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Preview: Wrapped Up Like A Douche

Wrapped Up Like A Douche

Come for the Naked Jeanne Zelasko, Stay for the Biting Satire and Fleas

Modified: 2006-11-09T18:35:53Z


One More Damn Thing to ReadOne More Damn Thing to Read


(image) I'm back to contributing semi-regularly to the Cacophonous Cavalcade of Comedy that is Junkiness, so I encourage all WULAD Wregulars to try making it a part of your daily routine along with shaving, composting the boss man's food scraps, and working in the re-education camps.

While sporting a crack team of contributors (of which I am only one of a talented handful, and the least productive one at that) and easily making the coveted "Technorati 25(,000)", Junkiness has had some difficulty building a reliable and interactive Commenter Corps.

For example, after a furious election-aftermath output of a dozen quality posts, the site received a total of ONE comment, which read:
normally I like nearly everything on, but I found this tacky and tasteless.
Oh no she dinn'nt! So you can see why the site is desperately in need of the kind of quality peanut-gallery responses we get here at WULAD, such as:
It's really weird to see a news article about the killing of a friend's fiance on a site I read and laugh at all the time...
Oh no she dinn'nt! Or
I loved The Great Space Coaster! I remember The Beautiful Actress Sally Struthers of the sitcom All In The Family Guest Staring on this 1980's children's t.v. show. TGSC cast joked that Puppet Goriddle Gorilla had a big crush on Actress Sally Struthers. When she came on the show as a guest star, Goriddle Gorilla told her that he was in love with her. Sally Struthers then held him by the chin. Later on alone, Sally Struthers and Puppet Goriddle Gorilla sang a song together that went: "Just The Way You Are!" Sally Struthers is such a kind person! She has such a pretty face...
Oh yes he did(dd)!

So head on over, read some smartass stuff, and give us your tired, your poor, your muddled sasses yearning to screed free... [Please stand for National Anthem.]

The Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuing Adventure Continues to Continue (Part II)The Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuing Adventure Continues to Continue (Part II)



The Book of GRUDGES, Chapters 15–16

Last week on The Bible II, we were introduced to Samson and Delilah, two lovable kids trying to make intertribal marriage work in spite of some serious flaws in their long-term financial strategy. So without further ado, direct from the sacred tablets of WULAD-certified guest prophet of the hour Eponymagain, we present the conclusion of GRUDGES 13-16: The Birth, Exploits, Revenge, Retirement and Death of Samson.

Samson's Vengeance

1. Samson makes a series of public statements accusing the families of the dead of killing their own in an attempt to build popular sympathy for their cause. Many people believe that he is history's actor.

2. Delilah says to Samson, Tell me, I pray thee, wherein your great strength lies, and wherewith thou mightest be bound afflicted.

3. Samson denies knowledge of any weakness, citing strong housing starts and an upswing in exports.

Betrayal by Delilah and Death

1. Delilah says to Samson, Samson, my faithful friend, I have received letters from great veterinary pathologists, which signify what hate they bear you and how desirous of your death they are. I pray thee, wherein your great strength lies, and wherewith thou mightest be bound afflicted.

2. Delilah presses Samson daily with her words, and urges him, so that his soul is vexed unto death; At long last he tells her all his heart. He tells her, If they deceive me and steal from me, then shall I be poor. Then shall I be be as any other man. If I am poor, then my strength will go from me, and I shall become weak, and be like any other man.

3. Delilah sees that he has told her all his heart.

4. And Delilah weeps, You were my sweetest downfall. I loved you first. Your hair was long when we first met. My father implored me invest in government or corporate bonds, funds with longer average-maturity periods that had higher risk but also higher yield potential. But I did not.

5. Samson says to Delilah, I am near now to retirement and near to death. You have time for your money to grow. I do not.

6. And Delilah weeps, You have sought to allocate your assets, distributing your money across different types of investments. Samson, most people die at the last minute.

7. The risk of violent death is now 58 percent higher than it was before.

8. Samson obtains the plan document for each pension plan. His attorney asks for the plan’s procedures, for domestic relations orders. Among other features, the plan has certain options about when the spouse’s share can be paid to her under a domestic relations order. These sorts of details can make a difference in your negotiations with your spouse. These sorts of details can make a difference.

The Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuing Adventure Continues to ContinueThe Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuing Adventure Continues to Continue



The Book of GRUDGES, Chapters 13–14

Previously on The Bible II, we learned that even the leader of the Israelites went through tough times; for this week's installment, we turn once again to one of WULAD's fine and divine Guest Authors, who moves us forward in time to find the New Israelites under the oppressive boot of the Phillistines (whose name was derived from their rejection of high-concept art such as "Arrested Judahlopment" in favor of shows like "King Nebuchadnezzar of Queens," "Ashkelon's Next Top Model," and Tim Allen movies). The Lawdy Lawd will send them a hero, but will he be undone by his own accounting?

From Eponymagain, one of the internet's finest and most mysterious scribes, it's the first installment of a two-part presentation of ... GRUDGES 13–16: The Birth, Exploits, Revenge, Retirement and Death of Samson.

The Birth of Samson

1. Phyllis Jackson faints on the soccer field. She thinks she’s just dehydrated, but her husband is worried. He has noticed that she has been having difficulty concentrating at work and is forgetful at times at home. At his suggestion, Phyllis goes to the doctor, where a series of tests reveal that she is pregnant. Phyllis is surprised as she has been previously diagnosed as unreproductive. In this story, readers will learn that Phyllis’s signs and symptoms must be interpreted as indicating a virgin birth.

2. A Certified health care worker appears unto Phyllis, saying, Now you are barren, but have yet conceived, and shall bear a son.

3. And the woman bears a son, and calls his name Samson: and the child grows.

Samson Marries a Philistine Woman

1. Samson sees a young Philistine woman. He talks to the young Philistine woman and likes her. Her name is Delilah. She is curious about Samson's pedigree. Standard & Poor’s and Moody’s examines his profile and rates his strength according to risk as well as his past performance in the marketplace. Samson rates as very strong.

2. Samson makes a delicious feast for Delilah—as the young men used to do—and yet she tastes it not. And yet she sees that he has growth potential and a solid dividend payment record. They unite with legal force.

3. A local farmer becomes concerned after discovering a number of dead animals on his small farm, including some ducks, several deer, and a coyote, all within a single week. Fearing that someone might be poisoning his land, he hires thirty veterinary pathologists to investigate.

4. For three days they can give no answer to the riddle.

5. On the fourth day, they tell Delilah, Entice your husband to tell us the secret of this riddle or we will sue to revoke pension benefits.

6. Samson and Delilah change jobs and fail to roll the 20% withheld into a new retirement account within 60 days and are subject to the 10% tax.

MONDAY: Tune in for the thrilling conclusion of GRUDGES!

Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Aged Gay EscortThou Shalt Not Covet Thy Neighbor's Aged Gay Escort


Is anybody else bothered by the fact that the former gay hooker with whom evangelical superhero Ted Haggard is accused of repeatedly gettin' busy is 59? Not only is Haggard a hypocrite, he's a hypocrite with a taste for wrinkly old dudes (or "DILFs" as they're known in the gay porn world.)* Really, with all the collection plate-funds at his disposal, he couldn't afford some young River Phoenix-lookalike to share in his pre-ex-gay activities? Or at least someone slightly less—dare I say—haggard?

*I made that up. I have no idea whether they're called DILFs.**

**They are.

UPDATE: Turns out he's 49. That's still pretty old.

Wrapped Up Like a Rehashtastic Halloween!®Wrapped Up Like a Rehashtastic Halloween


Happy Satan-Worshiper Day, everyone! This year I'm going as The Me of 2003, so accordingly, here's exactly what I would say if I were in fact myself three years ago. (I've come so far since then--I can pay for my own heroin, I've realized James Joyce sucks, and I've finally stopped voting for Lyndon LaRouche! Or at all!)

Terrifying Tales of Halloween Dorkage Past
Today is Halloween, which is of course known as a harvest celebration, an embrace of the play of life and death exemplified by the microcosm of the crops that feed us, yet indicative of the greater cycle of decay and renewal that governs all life on Earth—and it’s also a source of embarrassing stories of almost unbearable dorkiness. I include some samples from my own litany; feel free to add your own spine-tingling tales of Halloween Horror and Pants-Wetting in the comments.
  • My first costume was a Pumpkin Ghost; I know that’s not particularly dorky but it does establish that I was not one of those kids who got the store-bought plastic Batman costumes, although I was secretly envious of the rows of identical Batmen and the relative bully-proof anonymity they provided.

  • On my first trick-or-treat, my parents accompanied me around the neighborhood; one nice old lady invited us inside, and she happened to have a menagerie of chotchkes, trinkets, and little porcelain animals, etc. in her living room; when we were back at our house, my parents opened my bag to find, in addition to candy, a large assortment of the old woman’s personal property. Apparently I was so enamored by the idea of putting things in my bag that I happily looted her collections like they were so many boxes of Milk Duds. If I ever have a kid and he does something like that, I'll sell it all on eBay faster than you can say "old people can't use computers"!

  • In second grade my dad made me a fabulous homemade costume out of cardboard, glue, colored pencils, foam, and other household items; when I asked him what I was, he said, “um… Space King!” It was a glorious costume that should have made me the envy of the schoolyard. We all know how that turned out.

  • In fourth grade I was a mummy; unfortunately, while I was being “wrapped” by my babysitter, I became nauseated and threw up on my costume, staining it. We had to start over. What a dork, throwing up!

  • Three years later I had a great pirate costume, but some dickhead named “Bo” stole my sword and threw it in the dumpster. That was altogether a pretty lousy, dorky year, come to think of it.

  • When I was a sophomore in high school, my friends and I decided to go trick-or-treating for “the last time”; dressed up as the usual-for-high-school mutilated corpses, we worked up a complicated song-and-dance routine that we would break into as soon as someone opened the door, but we were such a bunch of rowdy teenagers that people either kept the door shut, told us we were too old, or, in the case of one old man, slammed the door in our face when we sang our first note. Dorks!

  • Finally, in the greatest act of Halloween redemption since the goat’s blood-drenched-Carrie killed all her classmates (I know, that wasn’t technically on Halloween), in 2001 I wore the greatest costume ever. I found the foamcore girder on the curb outside Macy’s, which was incidentally where my friend Chelle-Belle, who deserves credit for this idea and even offered me a dollar for everyone who correctly referred to me as "Krazy Glue Guy" instead of "Super Glue Guy", worked at the time. At the office party I was awarded “Scariest Costume” (I know, what’s important is that I won the candy), and I was officially King of the Halloween Dorks, and lord of all that I surveyed! Look on my Works, Ye Mighty, and Despair!


The Incontrivertible Finality of a Two-Thirds-Eaten HamburgerThe Incontrivertible Finality of a Two-Thirds-Eaten Hamburger


In two views.



[Simia quam similis, turpissimus bestia, nobis.]

The Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuing Adventure ContinuesThe Bible II: The Continuation of the Continuing Adventure Continues




In our previous installment, the first chunk of tBii:hB concluded as the First Man and the First Woman and the First Gay Brother hopped into the First Datsun 240z and sped East of Eden to begin their new lives. Today we present the first of three divine outsourcing jobs dictated by the Almighty to select volunteers from WULAD's Wregular Wreadership. As we rejoin the story, several generations have passed, and the patriarch of the New Hebrews finds himself facing the hard realities of the Biblical economy, while learning a little about himself along the way. From Gene Morgan—proof that you can still find a good man in Texas—it's MOSES OF THE MALL.

Moses looking for new socks. It's a little cold by the cookie stand. Moses prays to God. It gets a little colder. Moses is cold. Moses looks hard at a teenage girl. Moses asks God for forgiveness. God is happy. God likes that Moses is sorry. New socks at the Lord and Taylor, Moses thinks. Blue ones. argyle, maybe. Moses feels a little depressed inside when he sees a fat person with bad pants. Moses eating a frozen lemonade by the water fountain.

Moses playing the new Metroid game in the Electronics Boutique for an hour. Moses outside the food court, calling his ex-girlfriend on his cell phone. She needs Moses to stop and get some eggs. Someone has written 'fuck you old balls' on the mall bench, next to where Moses eats his ciabatta sandwich. Moses doesn't know that God wrote this. God laughs out-loud, out of a burning plastic bush near the Chili's.

Moses in his white Chrysler La Baron listening to an old Metallica album with the top down. Moses feels old. Moses feels everything inside that makes him sad and depressed and this destroys every little piece of interior worth Moses has ever built-up at his low income tech job serving shitty people who will never know his full name or care that he even exists. Moses turning up Metallica. It starts to rain before Moses can get his top up.

Tom and Katie and MeTom and Katie and Me


(image) This exciting news reminded me of an experience I had last week in the casual carpool. For those of you who are non-Bay-Area-ers, it's a series of carpool pick-up and drop-off points--one of which is a couple of blocks from my house and therefore saves me some time vs. the expensive stinkiness of BART--and saves the driver the $3 bridge toll.

The downside is that riders are at the mercy of the driver's choice in listening material, driving ability and/or judgment, and bodily odors. The worst I've had to deal with so far have been centered on lousy talk radio or "lite rock"--For example, I realized this week that the Bette Midler song "From a Distance" could be used effectively during "coercive interrogations" in Guantanamo Bay, although it would most likely violate the Geneva Conventions (and common human decency).

However, last week I met my carpool match in a guy--let's call him "Jim"--who was easily the most unfocused spaz to whom I've ever had the misfortune to entrust my life. This... fellow... was on the phone the entire half hour of the commute--and not one long phone call, mind you, but many short calls, each dialed painstakingly with one hand on his cellphone (no hands-free set for this daredevil) while furiously changing lanes, swerving, and cutting people off, to no noticeable advantage in traffic speed, as women's folk music blared on the stereo. Here are a few of the snippets we passengers were treated to:

"Hi, it's Jim. Can you doublecheck the reservations for Pebble Beach? I wanted to make it to the spa but I'm not sure I'll be able to make it back from the studio in time, maybe we have an in-house waiting list? Also, confirm the guest list for..."

"Hi, it's Jim again. Can you be sure we have a screening room reserved for Tuesday, and also make sure to book us a lunch reservation, and can you..."

"Hi, it's Jim. I'm going to see the doctor later today--those acupuncturists were awful. No, I'm taking him the MRI myself--I don't trust those people..."

"Hi, it's Jim... Oh, that's Mary Chapin-Carpenter. Is it too loud? No? Good. Well, anyway..."

... And so on. Then, as we're nearing the exit from the bridge (and my merciful separation from this nutjob), he picks up the phone for one last call:

"Hi Tom, it's Katie. I'm so sorry you completely misunderstood my intentions last night. I was standing there in my bathrobe, I mean, what was I supposed to do?"

Anyway, based on all the clues this guy shamelessly dropped ("Have him email me at"), I was able to find him on the internet when I got to work. He's some kind of lawyer, he likes spas and hates acupuncturists and he and his boyfriend call each other "Tom and Katie." At the risk of sounding like Andy Rooney, I wish I could have other people's privacy back.

Handy Phrases to Use After Your Team Is Eliminated from the PlayoffsHandy Phrases to Use After Your Team Is Eliminated from the Playoffs


  • Uhghahhhn.

  • You God damn, damn God-damnin' God-damners... damn.

  • Do not want

  • Guhh-ahrrrghhmm. Llngm.

  • [Opposing team's starting pitcher] is the bastard inbred son of a motherless goat-whore!

  • Finally I can change my lucky [team colors] [hat/watch/underwear/adult diaper]!

  • Wwwww...

  • [Underperforming millionaire outfielder] licks the sweat off a dead bastard inbred son of a motherless goat-whore's balls!

  • [Long pause.] Mmmnghl.

  • It is only through the experience of loss that we may truly learn to appreciate the beauty of the struggle, the adversity, and the journey which make up the true lessons of this game—which is, in the end, no more, nor less, than the game of life and FUCK YOU ST. LOUIS!!!!

  • [Sobbing wordlessly.]

  • As an intellectual, I have greater concerns than the performance of a bunch of overpaid growth-hormone abusers in a staged contest of athleticism, and I therefore oh God you bastards you broke my Goddam heart you sons-of-bitches...

  • Wait... Tih... Nexhhh... Yeahhhhhrmrmmgh...

I Went to a Portuguese Bullfight and All I Got Was This Lousy Picture of Jerry Springer*I Went to a Portuguese Bullfight and All I Got Was This Lousy Picture of Jerry Springer*


*Also I got a T-shirt.First of all, congratulations to everyone who ventured a guess as to the identity of the mysterious styrofoam whatzit (MSW) pictured in the previous entry. They were all very well-constructed responses, and I would have said any one of them could be correct, if I didn't already know that the object in question was Stephen Hawking's superintelligent function-graphing toilet seat cover.On to new business. This past Saturday, C-Baby and I headed into the Central Valley for the finale of the thankfully little-known Portuguese "bloodless" bullfighting season. (I place "bloodless" in quotes because there is often bleeding, but not by the bull. In fact, unlike Spanish bullfighting, which seems sadistic to me, Portuguese bullfighting is in practice a mainly masochistic event. For a slideshow of one of last year's fights with explanatory commentary, click here.) We were able to see a pretty decent variety of thrills and spills--including a particularly pesky bull which tossed two matadors within a minute, one of whom came back to finish strong after crashing to the dirt in a position the human body should never be in--along with the pickled beans, dolled-up ranchers' wives in heels, plethora of glow-in-the-dark virgin statues and other touches which contribute to the dusty appeal of the event.However, unlike every other bullfight we've attended in the past, a gradual crescendo of murmurs in Portuguese and English hinted at something big taking place at the end of the event--and lo and behold, after the sixth and final bull headed out of the ring after his day in court, a chant which had been bubbling below the surface finally broke into a full roar: "Jer-ry!Jer-" and so on.Anyway, the gist of the thing was that Springer--who you may have heard of from his stint as mayor of Cincinnati--was going to be performing the Paso Doble on that wonderful masses-opiate Dancing With the Stars, and needed to shoot some scenes to pump up his bullfighting cred.According to the show's website, "the Paso Doble ... should create a Spanish Bull Fighting atmosphere. The Paso Doble is the dance for the Man, which allows him to fill the 'Space' with strong three-dimensional shapes and movements danced with 'Pride and Dignity.'" In this case, Springer demonstrated this "pride and dignity" by strolling triumphantly into the ring (where only minutes before teams of Portuguese-Americans had risked life and gonad jumping on giant enraged animals) while children were prodded to throw roses at his feet, twice. (In his defense, Jerry conceded that "they wanted me to shoot something here to make it look like I know something about bullfighting.")The website continues: "The woman's role varies depending on the intepretation of the dance... [she] can take the role of the matador's cape, the bull or even the matador at different times within the dance." This was demonstrated by the painted blonde hussy who serves as Jerry's dance partner holding her index fingers to her head and tromping around like a bull. It wasn't nearly as charming as it sounds, which is not very charming. In fact, it was even less charming than that. The high point [spoiler alert, for those losers who watch the show] was when the producers convinced Springer that they were about to release a bull, sending him cowering for the exit--only to send out a tiny calf (generating a chorus of "awwww"s), which seemed terrified of the blonde hussy, who kept prodding the poor creature in an attempt to get it to "charge." We took that mildly-entertaining moment as our cue to split, which was probably best because I'm sure they recreated the hilarious surprise multiple times to get the right shot.Anyway, I hope they don't make a huge deal out of it on the show, because then everybody will find out about the bullfigh[...]

Name This Mysterious Styrofoam Whatzit Found in My OfficeName This Mysterious Styrofoam Whatzit Found in My Office



Bonus points for telling me what it does. (To be clear, I'm not looking for the actual answer. I want you to gird your creative loins and come up with something good.)

WULAD's Konsumer KornerWULAD's Konsumer Korner


(image) After a decade or so spent living in noisy metropolitan areas, often surrounded by discourteous neighbors, roommates, prostitutes, and roommates who are also prostitutes, I have become a connoisseur of ear plug technology. So I greet every new addition to the field with interest, and look forward to the happy moment when I can wedge their spongy goodness into my hungry ear canals.

However, last weekend I came across a perplexing new product from the already-well-respected-by-me Hearos® brand, which I just had to share with you:

My friends, I'm talking about ear plugs... for women.

Why, you might ask, do women need their own brand of ear plugs? I asked myself the same question, but luckily, the fine folks at Hearos® have addressed this query in the FAQ section of their exquisitely feminine website:
Why should I consider the Sleep Pretty in Pink products?

The Sleep Pretty in Pink products were introduced because there was a void in the marketplace for a high quality, branded line of ear products... for women. Whether you have a need for noise reduction (sleeping, snoring solution, traveling), hearing protection (concerts), or blocking light (sleeping) the Sleep Pretty in Pink line has a high quality product that can work for women AND children.
Psst... Hearos: they work for men, too, bitches!

That's right——the author of your very own WULAD is secure enough in his masculinity to test ear plugs which purport to be strong enough for a man, but... anyway, I've prepared my own take on the Frequently Asked Questions, which will give you the information you've been dying for ever since you read about this fifteen seconds ago. Let's begin!

How do Sleep Pretty in Pink brand women's ear filters differ from ear plugs for manly men?

They're pink.

That's it? Really?

Really. No little flowers or inspirational sayings or suggestions for spicing up your marital bed whatsoever.

Did Sleep Pretty in Pink brand women's ear filters block sound as effectively as those made for manly men?

Yes. Once I put those beautiful pink babies in, I could barely make out the screams coming from my basement.

Did this experience provide you with witty ideas for further women-only personal care products?

I'm already looking into patenting women's dental floss (it'll be pink), women's Drano (pink and lavender-scented), a woman's calculator (pink, and all operations result in "Don't worry your pretty little head about it"), and a women's dictionary (pink, and doesn't include the words "science" or "promotion"). Also tampons for men.

Are you serious with that chauvinist crap? I thought you were a bleeding-heart liberal and all that.

That was mock-chauvinism. Lighten up, and try some Sleep Pretty in Pink brand women's ear filters so you can get your beauty rest, Sugartits.

Did you really buy these because you were curious about how well they worked, or is this a prelude to "testing" women's shoes, support hose, underwear, and/or feminine hygiene products?

I'm busy. Go away.

Wrapped Up Like a Published AuthorWrapped Up Like a Published Author


(image) Well, the day I've waited for my entire life has actually come (and gone, come to think of it)——the creator of your very own WULAD has wormed his way into a printed, published (and soon to be pulped, no doubt) book.

It's called Mountain Man Dance Moves: The McSweeney's Book of Lists, and it features a plethora of humorous bits penned by a cast of probably-not-thousands-but-more-than-tens. In addition to myself, this cast includes many other talented humorous-bit-producers I sort-of know in a digital way (such as the oft-imitated but never-penetrated C. Monks, for example).

But why, you might ask, should I spend my hard-earned drug money on this former happy, living tree, when I can just as easily read all the same lists on McSweeney's minimalist-designed website at no charge? My answer comes in the form of just the sort of "witty" list you might find in the book in question:

$12.95 ON
- - -

  • You can read it on the toilet, which I wouldn't recommend for the website.

  • Could potentially fill you with the incomparable feeling of smugness that comes from supporting an independent bookseller, even if you secretly suspect they're trying to turn your kids gay.

  • No additional money will be passed on to me no matter how many copies are sold, giving you the satisfaction of causing me to question whether I should've held out for another ten bucks.

  • Every time a McSweeney's book gets remaindered a bearded hipster somewhere silently weeps.

  • Prevents you from being the last one at the water cooler without an opinion on "Ways Art Garfunkel is Superior to a Dented Can of Vienna Sausages."

  • The book may in fact contain exclusive material not found on the website. I don't have any reason to believe this, but I suppose it could be true.

  • The unicorn-in-pastels cover art brings an air of rugged masculinity to even the daintiest of Scandinavian-designed coffee tables.

  • Four Porsches is just not enough for Dave Eggers.

- - -

So run on out to your neighborhood bookstore or predatory high-volume mail-order reseller, and pick up a copy if you know what's good for you. It may be your last chance to read me in print before The Bible II gets picked up by Random House.