Man Tries To Throw Wife Off Bridge, Instead Falls Himself: Police

[Headline, Huffington Post]

I wasn’t trying to throw my wife off the bridge. I was trying to strangle her. Then I was going to throw her off.

Our marriage has been troubled.

If I just threw her off, the drop wasn’t going to hurt her and I couldn’t depend on the gators to finish the job. Look at me. They only got one foot, one hand, and half a buttock.

If I had thrown Agnes off alive, I’d have her stumping around the house on one foot now, trying to cook and clean with one hand and unable to sit and rest without pain. She would have been unbearable! Not that she isn’t anyway.

I explained all this to the police. So did Agnes. They understood that the whole affair was an accident. Or a failure, from my perspective. But Huffington’s stringer down here, Audet Duplessis, covers a thousand square miles of swamp and bayou and and you can’t tell her anything. Which is why I arranged to meet her on the bridge later, to give her a blow by blow recreation of the events that had transpired.

I tried to strangle her and took my second trip down into the drink. That’s how I lost another half-buttock, my car keys, my eye glasses, and one ear.

How do you keep your new glasses on without an ear? i haven’t figured that one out yet.

And yet, here comes the next Huffington Post headline.

“Man Tries To Throw Reporter Off Bridge, Instead Falls Himself: Police”

She knew I was trying to strangle her. What else did she mean at the time when she said, “Ggggggggggggggg!”

I’ll give Audet this. She came out there with me again when I promised to behave. And then here comes the next headline.

“Man Tries To Throw Self Off Bridge, Instead Falls Himself: Police”

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Mummy’s Erect Penis Explained At Last

[headline, Huffington Post]

This immediately raises the question: if the Rapture happens at this moment and your penis is erect, will you automatically be left behind? Must you be flaccid to enter into Heaven? And what if St. Peter is a really good-looking dude?

Second-class sort of additional question: if you’re handling an erect penis (not your own) at Rapture time, does this disqualify you as well?

Unless, in either case, procreation is your goal?

But even then, should you be handling the thing like that?

And why must it always be about the male member? What about that female mummy found wearing a thong? Or the one with the humongous ta-tas? I’ve got penis fatigue.

The mummy wasn’t headed for heaven anyway. Several thousand years worth of Egyptians when they died were vectored right up to Aaru, the Egyptian reed fields, where Osiris reigned after displacing Anubis.

Yes, Anubis. Say it slowly. Ahhh NUBE    isss. No worries about erect penises with that dude. He doted on them. This is why the ancient Egyptian taxidermists were sometimes paid by the family of the deceased to stuff his male member to its fullest, and sometimes beyond, before doing the mummy wrap.

My uncle, who owned a funeral home, used to do the same thing, but in his case, just for laughs.

WATCH: Amazing Teen Uses Piano To Detect Landmines

[Headline, Huffington Post]

Tell me about it. My kid? The piano lessons cost a fortune. Plus, I had to buy a piano. The gas it takes to get him to the conservatory? At today’s prices? Don’t ask.

Look, it’s an investment. The kid will need something like this on his college application in eight years. Pray God he doesn’t ask for drums.

The point is, this kid will do anything to get out of practicing. He’s supposed to be doing his scales? Silence. I hear nothing. He tells me he is tuning the piano. He’s leaning into it. I look in and he has his iPad in there. Later I still don’t hear anything and he has his iPad propped up in front of his Hanon exercises. He tells me he is looking for Beethoven sonata piano music online. Later I still don’t hear anything and he tells me he’s working on his pedeling. I look down and he’s got his iPad by his foot. Shoe off. Working the device with his toes.

When my kid hears about this teen and her landmines, who knows what ideas it will plant. We’ve got no landmines in the neighborhood, but there is dog “waste” on the lawns. Can my boy get his instrument out the sliding glass doors onto the patio and then around the house to the front yard? It’s a spinet on casters. Does he play something when he spots a pile on the lawn? Does that count as practice? Note to self: consult with his teacher.

According to the boy, there is an iPad Piano Teacher app. You pay to download each lesson, but the lessons are much cheaper than his current teacher. According to the boy, in addition to landmines and dog poo, there are lessons on cooking with the piano, improving your Scrabble game with the piano, and some unrated lessons that I might check out myself, after the boy has gone to bed.

Walmart Evicts Workers Living In Store Parking Lot

[Headline, Huffington Post, 02/10/12]

All over America, there are husbands temporarily living in their car after a fight with their wife. Where do they wash up, shave, and brush their teeth every day? At work, of course. Many sleep under their desk rather than in the vehicle.

(In which other countries does this occur? There was a vogue in Finland, until a spate of hypothermic incidents led to a dramatic increase in widows; in Romania, husbands woke up sharing their automobile with a family of gypsies; in China, to find an iPad assembly line in the back seat; etc.)

In general, companies are comfortable with this situation. The employee stops asking to “work from home.” Commute time is zero. Employees purchase all their necessaries right there in the store, instead of letting their mate at home go cruising out to Safeway every day. So what went wrong at Walmart? All seemed copacetic. Right next door at Target, a husbands’ support group was meeting in an RV in the parking lot. On the other side, husbands were quietly dumpster-diving at Jack in the Box.

It turns out that Walmart experienced an uptick in husbands living in their cars, not due to domestic discord, but to avoid onerous chores and childcare duties at home. These men were telling their wives that Walmart was making them work around the clock. That to keep their job, they had to “work late.” Then they would party all night long in the lot, in Winnebagos tricked out as huge mancaves.

The bottom 80% of workers at Walmart are moms, many harried. When they found out what was going on, they threatened a Spartacus-like revolt. The parking-lot husbands, including many Walmart executives, were sent home.

Police Thwart Scheme To Steal Glacier Ice For High-End Ice Cubes

[Headline, Huffington Post]

The ice poachers did not get busted for their cube thefts, not per se. Some guy put in an order for a mammoth frozen in a big block of ice. Pretty cool, but when the glacier owners came out in the morning and found their mammoth gone, they flipped out. Lay in wait near their frozen sabertooth and when the poachers came back, powie.

The poachers were also hurt by the recent goldfish-in-a-cube craze. Their glacier ice offers a selection of lungfish, mountain crappie, and gar, but no species with that cocktail-gold glitter of the carp.

These enterprising vendors were also dispirited to learn that consumers were melting their ice and refreezing it in custom cube dimensions. Of course, this frees the prehistoric gases from the ice and spoils its taste. Our culture: sans culture. Why not use a dixie cup to scoop up agua from the toilet bowl?

Glacier cubes are still available. They come from Chinese (Tibetan, for the democratic purists) glaciers. One million workers imported from Heilongjiang Province work with tiny chisels. This crew represents the largest collection of iced-tea drinkers on the planet, yet ironically, they are not allowed to use the glacier ice in front of them. It’s like all those workers assembling iPhones, whilst using cans and string to communicate within the factory itself.

Once you’ve obtained your prehistoric cubes from the glaciers of the rich and famous, what are you going to drop them into? Swill? Of course not. Find a limo – not a rental, but a rich guy’s ride. Wait till the chauffeur turns his back and then sneak in and swipe whatever drinks you find. That’s what I do.

If your spouse or special friend is choking on one of these cubes: perform the heimlich, scoop up the cube, and get it back into the freezer as soon as possible. They’re expensive!

Finally, A Movie About Circumcisions

[Headline, Huffington Post, 01/30/12]

This blog existed, originally, to host movie reviews. I expected to write many a word about foreskins. I was ready to write about afterskins as well, if any such should be found and filmed.

Imagine my disappointment at the dearth of material. How many reviews can you write about Moolaadé? And that’s female circumcision, which is not what I had in mind at all.

Eventually then, this site became a hangout for soreheads who wanted to ban circumcision, and for circumcision queens (don’t ask). Scuffles broke out. A pecking order developed, based on foreskin square-footage. It was an outrage.

So I cut and ran. I sliced off that part of the blog.

Sure, when a movie like “Neanderthal Cut” came out, I spilled a little ink over its depiction of Mankind’s first (inadvertent) circumcision, by chert. And “The Shame and the Glory,” about the artist Graarbeaart, who would paint only ripe tomatoes and the circumcised penis.

Are circumcisions making a comeback? They were so big during the silent-movie era! Can this blog finally stop temporizing and take the subject in hand? I’ve heard that the combination of IMAX and 3D has many directors interested in movies that compare and contrast the circumcised and uncircumcised member. Polling as audiences exit the theater indicate that 85% of men are indifferent to the images, cut or uncut. The other 15% have strong feelings. Matters are more confused with female audience members. Confronted with a 50-foot “thing” in its original wrapping, many were not sure just what they were looking at. Whatever it was, however, most agreed that it wasn’t worth the $14 ticket.

Can Men Hear When You Have Your Period?

[Headline, Huffington Post, 1/27/12]

I broke down and called Arianna Huffington on this one. I know that she sold her periodical to some company or other, but she is still the managing news manager. She keeps her ear to the ground. I asked her what she had heard about this, period.

What would  her mother say, back in Greece, if she read this article? Or wait, are young women actually asking their mothers questions like this today? If I looked into a high-school classroom during third period – or any period – would I see teenage boys chatting with the girls and then impulsively resting their ears on the girls’ stomachs?

My hearing is none too good. I almost got run over by a truck this morning and I couldn’t make out one word that the driver was shouting at me. A woman at work cut her finger and I heard her squawk, but I didn’t hear the bleeding.

The other thing is that a gentleman does not acknowledge, or even notice, any sound that might emanate from a woman’s body – or any odor either, of course. You’re sitting at dinner in a fine restaurant, or in your loge at the opera, with Lady Betsy, and no matter how violently your senses are assaulted, no matter what mutters or actual cries of outrage are to be heard from those around you, you remain oblivious, the slightest smile on your lips, and you bend toward her and offer her a mint and your opera glasses, clouded though they may have become.