, but then I found that the lactose laden libation was making me feel pretty good...so 8 became 16, became a quart, became a gallon. I can tell you that milk really does a body good in those quantities. I mean, after I finish my gallon, I usually have to either take a nap or watch a few SpongeBob Square Pants episodes.

But I had no idea what was going on. Seriously.

Next thing I know, I am getting a $65 ticket from baldy for driving too slow for the conditions. What conditions?? I think I was driving at exactly the right speed considering the condition I was in! Whatever, dude. I'm chill.

But I think cop man should have given me a pat on the back for my healthy diet. I was simply DUM - "Driving Under [the influence of] Milk". The fuzz should be thankful for the fact that I wasn't DUL - you know, "Driving Under...Listerine".

Yes, you heard me! Drunk on Listerine. You know, like that lady that got pulled over for drunk driving, who blew three times (dude, THREE times!) over the legal limit for blood alcohol, all because she drank three glasses of mouthwash. Turns out Listerine is like 40 proof! Damn! And here I'm wasting money on expensive vodka! My question is - how do you fail a breathaylzer after drinking Listerine?

Of course, speaking of driving mishaps, what about the driver's ed teacher who got run over by her student? Here's a question for all my loyal readers: If you're a driver's ed teacher, and two of your students collide, and then one backs up over you and pins you under the car for 15 minutes, who fails? Discuss amongst yourselves. I mean, she was teaching them about going forward and backing up. Seems to me they accomplished those tasks just fine.

Anyway, I have laid off the lactose and the Listerine. From here on out, I am sticking to vodka... and the sofa.

Ciao.

P.S. My critical reviewer (Nizzle) thinks I should point out that I didn't really get that ticket....Hey, it was a post about driving...I was utilizing artistic license....

Plaintiff Says Penis Pills Don't Work

Surprised Sucker Says Stick Still Small

Ok - I am not going into detail on this one. Read it for yourselves. Here is my one thought though: How desperate do you have to be for a refund to file a lawsuit against a penis pill company? I mean, now the whole world knows two things about you that I bet you would have preferred to keep secret: 1) You watch infomercials; and 2) You buy the crap they advertise. Oh right, there is that third thing: You have a small pecker....still.

Grammys or Pro Bowl?

Isn't it always the same? You have to choose which you want to watch. The Grammys or the Pro Bowl. We tried to watch both. But, as usual, each time one went to commercial, so did the other. So, in reality, we watched a bunch of commercials. From what I did see, however, here are my thoughts collected:

1. Tom Brady sucks. (Y'all knew that was coming.)
In what I basically consider a Super Bowl-redeeming moment, Eagles dude Lito Sheppard went out of his way to collect a great pass from Tom Brady. I'm sorry - did I say "collect"? I meant INTERCEPT! Boo-yah Tom Brady! In yo FACE! (Sorry - I get carried away.)

2. Gretchen Wilson sucks.
I'm sorry - that whole "I'm a redneck chick and proud of it" thing is getting on my nerves. Besides, I don't think of her as a redneck as much as I think of her as a no-talent who wouldn't know what the key of C sounded like if it jammed itself down her throat. The Captain says, "She looks like she was rode hard and put away wet." I'm not sure she got put away at all. And it is particularly annoying to me that I had to watch her during the Stupor Bowl and the Grammys! What happened to all the hot-looking country singer chicks like Shania Twain and Faith Hill! Please, no more Gretchen! For the love of everything Foxworthy!

3. Bill Cowher looks hideous in Hawaiian print shirts.


No further comment necessary.

I shall now burn every Hawaiian print shirt I own.

4. J Lo and Marc A should never sing together again.
So I am listening to this duet and watching their ridiculous antics on the bedroom set. What utter CRAP! Who produced this show?! I mean, I go to great lengths to avoid thinking about those two in bed and then I am confronted with this?!? Ack! And what were they supposed to be doing? Getting ready to go out? I would have much preferred to see them reenact a murder-suicide plot. Then Ben points out that only people who speak Spanish understand what the hell they are saying. Oh yeah, good point! Well, for all my Anglos out there who don't speak Spanish - consider yourselves lucky. At least you may have thought it sounded romantic, when in fact it was utter bullsh*t.

5. Green Day rocks out.

6. U2 sells out. (Sorry, Jazzy. But you already knew how I felt about their latest album and iPod crap.)

7. Suzie Kolber still makes us scratch our asses.
It's kind of like a drinking game in the Stanley-Springer house. Whenever Suzie comes on, we scratch our butts. Why? Because it makes more sense than the crap coming out of her mouth. Talk about utter drivel and stupid questions. She's is definitely a female John Madden (although she isn't as bad as Larry Merchant). Anyway, frankly, we kinda enjoy a good butt scratch every now and then.

8. Donovan McNabb is still my boy.
The Captain told me D-Nice threw a pick. I didn't see it because I was working in the office. Therefore, the interception never happened. Y'all know I create my own reality.

9. There's really no point to the Grammys.
Do I really care if my favorite musical artist wins some statue? Does it really make a difference to what songs I like or listen to? Does it really stop me from illegally downloading? (I think you can answer these questions.)

10. There's really no point to the Pro Bowl.
I mean, they don't even rush the kicker during field goal attempts. No one is really trying. It's just a show case to satisfy the cravings of millions of fans for a little more football. Well, I guess it kinda works - I watch it. But then it kinda sucks - I feel gypped.

Well - I gotta go to work now. (Alright - I actually just have to go refresh my screwdriver.)

P.S. I had nothing to do with that Dallas Cowboys dude who had to sit out the game because the airlines lost his luggage.

Yacht Captain Sails To Victory

ST is happy to report that justice has prevailed in the case of The Captain v. His Former Boss. The Massachussetts judge handling the appeal has issued her ruling. She states (and I basically quote), "You can't ask a man to be on duty when he is off duty." EXACTLY!

Look - it was the greatest hearing in history. The employer's representative was clueless. I felt bad for him. I felt like I was waging a war of wits against an unarmed man. But I was relentless. Y'all know how I can be. This sh*t was personal!

When asked why the Captain was discharged, the employer's representative said: "He injured his arm and then the new guy ran the yacht aground." Yep - that's what he said.

The judge was astounded. Speechless. I was giving my client the thumbs up.

To make a long story short (if it's not already too late), the judge echoed everything we've been saying for the past 7 months: sometimes rich people need a kick in the ass.

Anyway, the Captain won. The Captain is cashing his checks right now.

[Insert "We are the champions" by Queen here].

Thank God For Spam Filters!

Oregon man accused of trying to set up mass suicide pact via e-mail

Ya'll know I love Spam. I really do: Spam and eggs, Spam on toast, Spam and beans. (By now some of you should be singing the Monty Python "Spam Spam Spam Spam" ditty).


Hmmm...gimme some more sodium nitrite!

But every now and then, I get down on my knees and praise the Lord for Spam filters. Cuz seriously - if my email account hadn't blocked that guy's emails, I might have joined in and ended my Spam loving days. Not because I really believed in anything he had to say, just so I wouldn't have to read any more of his bullshite!!!

Well, ok, I didn't really get an email invitation to off myself from the dude. But reading that article made me realize (once again) that I am surrounded by idiots.

I mean, this proves the existence of at least two new sub-classifications of the Homo Stupidass species. First, you've got the idiot who is so effing lazy he can't even be bothered to mix up some Kool-Aid for his followers. Seriously - that's like a slap in the face to me. Dude, if you really want me to slit my wrists, at least offer me some grape-flavored sugar water or something! You really think I'm gonna blow my brains out on Valentine's Day without you even sending me some heart-shaped Sweet Tarts, or a cyanide-laced Whitman Sampler? C'mon! Throw me a fricking cross-bone here!

Then you've got the other retards who were actually going along with the suicide-by-email plan. I mean, I have read some pretty compelling pieces of email in my day and it has often been nothing short of a Herculean effort on my part to refrain from purchasing those penis enlargers and cheap prescription drugs. (Truth be told, the misspelling of some of the medications kinda worries me, but I digress.) I just can't imagine the following:

AOL Voice: You've got mail.

Sassy: Mail! Yay!

Sassy opens mail.

Sassy: What's this? An e-vite to Suicidal Singles!?! No way! I can't believe I'm so lucky! I better go ahead and RSVP right now: "Dear Mr. X, I am thrilled to have been invited to your mass suicide event. Dr. Kervorkian isn't returning my calls so, having nothing else planned for Valentine's Day, count me in!"

JEEZ-US! What's wrong with people? Damn - now I'm hungry.

Pump It Up!

Judge allegedly masturbates with penis pump during trials

Are you kidding me?!?

Back in the day, I was president of the Moot Court in law school and I designed a t-shirt that read: "Moot Court Members Do It Behind The Podium." People thought it was clever and funny and, after a mild wince, even Dean Fruth said it was ok to wear on campus. Thanks to Judge Donald Thompson, however, I have now donated that t-shirt to Ben's fire pit out back. Burn, baby, burn! I will never be able to wear it again without having disgusting images of the jerking jurist behind the bench.

Investigators decided to prosecute the self-fondling father-of-three after they were able to retrieve "DNA samples" (eewwww!) from the judge's robes, carpet, and chair. Wonderful. Now imagine you're the poor bastard that has to preside over that courtroom next.

As a litigator, I know that trials can become incredibly boring at times. And I have certainly thought about engaging in some lewd hand gestures while opposing counsel was making opening statements. But, come on, white people! Get a grip! (Sorry.) You mean to tell me you can't wait 'til you go back to the privacy of your chambers to do the hand jive?

And here's my other question: What was turning him on? Think about it - there really isn't anything sexy about the Rules of Evidence. And I, for one, don't get the tiniest bit horny while jury instructions are being delivered.

The man must really love the law. Or maybe it's the sight of blindfolded women.


Thompson's turn-on?

Whatever the case may be, I hope the jury isn't...well...hung.

Thanks to the Boz for this one!

British Ballbusters

Hey - it takes one to know one....

In a terrifying trend, British men are losing their balls. Some will argue it's not a big loss but, as a fan of the male nethers, I felt compelled to break this story with a view to alerting those of you who would rather hang onto your little buddies. (For the full stories, click on the links embedded below).

After extensive research, (ok, I drank some gin martinis and watched a Bond movie marathon on TNT) I have discovered the Three Techniques of Testicular Theft currently being employed by British ballbusters:

1. The Shrivel


"I say, old girl...did you remember to bring my balls?"

Prince Charles, heir to the British throne, announced today that he would finally marry Camilla Parker-Bowles. While most royal watchers have long acknowledged Camilla's ball-busting expertise, none of us realized she would be this patient with the peckerless prince. When asked to divulge her particular style of sack sequestration, Cammie would only say, "If you wait long enough, they eventually retract permanently." Interesting.

2. The Rip

This second technique proves something Ben has known all along: "Never say 'no' to an English girl." Alas, one dude failed to adhere to that maxim and, when his woman asked for some lovin', he refused. And she, employing the bare-handed skill known only to the most expert of ballbusters, divested him of his danglies. She wasn't totally heartless though - she popped one in her mouth afterwards. I am told he had been asking her to do that for ages. I always say, "Be careful what you wish for."

3. The Bet

Perhaps the most popular technique, "The Bet" has been wagered for years. You know how it works: "I bet you don't have the balls to...." and others of that nature. Well, in bonny Britain, "The Bet" is now being used to encourage the castration of crazy citizens. While I have to admit I've considered mutilating men when the team I cheered for lost (actually, I've considered mutilating certain men for no reason at all, but that's the subject of a separate post), I think you would have to be a little nuts to say "I'll cut off my family jewels if my team wins." (Emphasis added). Well, he did, they did, and he did. After carving them off, the Welshman took his package back to the bar to prove to his friends that he didn't welch on the bet. Good for him.

Well, fellas - now that I've brought these terrifying tales to your attention, please be careful! Don't fall victim to any of these techniques! I mean, this epidemic makes Mad Cow disease look like the common cold.

The whole thing gives me the willies.

Crackhead reporter, Jazzy, contributed to this article. Cheers, J!

Update: Donovan Denies Digestive Distress

MSNBC - McNabb: 'I Wasn't Sick And I Didn't Throw Up'

Aw come on! Make up my mind already! Was he or wasn't he? Alright, you know what - I am over it. I don't care why we lost. We lost and that's that. I suspect that McNizzle is simply trying to downplay the whole puking thing so that people don't accuse him of making up sorry excuses. While D-Nice acknowledged that he was sick earlier in the week, he claimed he wasn't "hanging over a toilet." So it's true - he did install a hidden camera in my bathroom!

Anna and The Ding [Bat]

Nude man swims across Biscayne Bay in search of Anna Kournikova


The Naked Nightmare

Yeah, he did it. He swam 200 yards across the Biscayne Bay in downtown Miami. Stark naked. Claims he had a date with Anna. Yeah, ok, buddy. Whatever you say. Unfortunately, she apparently gave him the wrong address - he came ashore (no pun intended) about three houses away, where he was discovered lolling around in the buff in "a most lewd position," according to a startled neighbor.

Now, I have two theories about this bare-assed blunder.

Theory Number One: It was the blonde's idea.

Mischievous Maria?

Ya think maybe this was just a friendly prank between the dueling Russian tennis tarts? (Ok - I admit. I've had a "thing" against Maria Sharapova ever since my Captain declared she was one of the "hottest chicks" he had seen in a long time. He has since recanted but I think that was only because I pouted for about 6 months.) Anyway, I can just imagine little Miss Sharpie paying off the dastardly diver and daring him to pay a visit to the other diva's house.

Theory Number Two: It was the blonde's idea.

Crafty Kournikova?

Then again, Kournikova has had to take a back seat ever since that Maria chick came along and stole center court. I mean, it's gotta really gall Anna that not only is Sharapova cuter and younger, she can actually play tennis too. Hmmm...... Maybe Anna staged the whole thing just to get back into the news. And if you count this blog as news...it worked.

Well, it just goes to prove my other theory: You can't trust blondes.

McNabb Pukes In Huddle

MSNBC - McNabb Sick During Crucial Part Of Super Bowl

It's all beginning to make sense now. My boy was sick, vomiting and all, during the fourth quarter. 'Course...so was I. But, according to his team mates, D-Nice was battling the flu earlier in the week and couldn't keep his Chunky soup down by the end of the game. I hate to think this is some kind of lame excuse...I doubt it, though, because this has happened to my boy before - the puking in the huddle, I mean.

Well, I feel a little better now.

Hey, D - feel better, dude! We still love you! And you're still world champions to me! See you in training camp!

The Burning Question

What should Nizzle eat for dinner?

Yep. That's the burning question. It is 9 o'clock and I am in the middle of trying to recover data I lost on the hard drive of my work computer. This is a very technical and painful task. I had to drop a bundle of cash for data recovery software, install it on one computer, burn it to a CD, and then execute the program on the affected lap top. The program is still running and I am keeping my fingers crossed. (If I can recover even half of the missing data, it will be worth every penny I spent on the software program.)

So here I am. Deep in thought and praying to the MicroSoft gods for a happy outcome. And my phone rings.

I know it's Nizzle because "Brass Monkey" by the Beastie Boys is the ring tone. I am surprised he is calling but realize that I have logged off my instant messaging account and shut down all peripheral programs to conduct my data mining project. Thus, Nizzle can't IM or email me. So he has resorted to that old fashioned communication device - the cell phone.

Sassy: Yello.

Nizzle: Yo. It's Nizzle.

Sassy: I know.

Nizzle: No. Nizzle. Ben's nephew?

Sassy: Yeah. I know.

Nizzle: It's me. Can you hear me? You must be in the triangle.

The "triangle" (a/k/a "Bermuda") is a spot in our house between the kitchen and the dining room where cell phone communication is pretty much impossible. Ben's phone actually gives up and drops calls if he inadvertently strays into the triangle during a conversation. My phone holds the call but I am usually forced to walk into a safer area while mimicking the dude from the Verizon commercials.

Sassy: Can you hear me now?

Nizzle: Yeah. Listen, I have a question for you.

Sassy: Shoot.

Nizzle: What should I eat for dinner?

Ah. It's always the same with Nizzle. If you help him out once, you can bet you will be helping him out twice. Like - I did his homework for him once. Then that turned into an almost weekly occurrence. I don't really mind. It's kind of fun writing high school essays. Although I was a little miffed when Nizzle's teacher gave me a B- for my "Anti-American Bureaucracy" piece. I figure that particular teacher must be a Democrat.

And then, of course, there are the never-ending modifications to Nizzle's various automobiles and motorbikes, most of which seem to take place in our garage, and require Ben's assistance. I don't think we will ever be able to completely remove the orange paint from the garage floor. Nor do I think we will ever be able to find that darned ratchet.

My point is, Nizzle posed the "what should I eat for dinner" question to me last night. And I suggested Burger King. And he got Burger King and ate it, sharing the ranch dressing with his cat. So I guess my dear pal now feels he can rely on my able assistance to provide menu ideas on subsequent nights. Like I said, if you help Nizzle once, you can bet you will be helping him twice.

Sassy: Burger King.

Nizzle: I had that last night, remember?

Sassy: Taco Bell.

Nizzle: I had that for lunch.

Sassy: Checkers.

Nizzle: We don't have one of those up here.

Sassy: Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Now Ben is looking at me funny. He probably thinks I am simply trying to name all the fast food joints in Broward County. He shakes his head and goes back to reading.

Nizzle: Really? You think I should do KFC?

Sassy: Yeah. Have a barbecue chicken sandwich.

Nizzle: I don't really like that stuff.

Sassy: Dude. Well, have a bag of Doritos then.

Ok, ok. I know that you are disappointed in me. You think that I should be offering healthier meal suggestions to this young man. Well, I'm sorry, but I happen to think a bag of Doritos is a pretty healthy meal, especially if you combine it with a beer. I mean, according to the bag from which I am currently feeding myself, you can get like 6% of your recommended daily allowance of phosphorous from just 11 chips! So there.

Nizzle: Nah. I can't do the Doritos.

Sassy: Dude. You are asking the wrong person what to eat for dinner!

Now Ben looks up again. He just figured out what the conversation is about. And I can tell he is thinking up some stuff to suggest, if only to get me to hang up the phone so he can go back to reading in peace.

Nizzle: [clearly getting upset] I thought you of all people would understand!

Sassy: Go to Subway and get a meatball sub.

Ben: Or a kielbasa!

This excited utterance from Ben reduces everyone to laughter. Now I've lost track.

Sassy: Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Nizzle: You said that one already.

Sassy: Oh. Well go to the mall and eat in the food court.

Nizzle: Ok, that's kinda weird because I was just thinking that. But...I don't wanna go sit by myself in the food court. Dude, I'm hungry!

Sassy: Well, I don't know what to tell you then.

Ben: Tell him to go to the 7-11.

You see? Ben doesn't have any healthy food advice either. We're made for each other.

Nizzle: Tell him I had a slurpee from 7-11 earlier.

It suddenly occurs to me that Ben and I aren't really good role models for Nizzle. At least not when it comes to his diet.

Sassy: Well. Um....Jeez, dude! I gotta get back to the computer.

Nizzle: Fine. Lots of help you are. Bye.

And just like that, he's gone.

I wander back into the triangle and check out the computer running the data recovery software. Still no files found. Ben goes back to reading. Now I'm kinda bored and I'm thinking that maybe I failed Nizzle. I should have had some better suggestions. I should have been ready for the call. I should start compiling a list of recipes and menu ideas in case he calls with the burning question again (and he will - especially as he is leaving for college soon).

Ben stands up and stretches and walks over to the phone. He places a call and, even though he has strayed away from the triangle, I can hear him.

Ben: Um, yes. I would like to place an order for pick up....Yep....I'd like one of those dipping pizza stick things you advertised....Yeah. Ok.....Thanks.

Dammit!! That's the answer! Pizza Hut! Why didn't I think of that!?

Anyway, loyal reader(s) - if you have any suggested answers to the Burning Question, please let Sassy know! Thanks!

EPILOGUE: This just in - Nizzle got a meatball sub from Subway.

Three Signs of the Apocalypse

Ok - I know some of you are going to accuse me of having an oral fixation this morning. But I don't make this sh*t up - I just blog it. I read the news today, oh boy. (Yeah, I'm still reveling in the Halftime Show. You know me, I try to focus on the positive.) Anyway, I think I have discovered Three Signs of the Apocalypse. And I haven't even had my daily dose of Ben's coffee yet. Ben favors Cuban coffee...and that brings me to the First Sign of the Apocalypse:

1. Cuba Bans Cigar Smoking


Mercedes and Josefa think the ban sucks

I mean, wow, I did not see that coming! Did Nostradamus list this? If not, he should have. Cuz if the country whose biggest claims to fame are cigars and retro-military couture stubs out the former....what's next? Will Barbados ban rum? Will Ireland ban Guinness? Will Israel and Palestine ban bullets? Oh wait...this just in from CNN.com: Palestinians, Israel announce cease-fire. Is there no end to the madness?!

One kindly old Cuban gentleman was quoted thus: "They can't take this away from me. I'll kill them." While clutching a nice, fat stogie, Graciela Gonzalez, 80, added, "This is my life." Wow. Who knew? Apparently, the residents are really sinking their teeth into their Cohibas and taking a stand. This could trigger a coup. You just watch.

2. As far as I am concerned, the Second Sign of the apocalypse is the Florida man accused of biting the head off a parrot at a party. I know Ozzie made aviary decapitation popular back in the day but, come on! A parrot? At a party? We have scores of parrots in our backyard. And yes, they are a raucous, freaking bunch. And yes, Ben and I have considered taking potshots at them with the bee-bee gun. But notice our restraint! We have never done it.

Anyway, what disturbs me the most about this news item is that it is unclear whether the parrot was provoking the guy. Apparently, they were playing a friendly game of pool and the parrot was perched on someone's shoulder. Then birdbiter dude grabbed the victim and, with one giant munch, separated the body from the head. I suspect the parrot was talking smack. Like, "Come on, doofus. You know you can't make that shot. Yer gonna scratch, fo' shizzle." And that's when the tragedy occurred.

The suspect fled the scene and later said he couldn't remember what happened. You have blackouts, dear. I think he probably has amnesia - you know, the kind Farrah Fawcett got in that movie when she burned her bully husband in his bed. The dude probably had "bird rage". Can a pool playing parrot provoke a crime of passion? Apparently. It's got to be a sign.

3. And in more toothy news, the Sun-Sentinel reports: Suspect leaves teeth at crime scene. You have got to read that story for yourself. It is so wrong in so many ways - it just has to be a sign. Let me tell you the parts that make me gag.

For starters, the dude had his social security number etched into his false teeth. What is going on over there in Sweden?? Is denture theft such a popular crime that the only way you can guarantee you are getting your goods back is to brand them with personal info? It's like etching your car's VIN onto the engine. Yikes! Secondly, the engraved enamels fell out when he was fleeing the scene (I mean, didn't he notice?). And finally, the scene was (are you ready?) a cafeteria. Yep. Dude was trying to rob a cafeteria. Seems to me having your teeth handy would be important in that situation. Or is it just me?

Well there you have it. Other (smarter) people will say that today's true sign of the Apocalypse is the fact that human cloning has now been legalized in England. That doesn't bother me. Maybe they can clone some people with better...teeth.

Time for that cafe Cubano. Ciao.

P.S. "Laissez les bon temps roulez." Happy Fat Tuesday!

This Just In: I'm Still Depressed

I have to admit, I've been surprisingly productive today. I mowed the lawn (front and back); I started working on my next law firm assignment; I filed the incorporation paperwork for my new little company; got hired by my Captain to be his first mate on a delivery next week; paid bills....I mean, that's alot of stuff! For me, anyway. And I've only just cracked open my first beer.

But it still smarts.

Jazzy just sent me an email: "I hate Tom Brady," she wrote. Yeah, me too.

So my question to all you guys is: How long does this pain last? When will I finally get over the Stupor Bowl? Is there a pill I can take?

Well, the good news is (if you want to call it that), my boys aren't hanging their heads. Coach Reid says "we'll be back." I believe him. But still...how many days 'til training camp?

At least Ben and I have ESPN 2K5 to entertain us during the offseason. Maybe we can reenact the Stupor Bowl....with a different outcome.

Ciao for now.
Signed - A Sad Sassy

Well...I Enjoyed The Halftime Show

So this is how it feels to lose the Super Bowl. Well, it sucks.


Disbelief sets in.

Yeah, we get closer every year. But this should have been our year. What happened? I don't know, but I'll tell you what didn't happen: Donovan. Did he choke? Was it nerves? Did one of the four sacks scramble his eggs? Ugh. It was one of his ugliest games all year. Where was my running quarterback? My main man? The dude who can evade the defense for 14.1 seconds? How could he let me down like that?

I would have rather lost by 28 points.

I was all ready for that game tying field goal from David Akers to send it into overtime. I didn't see it. Did you?

I mean, the Dolphins beat the Pats, for cripes' sake! Why couldn't we? (No offense, Ben.)

So I am sitting here, drinking the coffee Ben made for me. I am using my Eagles coffee mug. I am sick. (No, not hungover sick, Jazzy. Just sick.) I woke up this morning to discover that it wasn't a nightmare. It was really Monday and we had really lost the game. It's like a black cloud hanging over my head. And, more bad news, we're out of vodka.

What am I supposed to be doing today? I don't know. And I don't care. I am officially in mourning. Someone call my boss and tell her I won't be in today.

Hey, at least the halftime show was good.

Fly Eagles Fly!

New Info re: Missing Ratchet

This just in - ST has just learned that the missing ratchet (not "wrench") was last seen during the spark plug installation phase of the Whipple conversion. Please see the photo below.



Notice the red arrow.

If you have any information, especially in light of this additional insight, please, I once more beseech you, email Sassy!

Saturday Morning Happy Hour

So it's Saturday morning and we're out of Malibu. No Bajan mimosas for me this morning. That's ok, though. Mount Gay tastes pretty good with orange juice, too! Sam is snoozing on the sofa (he kinda takes advantage of me when Ben is out of the house) and Playdough is alternating between catnapping in the kitchen and meowing at me about the fact that his food bowl is empty.

Anyway, with nothing to report, I wanted to take this opportunity to wish my boys luck! Go Eagles! (I shall deliberately keep my rantings to a minimum on this topic...I am very superstitious).

Alright. It's Happy Hour somewhere!


"I'm not snoozing...just relaxing."

Ciao, for now!