So Rainbow Brite apparently was given a makeover… by a ho. Some asshat at Hallmark decided that the heroine of my youth needed to be sexualized so she would be more acceptable to a younger generation of children that clearly only respond to tramps. What was once our round faced, adorable defender of colors, has now become the bastard child of Barbie’s one night stand with the Justin Timberlake looking doll from the Bratz collection. Lost is the innocent young Wisp who laid the smack down on Murky Dismal, she is replaced with a new sleek, slender Rainbow Brite who looks more at home reading Marie Claire than riding Starlite, who by the way looks like an uppity bitch now. Next thing you know the Star Sprinkles will be replaced by Slut Dust and Red Butler will be wearing assless chaps. And it’s not just her; Strawberry Shortcake got ho’d out too! She no longer smells like Strawberry Shortcake, instead that scent has been replace by *insert pop princess name here* new perfume.

Besides taking a poo on the beloved icons of 80’s youth, what is this doing to kid’s body images? I mean in Strawberry Shortcake we had a homely ginger who could rock just as hard as Barbie and her unrealistic body proportions. She was surrounded by friends and her pets and was generally loved by all she met. She even had a nemesis who would try to steal her berries, The Peculiar Purple Pieman of Porcupine Peak. She would throw a strawberry beating on him and it was all good in Strawberryland.

Okay so… honestly Strawberry Shortcake was a shit cartoon, but the point stands. Do we really have to sexualize everything to appeal to children? Shouldn’t we appeal to them with honesty, integrity, cute little faces, bravery and strength? Children see these cartoons and they want to be these characters. They want the clothes, toys and dolls. They want to wear the star belt and save the world. But to do that do you have to be a small svelte blond bimbo or can I pull it off as a brunette with curly hair that has chubby cheeks? To me children have always been like baking a cake, it’s only as good as the ingredients we use to make it. What do we give them? We give them an unrealistic body image to idolize and strive to become. You may as well give them a chopstick to shove down their throat so they can get used to the purging feeling.

God forbid that Hallmark gets hold of my vision of the old lady on the porch. She will have on a stripper outfit and will look like a 15 year old Asian prostitute.

Some shit just can’t be made up, no matter how hard you try. So you just shot a baby from your crotch, what is the first thing you do? Why you salvage the placenta and tann it and then stuff it full of lovely fluff and sew it into a teddy hear! What did you think I was going to say? Properly place it in the medical waste bin? Tear into it like a rabid animal to the horror of your doctor? No the only fitting thing is to make your child a token of “OH HELL NO YOU DIDN’T! MY FRIENDS ARE NEVER COMING OVER!!!”.  I mean all you have to do is “… cut in half and rubbed with sea salt to cure it. After it is dried out, it is treated with an emulsifying mixture of tannin and egg yolk to make it soft and pliable. Then, you craft it into a teddy bear”, I mean how simple and non-throwing up in your mouth is that.

This guy is my long lost father. His ability to rip lines of profanity give me a girl chub. Thank you Mr. Winnebago man, I will never own a Winnebago but if I blessed with a ignorant amount of money I will find you dear sir and line your pockets with fucking Jesus shit Christ fucking ass commission.

All I can say is I have a powerful need for a pork chop sandwich.

Charlie… stay the fuck away from Candy Mountain. Nothing good can come from it. This video proves that following your friends who are tripping on acid is never a good idea.

Oh Tom Cruise you used to be hot. Remember Top Gun?? I wanted to hump your leg, how I want to hump your leg but in a different more nasty Chihuahua kinda way. Scientology oh how I love your ability to make once awesome stars look like tool bags. I bow at your awesomeness.

NEVER, NEVER, NEVER LET YOUR FRIENDS TAPE YOU AT A REN FAIR. End of story.

And this last video… well lets just say that Obama doing blow off a hookers ass should never be caught on tape.

Here is the round up… have fun kids and keep the cameras rolling in 2010. God knows we need something to laugh at in this craptastic world.

I don’t know if this is real, there could be someone with a controller nearby playing… but I need it to be real. I need to live in a world where a fat ass bulldog can become a internet virtual skateboarding superstar. I need this in my life, like New Jersey needs to stop letting their residents get on TV

I have a Roomba, I have a cat, I have a dog… and this NEVER happens! Why?? I deserve a epic battle bots cat vs dog event in my house. We can take bets and fight them like chickens. Then you can call me Michael Vick and we can chest bump each other in a valiant show of machismo. Too far?

These guys have too much time on their hands, but that is pretty bad ass.

Now I have eaten some crazy shit, but I am not sure I can pull this one off.  And I am sure that it tastes… nice. I mean I like boobs, boobs are great! They are soft and snuggly, and when you pinch the nipples real hard they poke at you. But Honestly I cannot get over the thought of chick cheese. And once you open that door you can’t close it. I have spent the last day trying to picture lactating females in one of those milking stalls with two breast pumps stuck on their girly bits. And is it Vegan? Is it fair trade? Can you get organic, vegan, fair trade boob cheese?? I want to ask for that at Whole Foods just to fuck with the snooty cheese dude.  I want to talk about it a whole lot and then have a wine and cheese party to see if anyone shows up.

(Please open the article to see the flash file or player.)

The idea of warm, sweet and salty balls in my mouth makes me… a little less hungry. Really, not sure comparing your product to something that has been sweating in boxers is the best idea. Just saying, I am sure there are some ball craving nymphos out there, but generally most people not so big on the balls. Balls in your mouth or not, good work on the ads!

During this time there is one important thing to remember. DO NOT go home on your lunch and watch one of those Emergency Vets shows that plays on The Animal Planet. The title alone should warn you that this is not a good show to watch. At some point they will put a cute, fuzzy, and deeply loved animal to sleep. There will be crying children, sobbing adults, and heartfelt dialogue from Vets who wished they could have “done more” and talk about how the beloved pet was a “fighter” and you gave it the ultimate gift of “peace”. You will cry. You will snot up the house. Your eyes will swell up. You will spend the rest of the day reading stories off of the Lifetime website and crying. You will go home, put on the biggest sweatshirt and boxer shorts you have and watch Steel Magnolias, The Colour Purple, YaYa Sisterhood, Beaches, Fried Green Tomatoes and hell why not Old Yeller too. While balling into a bucket of Chocolate Fudge Ripple ice cream you will repeat certain movie lines over and over again, such as “Itchy tell me a story”, “dear lord, make me a bird so I can fly far, far away” and ” OPEN YOUR EYES SHELLY, OPEN, OPEN, OPEN, YOUR EYES SHELLY!!” Then you will call one of those adopt-a-poor-child-in-Africa-who-a-fly-on-its-eye-lid and you will in fact adopt-a-poor-child-in-Africa-who-a-fly-on-its-eye-lid. Sally Struthers will be so pleased.
*Eats more chocolate*

Re-posted and updated to take into consideration that Sarah Mclachlan and perfectly place kitten paws may very well be the downfall of womankind.

I have written about taking a shit at work before. As you know, it is a art form. There are the turd burglars who come in just as you shit, the campers who camp out in the bathroom while you are poised to take a shit and never leave, hence leaving you cramped with quivering lip trying to hold back the impending doom that is a work shit. However today, I found something new… something so strange I can’t even name it.
This morning I concocted a deadly brew of a Everything Bagel with sour cream and chives cream cheese and a Monster Java energy drink and a 9 am meeting. By 10 am things had began to change in my body. At first I felt content and full of energy. Then it happened. One deep rumble and I knew that something bad was going to happen. I endured the last of my meeting and headed to the bathroom. No one there, sweet! I check under the doors to be sure and head into the handicapalble stall at the end of the log long row. I take care of business quickly before I can be turd burglerd, throw in a courtesy flush for good measure and then I hear it. I long low Pisssssssshhhhh sound coming from behind my head. Then I feel something spray on my ass cheek. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!!” I yell. Is there a tiny perfume lady in the toilet (really what if that was your job? what a shitty fucking job)? I fight the urge to jump up, and instead I peer over my right shoulder. There is a timed air freshener with a hose that runs into the toilet bowl.WTF Mate. WTF.

Out loud I exclaim “oh no the fuck you didn’t!” Just as I hear the “oh” come out of my mouth the bathroom door opens. In my mind my brain sends commands to my mouth to quickly close. Too late, there is a 404 error caused by the smell of bathroom air freshener. Unknown bathroom person has entered the room and has heard me. I hear a snicker of someone wondering why I just got all ghetto with a turd by shouting “oh no the fuck you didn’t!”. I know they are wondering if I am about to take off my earrings and Vaseline my face and throw down. I am now trapped. I wait, it seems they are just peeing. I wait, they leave the stall, wash hands…. no door open. Crap. Checking make up. The seconds are years. Finally they leave. I wait for them to clear the hall and bolt. My ass smells like a mountain meadow.

Addendum- In the rush to haul ass from the bathroom, I ripped the seam on my underware and had to spend the rest of the day with my underware bunched up in the seat of my mountian meadow smelling pants.