And then we turned the TV off

We tried muting it and dubbing in words in crazy funny voices. We tried taking off our shoes so we wouldn't want to throw them. We tried talking back, asking about places like New Orleans whenever he talked about the Middle East or bringing freedom to blah blah blah or Americans being addicted to oil.

We're partial to Guinness, but you knew that. About 17 minutes in, we tapped out.

Is it bad that we got more joy out of folding our boxers than listening to this cliche-slinging ass clown? Is it bad that we'd rather sweep up the dirt we tracked into the ol' apartment on the way back from the laundry room than listen to this blood-pressure-raising motherf*cker? We can't even give you examples because we tuned him out.

Is it bad we automatically tune him out?

And back to Canadia we go. At least they have the Stratusfaction.

(Photo of the honorable, truthful, just and democratic President by Larry Downing, Reuters).

We want our money back

Most of the fives of you know by now that yes, we were a fat kid back in the day. It's why we go to the gym and row and appear red-faced and heart attack-bound at least twice a week. It's why we constantly monitor our "pecs" to make sure they stay spelled that way.

So this is a hoax if we ever saw one.

When we were 17, we hit a growth spurt. We also realized that "HEY! Running and eating less and running some more and maybe lifting a little" does a little for the psyche and the boy boobs.

But promising pizza and sex? We promised ourselves we'd have the sex when we were 17. We wished it so. We even made a bet saying we'd try it by the time we turned 18. Judgment day came and our friends even put a banner up proclaiming our birthday and congratulating us for the ultimate conq--

Well, the banner asked our friend for his 10 bucks. Seems one li'l not fat anymore 18-year-old with huge dorky glasses didn't get him some by the deadline. Girls, you know who you are. We forgive you. Sort of.

In our defense, we decided to do what God asks. We decided to save ourselves for true love and abstain from joining you evil sinners having this, this, this SEX. We made a decision, yes. And by God we stuck with it for at least another 17 long, awful, awkward God-is-it-me? months.

And f*ck pizza. We were content with other things.

And the Lions are sh*t, too.

One day, some day, we won't be surprised by this.

On Sunday, we as a nation will take pause for sport. We will take pause for gladiators made of Steel and gladiators made of, well, Seahawk. These gladiators will play a game dominated not by run or pass, or sneak or sack. These gladiators will do battle with commercials and performances and fireworks and anthems and jets and 15 hours of drivel on the airwaves.

Oh yeah. We'll so waste millions because that's what good li'l Americans do. And the game will be played in a city known mostly in a sh*thole. And like Art Lauderdale says in the article:

"They spend all that money on the Super Bowl ... but they ain't doing nothing for here."

Nice. Say. How's the Superdome?

Fish gotta swim

Interesting read. It ain't for the money, that's for sure.

Turn around, now

We need to tune in more to things that really matter in the world, we know.

This is especially true when Ashlee Simpson tells us in our dream to "turn around, now" and we wake up to see the clock read 6:59, turn on the Imus and listen to the top of the hour news. It's pretty f*cked up when your "pay attention" reminder comes in the form of a robed Ashlee Simpson, we know.

Contrast that to last night, when we scanned through 368 pictures posted on the Yahoo! from the Sundance in a blatant effort to *ignore* all the world's issues.

Granted, She's still hot, though, in a non-obsessive way. Like, smoking-can't-wait-to-see-Match-Point hot. But we digress as usual. Point is, things that matter. We owe it to ourselves to learn more about why the world is ending and when. Ashlee says so.

Now that we're hellaconfused about Ashlee and world politics and sleep and Scarlett, we might as well look back on the week that was and smirk cynically. Sometimes we cry because it's manly and the world is ending, but whatever, it also means the weekend is here and it's high time the band got back together. But more on that later.

Heroez
Katie puts the real in Real World, ya'll. "So basically you know we had to push the f*cking fake rock." Priceless.

Couldn't afford a car so she named her daughter Alexus. Kanye haters, shhhhh. He's just mixin' some dope rhymes, is all.

We like us some Scoops.

Better late than never. You go, girl. (Do the kids still say this?).

We stand behind his right to say this, and hope no one starts throwing rocks at the ol' porch. God forbid somebody say something the least bit inflammatory about our troops or this clusterf*ck of a war (and that's what it is, right? We're still there? Shooting things? Blowing sh*t up? And there are enemies doing these things, too?). OMS supports our troops, but Mr. Stein certainly has a point. It's a jumbled and HEY LOOK AT ME and kind of saying it just to say it point, but a point nonetheless.

Speaking of, the Dixie Chicks have an album coming out in April. We still stand beside Natalie and can't believe country radio f*cked them way back in ought-two. America is about a free voice. That's what makes us so the best country ever and the end all be all in this wacky world we call Earth. U-S-A, No. 1! Iran, Russia, hockphtooey!

Not so much...
The meek shall inherit the earth, Fox. So be careful of this making fun of the freaks. We remember Columbine and the trenchcoat mafia and how on April 20, 1999, a roomful of reporters watched the coverage and every single one of us, er, them, acknowledged they wore trenchcoats in high school. Meek. Freak. Geek. It's all the same.

Oh the irony if this is true-true, Hoo-Hoo.

Top Jimmy. He's the king.

Commies. Every single one of 'em (and no, we ain't talkin' 'bout them there protesters, there).

Money. 'Tis indeed a drag.

Katie. You were *fantastic* in The Gift. Why the splicing and dicing? We can't wait until the post-Tom comback. You're so covering Playboy in 2009.