 Hot woman who still has a job The breaking story this week concerns Lauren Odes, who claims she was fired from her data-entry job in New Jersey for being "too hot."
Being too hot to enter data is being too hot, indeed. Lauren says the real problem was her ultra-Orthodox Jewish employers. Orthodox Jews, like Muslims and Mennonites, have very clear ideas on proper dress for females and are entitled to them, no matter how boring and repressive those ideas seem to the rest of us.The problem with these particular moral absolutists is that they operate a factory called "Native Intimates" that makes risqué lingerie for women, so Lauren was fired for wearing clothing that was less revealing than the stuff the factory manufactures.
Lauren, who is Jewish herself, claims she was ordered to "tape down her breasts" (To what? Her desk?) and forced to wear a fuzzy red bathrobe decorated with little guitars over her tight-fitting mini-dress.
Let this be a lesson to all of you young job-seekers in this tough economy. If you see your potential boss has a red bathrobe decorated with musical instruments hanging in his or her office, get the hell out of there.
Despite donning the robe as ordered, Lauren was fired just days after she started heaving her bosoms around the otherwise chaste factory floor where her more suitably modest co-workers were busy churning out filmy little G-strings, scanty panties with smutty messages inscribed in the crotch and other porn-film regalia.
This is like Yum Yum Donuts firing a woman because they decided she looked like she enjoyed donuts.
Despite this apparent raging hypocrisy on the part of her employers, this is the luckiest break of Lauren's hot life. Instead of being forced to dangle from a stripper pole or sling chili fries at Hooters or endure some other entry-level hot woman job, she can move right into the rarified echelons of hot womanhood by posing for Hustler, getting her own reality TV show or marrying Donald Trump or Rush Limbaugh.
Which raises the question of why she was doing data entry in the first place? Is Lauren too modest to be hot? As noted above, there are many, many job opportunities for the hot, ranging from slithering on car hoods in bikinis to being John Edward's girlfriend. Did she look at her (allegedly) sumptuous breasts every morning in the mirror and think to herself "I need to sit in a cubicle all day punching at a keyboard, so the whole world will not think of me as being just another set of magnificent mom glands?"
If that's the case, Lauren, it's time for Plan B. I'm sure you're going to miss all the guys at the factory who claimed working with you was too distracting, thereby demonstrating that they have more candy in their asses than Hershey's makes in a year. The only downside you have to endure is the hundreds of comments on your story on the Internet, most of which are from guys who claim that you are not as hot as you think you are.
Rise above it, Lauren. Remember, if these guys actually had a woman they wouldn't have the time to doubt your hotness in cyberspace. Tell them to get a life, or maybe just a job.
Let them know there's a place in Jersey that needs at least one employee.
 Random sample of white Presidents The Republican Party and Fox News are in an uproar about the Obama Administration adding links promoting his policies to the online biographies of previous Presidents. The links noted that Obama is trying to preserve Social Security, originally established by Franklin Roosevelt, Medicare, signed into law by Lyndon Johnson and establish tax fairness as advocated by Ronald Reagan.
Veteran political operative Joe Redstate was among the first to cry foul. "I'm especially offended by Obama saying that a great Republican like Ronald Reagan was in favor of tax 'fairness," he snorted. "I suppose you can dig up those wild quotes somewhere, but it's likely it's just something the Great Communicator said right as he was nodding off for his afternoon nap. This false Obama propaganda just drives us wild. The fact is, Reagan enjoyed paying less in taxes than his secretary. He used to 'accidentally' leave his massive refund checks on her desk, just to see her middle-class face drop when she realized the Gipper got away with deducting his hair dye and never paid more than a thousand bucks a year in taxes in his whole life.
"Likewise, Obama comparing himself to Roosevelt, even though they were both Democrats, gets in Republican craws. We don't like being reminded that Social Security was invented by a respectable, got-his-face-on-the-money kind of President, because that makes keeping it sound like a good idea, instead of changing over to the Republican plan, which is to take your Social Security taxes every year and buy Facebook stock with them.
"Medicare, too. Reminding people that Johnson signed it might make them realize it's been working for almost fifty years and that we might not need the ground-breaking new Republican Medicare plan, which will cure the deficit by letting every American have one free heart attack. 'The first one's free, so make it a good one!' is our motto. This will encourage people who depend on Medicare to quit getting a lot of squibbly little diseases. Chronic illnesses waste time and money. This is also the Republican plan to fix global warming. Instead of tanking up all that oxygen so old people can inhale it, we're letting it stay in the atmosphere so there won't be room for all that nasty carbon dioxide, plus polar bears and baby seals can breathe it all they want."
You have to admit, it does sound a like you're overreacting a little bit. All Obama is doing is saying that other Presidents paved the way for his ideas.
"That's the worst part. Obama has no business comparing himself to other Presidents, in the opinion of Republicans. He's got some nerve, comparing himself to regular Presidents."
Well, he is a regular President. Got himself elected, sworn in, lives in the White House, has a Cabinet that works for him, everything.
"Oh, you think it's regular, having a President like Obama? Ever notice what's different about him? The clue phone's ringing, pal! He's not a white guy! All of our other Presidents were white guys! Even Presidents that white guys didn't particularly like, like Clinton and Carter, were at least white guys themselves! We need a white guy for President! That's what the Republican Party stands for! And we've found the whitest guy in America to bear our standard! Mitt Romney!
But what if Romney loses?
"Don't say that. It's our worst fear. What if the Presidency turns out to be like the heavyweight boxing championship? Once you get a black one, they're all black after him?" The Republican op shook his head dolefully. "It keeps us up at night, believe me."
 Officials in Hawaii doubt Romney's native birth. In a surprising move earlier today, the State of Hawaii demanded a copy of Presidential candidate Mitt Romney's long form birth certificate before putting his name on the ballot for the November election.
State officials strenuously denied the request was in retaliation for Arizona threatening to remove President Obama's name from its ballots unless Hawaii coughed up yet another copy of Obama's nativity document.
This reporter contacted the Hawaiian electoral offices but apparently forget to calculate the time difference correctly. The person who answered the phone, who identified himself as Carlo "Bumpy" Alanui, said his job in the building was night watchman but he was perfectly agreeable to discussing the Romney birth certificate controversy.
"Dis guy Romney, how we know he real American? Nobuddy in Hawaii see his birth certificate, bra."
So Hawaii has its own "birther" movement?
"No, bra. Not everybuddy in Hawaii surfer. Dat's perpetuating mindless stereotypes. We just want see da kine Mitt Romney's birth certificate. Only fair, bra."
You think it's fair because Hawaii gets swamped with requests for Obama's birth certificate, so you're just playing 'gotcha,' right?
"No way, bra. Hawaii has da kine legitimate concerns about Romney. He speak French, you know. Nobuddy speak French here. Not everybuddy speak da kine good English like me. Some speak da pidgin. some speak like, Filipino or Japanese. But nobuddy speak French. Only French in Hawaii is toast, ticklers and fries. So maybe Romney Canadian, bra. Canadians speak da French. And Canadia is close to Michigan, where Romney says he born. So maybe he smuggle across to be President. We want check."
What else might lead you to suspect Romney wasn't a native American?
"He haole, bra."
Isn't that blatantly racist? Lots of natural-born Americans are white.
"Not here in Hawaii, bra. We see you haole, we figgah you tourist. And we nevah see Romney ack like regular haole tourist. Nevah see picture with aloha shirt. Nevah see him drink da kine drink with umbrella. Him always just talk story and show teeth. Just let Hawaii see birth certificate. What da big deal? What Romney got hide?"
But you're satisfied Obama was born in Hawaii?
"Oh yes, bra. Obama for sure Hawaiian kane. He got da kine rubbah slippah feet."
What are rubber slipper feet?
"Come from wearing only rubbah slipper for shoe until you go to high school. All Hawaii children have rubbah slippah feet."
I should explain that what Hawaiians call rubber slippers are what the rest of the country calls flip-flops.
"Yes, bra. Obama gots da rubbah slippers. Romney gots da flip-flops."Mahalo to reader Donny "The Other Dude" Ferris for this blog idea
 Aerial photo of author's emergency food supply While flipping along the channels of my cable box's HD wasteland the other night I came upon a show called "Doomsday Preppers." It follows the efforts of people who want to survive what they feel is a looming disaster that will wipe out nearly all of humanity.
It needs to be noted that not all of them are preparing for the same disaster. Some of them are worried about gigantic tsunamis, others about monstrous volcanoes. Some are convinced the Earth's magnetic poles are going to suddenly switch places, which strikes me as only meaning you need to hold your compass upside down. Still others are worried about standard stuff, like financial collapses, asteroid strikes and Mayan prophecies.
To protect themselves, these people are burying shipping containers in the ground, buying enough rifles and ammunition to overthrow a fragile democracy and gathering a pile of canned goods the size of Chris Christie.
I can't afford to do any of that. Mastercard and Visa constantly send me reminders that I've already spent my money on other things. If the end of the world came suddenly, I would have to survive it on the resources I have on hand. That does not look promising.
I live with my son in a condo complex on a California beach, so if the end of the world took the form of a gigantic tsunami, we would be among the first squashed bug-flat by it, so I would look smarter if not any less deceased if I didn't make any preparations at all. If we survived until the morning after Doomsday, we would find ourselves in an eerie twilight world, surrounded by hostile strangers. That's actually normal for us, as most of the condos in the complex are rented out short-term to vacationers, bizarre out-of-towners who live to drink, holler at their kids, burn meat on the community grill and tell you what temperature it is in their home town. Only the numbers would change in the event of a nuclear holocaust. "It's 40,000 degrees in Phoenix now," they would say cheerfully.
If mankind's final day came in the off-season, most of the other condos would be deserted. That means we could, if necessary for our survival, break into the other units and collect enough musty sheets, marine-themed placemats, and colorful door placards that say things like "Life's a Beach" and "Walk a Mile in My Flip Flops" to insure our final days were cheaply and cheerfully decorated.
Food might be a problem. I do have fishing rods, but if the ocean were turned into blood or something equally repulsive, or there's enough of the government left to remind you you're only supposed to eat fish once a month because they are mutating into plesiosaurs, we would have to get by on what we have in our cabinets, which are canned goods that we haven't eaten so far because we hate them, plus a few boxes of cake mix and some tubes of frosting. That's hardly enough to survive on until Bruce Willis or Mel Gibson rescues us from the nuclear cannibals everyone else plans to turn into the minute Armageddon gets underway.
The only other sources of nourishment available to us are the condiment packets we keep stuffed in the silverware drawer. Fortunately we have wads of them, collected from every fast-food joint in southern California, so many that we can barely get out a fork without a few soy sauce or mustard packs cliff-diving onto the kitchen floor at the same time. We don't eat ketchup, so we are able to save every package of it that is thrown our way; enough of Heinz's finest that if French fries start washing up on the shores of the Apocalypse like so much tsunami debris from Japan, we could season them for weeks. If we're reduced to eating our old shoes we have enough little tubs of honey mustard to smear on them to make sure that stale sweat taste really pops out.
We would have to rely on our condiment stash for self-defense as well. If attacked by zombie hordes we'll have to fight them off by squirting Del Scorcho sauce in their dead eyes or breaking open those envelopes of dry peppers that Domino's supplies in case you want to taste something when you bite into their pizza and tricking the zombies into snorting them.
Please also note, along with the sauce packets in the accompanying picture, the abundance of unused trash bag ties. These could obviously be used to lash together a raft, in case Mel or Bruce orders us to do so.
I look at the drawer and I realize that, while it's not a boxcar buried a fallout-free six feet underground in a national park, it will offer us the chance to survive for maybe twenty minutes longer than those hopeless fools who have made no preparations at all for the ultimate disaster. Then I yank on the end of a spoon and fifty seasoning packets flap out at me like I was standing in front of Big Cave Full of Bats National Monument at sundown. I start yelling.
"How many weeks have I been telling you to clean out this frickin' drawer? And the refrigerator? And what, for God's sake, do we need this icing for?
I picked up a pizza the other day. It was made by a national pizza chain. Myself and my Significant Other had ordered there a half-dozen times. When I held this boxed pie at eye level, however, I noticed a small, computer-generated label on the side of the box.
It said "Your Pizza Experience Managed by Christ."
I immediately thought, "So He did come back! And he's managing a pizza franchise!"
Of course, this is quite a bit of a vocational downgrade from coming in glory to judge the living and the dead, but I for one would not criticize His choice. I realize some of His followers are bound to be disappointed. His return was supposed to usher in the End of Days, Armageddon, the Rapture and the final Day of Judgment, the ultimate spectacular sky, light and sin show, after which Christians were going to get crunk in eternal glory while the rest of us were going to be sorry we kept rolling our eyes at them when they promised us the infinite wrath of God for laughing at Will and Grace and sleeping in on Sunday.
I'm sure that's what He intended to do at first, but during the two thousand year-and-counting gear-up to humanity's final moment, He's apparently lost some of His enthusiasm for it. The idea of sitting on a fiery sky-throne with lightening crackling all around You, waving Your divine staff over another quivering batch of souls in order to scorch them into everlasting perdition sounds appealing at first, but after a while the logistics of it might start to seem a little daunting. Seven billion souls is quite the judging marathon, and that's only the living ones, and with nearly every human activity from the original sin (eating mammoth on Friday) to wondering what's under Lady GaGa's meat dress being identified as sinful at one time or another, He might end up with only a few monks and Michele Bachmann sitting on His right hand. Nobody wants to spend eternity with those kinds of people.
He could get so sick of plumbing the depths of one dreary human soul after another that he could abruptly cancel in the middle, leaving it just at Judgement Morning instead of making a whole day of it and plead burnout. Couldn't blame Him for that.
So he took a low-key, secure job in the pizza industry. As someone who's used to obeying the will of His Father, He would naturally gravitate to a chain called Papa John's. He's a manager, of course. He's got the résumé for that, successfully running a team of apostles for over three years without so much as a Blackberry to keep track of them. And although He might feel a little pressure pushing out those pies from time to time, like on Saturday nights and Super Bowl Sundays, it's nothing compared to evaluating every act and thought of every human being that ever lived, so I'm sure He can easily relieve His workaday tensions by changing one of those leaky two-liter bottles of soda that pizza joints love to sell you into a nice wine and polishing it off with an order of breadsticks. For a hobby, He sends a few plays into Tim Tebow now and then.
Holding a boxed pizza had never before felt so numinous. An immense feeling of inner peace came over me. Blessed be the pizza-makers.
I opened the box. And I saw that it was good.
 photo from cbsnews.com
When President Obama made his support for gay marriage public, Bristol Palin, who achieved national renown by being with illegitimate child while her mother was running for Vice-President, exploded with ire on her blog. After taking a cheap shot at dimensionally-challenged cartoon adventurer Dora the Explorer, she aimed the rest of her venom at the Obama family.
"Children do best with a mother and a father," Palin, whose mother and father apparently thought it was best not to advise her to avoid having sex at the age of sixteen with local lunkhead Levi Johnston. The sex, which took place in various outdoor locations in Wasilla, including a disused tool shed and the bed of Johnston's pick-up truck, resulted in the birth of Bristol's son, Tripp.
Levi, who recently fathered another child by persuading a different frontier sexpot to bend over the pasture fence for him, is not currently permitted to see Tripp, but Bristol lashes out at Obama for poor fathering for letting his daughters Malia and Sasha use their real experience to judge the value of same-sex relationships rather than taking a high-school educated unwed mother's word on the history of marriage.
"Marriage has been between a man and a woman for thousands of years," Palin said sternly on her blog, not mentioning that furtive sex in wooded areas and barns, her real area of expertise, has also been between men and women, or at least boys and girls, for an equally long time, as has sex between men and men, women and women, and men and women and assorted farm animals and mechanical implements.
Palin also criticized Obama for letting his daughters watch "Glee," a show which depicts homosexuals as pleasant, attractive, witty people who sing and dance well. Palin feels that "watching one too many episodes" of Glee reinforces these positive stereotypes of gays. "A show like that just teaches kids that gays are nice people who should be allowed to seek what they want in life, instead of icky deviates that deserve to be ridiculed and persecuted. What kind of a lesson is that? Malia and Sasha should be watching reruns of 'Dancing with the Stars,' featuring me," Palin added."Or my upcoming reality show. Heated arguments stirred by artificial conflicts and ballot-stuffing—that's real life, not some gay fantasy."
When asked if publically wiggling her chubby thighs on Dancing might have actually driven some sensitive young boys over the edge of the gay cliff, Palin snapped "No! Homosexuality is innate! I mean, it's a choice! But people don't choose to be gay because they're not attracted to me! Or Snooki! Or any other borderline overweight young woman who only shuts up when she's having her face mashed into the weeds by some barely sentient stud-muffin!"
In the interests of research, this writer asked a gay friend whether viewing Palin on Dancing had any influence on his sexual orientation. He replied, "No. But it did make me grateful for it."
Sent in from the field by the author's brother Matt Cahill, a genuine North Carolinian.
"Yesterday my fellow North Carolinians approved Amendment 1 –which defines marriage as a civil union between one man and one woman. And is now part of the state’s constitution. So if you’re gay or maintain multiple spouses in NC your road to official marriage just got more difficult, but we appreciate the national media coverage for something other than college basketball."
 After saying he "took a lot of credit," for the successful auto industry bailout in 2009, initiated by the Bush Administration and implemented by President Obama, despite the fact that he held no public office at the time and vociferously opposed the measure, Mitt Romney has now revealed that "Romneycare," the universal health plan for Massachusetts that formed the model for the supposedly unpopular "Obamacare," was actually Barack Obama's idea.
"It went down like this," a Romney adviser explained. "Mitt had just bailed out a local auto dealer by buying a couple more Cadillacs for his beach house, but otherwise was just sitting around the governor's mansion being severely conservative when Senator Obama showed up. Obama was blowing off his Senate responsibilities by rolling through Massachusetts in a hip-hop caravan with Al Sharpton and Jeremiah Wright.
"Governor Romney had also just been to the dentist that day. The Governor's teeth are kind of like a Formula One race car; bright, shiny, attractive, state-of-the-art if you will, but they require a lot of maintenance. Possibly he was still suffering a little from the aftereffects of the anesthesia, because when Obama lit some incense and started muttering hypnotically in Kenyan, Mitt fell into a light trance.
"Meanwhile, Kanye West and Jay-Z snuck over to the state Capitol and got the entire Democratic Legislature baked on some chronic they were holding. The Assembly thought the bill they were passing made Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia the official Massachusetts state ice cream. Thinking about ice cream made them hungry, so they marched over to the Governor's mansion and told him to sign the bill on the spot, or else they would eat all his family's food and legalize weed besides.
"After Mitt signed, the Legislature went home, totally munched out. They ate cold spaghetti and meatballs and a whole tub of Cool Whip because that's all they had in the fridge and crashed. When they woke up and realized what they had done, they hastily changed the name of the legislation to An Act Providing Access to Affordable, Quality, Accountable Health Care. Originally it was named the Health Hizzle for Shizzle Planizzle. Governor Romney was forced to go along in a spirit of bipartisanship."
Wow…that's an even less plausible story than Romney saving the auto industry.
"We're going after the votes of a certain electoral bloc with that narrative. You might be one of them. See if you believe it after you smoke this."
 Tanorexic Mom (NY Daily News) |  Arizona Governor Jan Brewer | Get your fake bake on with either one of these leathery ladies!
 Richard Grennel, openly gay Republican foreign policy maven and veteran of the Bush Administration, walked away without comment from the Romney campaign last week. Sources said that he was angry because Romney refused to defend him from right-wingers who feel gays have no place in society, or possibly on Earth, and also because Romney refused to let him speak for the campaign on foreign policy issues. A senior Romney aide was happy to speak anonymously.
"We needed a foreign policy pro, because the only thing Mitt's actually said about Obama's foreign policy is that it sucks and ours wouldn't. Somebody was bound to notice that sooner or later, so we hired Grennel. Who better than a veteran of those bombs-away days of Bush, when foreign affairs were conducted with a combination of robustness and irrationality that all America could get behind? Then we find out the guy is gay, and we say to ourselves, how does that make us look tough? We had no problem with having the guy as a spokesman, as long as he didn't speak, but he got all hissy about it and walked out.
"We were as surprised as anybody. It's like Mitt said…nobody minded him being gay. Get a few drinks in him and let him open his Twitter feed and he could be hilarious. The cracks about Rachel Maddow and Callista Gingrich were kid stuff compared to some of the tweets we scrubbed, like HClinton has disease named after her—MAD COW and what's round and weighs five hundred pounds CHRIS CHRISTIE HOLDING A ONE POUND BURRITO.
"In the final analysis, voters will see Mitt once again showed how strong he was compared to Obama, by bravely standing up to his own appointee and courageously letting Grennel stomp away sulking rather than raise a finger to defend him. Real Americans know it takes guts to cave in spinelessly to the demands of mindless haters.
"Mitt wisely showed that he knows that this year Republicans have to seek the votes of every bonk-ass loony out there, in order to combat the irresponsible socialist Democratic strategy of actually offering to make the government work. Serious homophobes, like eerie religious crackpots and maniacs who worship guns with a semi-erotic intensity, are an important part of our constituency.
"Governor Romney wants gays to understand that he does not dislike gays personally, but he needs to grovel for the support of everyone who detests them and wishes they didn't exist."
What does he offer gays?
"If they tone it down a little bit, he will be nice to them in private."
What do you mean by tone it down?
"Do they have to tell everybody that they're gay? I mean, they don't have to hang out in sports bars, but do they really need their own kind of bars? Mitt doesn't see the point. And also if they could maintain a nice baritone when they speak, just kind of broadly fake an interest in regular guy stuff and not be quite so precise about their clothes, Mitt would welcome that. They all want gay marriage, but couldn't at least some of them try straight marriage? If Grennel had been married to a woman, nobody would have suspected he was gay, so he'd still have a job today. Him and all his friends. I could see Mitt appointing any number of gays like that. I mean, if they existed."
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