Monthly Archives: March 2009

Ladies’ Night

Poor NCAA Women’s Tournament.

It’s the same thing every year, isn’t it? Everyone’s all a-rage about the Men’s tourney going on, detailing all the harrowing stories, the internal conflicts and heart-warming journeys of every Win-derella and Cinderalla to grace the NCAA Men’s Basketball bracket. Meanwhile, the real

This just needs a few more teams....

This just needs a few more teams....

Cinderellas, the NCAA Women’s Tournament continues to wallow in obscurity, it’s heaviest programming competitor being 700 Club.

As a matter of fact, every year I forget there’s even a NCAA Women’s tournament too, until I’m clicking through the channels at some odd-hour and the following happens:

*click*…The Hills…*click*….Chelsea Lately (can’t click fast enough away from that shit)…..*click*….Tyler Perry’s “Minstrel Show” on TBS….*click* (Me): “…why is ESPN8 playing Juwanna Man?….oh wait.”

And then, since I’m a bleeding-heart liberal, I’ll keep it on for 2-3 minutes and watch out of some deluded-guilt-ridden sense of social obligation.

And you know what? It’s never good. Like never.

First of all, all the games look like pre-game warm-ups; everyone’s just running and doing lay-ups the whole time.  It’s like having a direct-feed to a suburban high school’s gym class.

Another nail-biter plays out in front of a near-capacity Tournament crowd.

Another nail-biter plays out in front of a near-capacity Tournament crowd.

Secondly, and I know that there’s plenty of people that have covered this aspect before, but the players are….well….let’s take a different angle on them (something that I’m guessing rarely happens for these women)….the players are….handsome. And I don’t care what you say, that’s a problem.

I mean, have you ever watched a women’s basketball game? It’s like it’s a goofy charity game; they all look like they’re really the mascots for the Men’s teams. I’m pretty sure that at any given time at least 3-5 players on the court has a beak. The rest have, like, fangs or something. I keep waiting for Stuart Scott to tell me “vote now for either Maryland’s Testudo or Georgia’s Hairy Dawg in our Capital One Mascot Bowl! I’m black! Blackety-black-black-black! Hip-hop!”.

Seriously though, this cannot be underscored enough. I don’t understand where they find these women from.

The NCAA tries to be slick by reinforcing these are definitely “ladies” by naming their teams as such….”The Lady Terps”….”The Lady Volunteers”…..but it’s a little suspect when you have to tell people that because when you actually see them, it’s all the more confusing, like when you see other “gender people” like Boy George, Ms. Jaye or Lady Ga-Ga.

So I did some HW and hacked into the NCAA’s recruitment system to find the results.Turns out that I didn’t need to even break into the system; they were desperate for someone, anyone to ask about their Women’s program.

Inside the Lady Volunteers time-out huddle.

Inside the Lady Volunteers time-out huddle.

Anyway, according to their records, here’s a breakdown on where they get most of their recruits from:

  • The Island of Dr. Moreau: 30%
  • Land of the Lost:  30%
  • Long Island: 15%
  • Narnia: 10%
  • the Abominable den, Himalayas: 10%
  • Jurassic Park: 5%

Are you really surprised? Probably not, right?

So anyway, I think there’s some things that they can do to make the tournament watchable or, at the very least, raise the ratings. Here they are:

  • First let’s cut the Women’s program out of the NCAA. Completely. Boom, already things are
    Another rising WNBA star takes it to the hole.

    Another rising WNBA star takes it to the hole.

    better. Now, let’s have them create a different sports division. We’ll call it the National Collegiate Division of Dames–the NCDD. Tell me you won’t get more interest for “the NC double-D”. Half you of out there are getting your Google sweaty just thinking about looking it up now.

  • Come tourney time, take the Men’s structure and tweak it suggestively. Instead of the initial field of 64, add 5 more qualifying teams. You’re now choosing from a field of 69. Boom. More ratings. How fun!
  • Somehow (I’m too lazy to do the math right now), there should be a round of 17 teams and it should be billed as the “NC-17” round.
  • Finally, at first I was going to advocate that there should be trampoline’s to help launch the women into the air so that they can dunk. But then I remembered that that would only be reinforcing the Mascot image again. So, instead, I think they should all be given muzzle-masks, like Hannibal Lecter. To help preserve individuality/personality in the game, players will be allowed to decorate these masks. Some will undoubtedly choose to Bedazzle them, some will apply make-up, and some will adorn the mask with feces and the teeth of fallen opponents. Those will be the players wearing pelts.

Now admittedly, this won’t erase all the ills; many of the players will still have arms and legs exposed, giving the game that same Teen Wolf-type of feel.

I considered adding to this charter the mandate that they all wear Power Ranger-like uniforms too, but I feared that the skin-tight garments might reveal protuberances like scales, tails and dongs that would horrify some, and disqualify many.

Still, it’s a promising start. I’ve already started working down my field of 69 now.

So….how’s your NC-17 looking?

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The Kids….Presents: Quick Hits

So today here at The Kids… we’re doing something different by doing a rapid series of thoughts/impressions on any topics that I want to do. The goal is to get in and out; to hit you hard and run, like Halle Berry.

It’s almost Twitter-like.

Let’s do this!

  • Further proof that Kanye is the most Smurf-ed up artist we’ve got going in hip-hop or otherwise: meet new girlfriend Amber Rose, a woman who looks like the orgy lovechild of Annie Lennox, Grace Jones and Sinead O’Connor. And then stuffed their bodies into the back of her cat-suit.

    pfw ysl backstage 100309

    808's and Buttbreaks

  • Women that I wish that Chris Brown dated instead of Rihanna: Queen Latifah. Lady of Rage .Juwanna Man. Chun-Li. Things might’ve turned out differently.
  • With movie versions of Transformers and GI: Joe out, I want to make casting suggestions for a Masters of the Universe movie. For the lead roles of He-Man and Skeletor: Hillary Swank and Tilda Swinton. Doesn’t who plays who, it’ll work.
  • I don’t watch Ugly Betty because it’s premise–awkward-looking minority dork strives for acceptance, friendship as she navigates white mainstream society–is the cliff-notes of my middle and high school years. Except Betty’s got better clothes.
  • I wish there was a gun that I could use to zap Beyonce’ away and bring D’Angelo back. I’d call this gun “Justice”. I would also be ok with using this weapon on Fergie for, well, anyone else.
  • An island of hot white people afraid of “The Others”: Manhattan or ABC’s Lost?
  • Seeing how the kids turned out, don’t you wish DHS had taken the kids away from Mr. Drummond years ago instead?
  • How can that blind guy (I call him ‘Daredevil’) on American Idol be blind and tone deaf? Just seems unfair, doesn’t it?

Seacrest, out.

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Put up Your Dukes

The Power of Satan Compels You....The Power of Satan Compels You....

The Power of Satan Compels You....The Power of Satan Compels You....

If there’s one thing I hate more than Danny Gokey and the ever-crumbling “Blue-Eyed Soul Patrol” on American Idol it’s Duke University.

As a matter of fact, I hate them so much that I just turned and punched someone as soon as I typed ‘Duke University’.

And now I’ve punched that person again.

Duke is like that kid that you went to school with; the one with the super-nice clothes, sweet-Smurf car and hot girlfriend that everyone wants and is secretly hitting on the side anyway.

Duke is like the world’s biggest country club, 2nd only to the GOP.

As a matter of fact, they’re just like the GOP; they’ll both have some random-Smurf blacks around to try and convince the public that they’re ok with all this “colored people business”.

Their earlier attempts weren’t so hot though; one of their former big basketball stars was a Black guy from Alaska named Trajon Langdon, who sounds like a dime-store detective novel

Someone PLEASE hi-5 me!

Someone PLEASE hi-5 me!

character, and played like he was terrified of disappointing the grand wizards in the stands. They brought him to Duke U because they figured since he grew up somewhere where it was white, cold and sunny 90% of the time, he’d be fine at Duke.

He’s now in Moscow.

Afterwards, they had Elton Brand, a likeable, big-guy that played hard and did all the right things. I remember this because I’d watch Duke home games sometimes and they’d refer to him as a “work horse” underneath the basket, or a “real lunch-pail player” or sometimes “a big scary Negro, hungry for Caucasian flesh and acceptance”.

He’s now in the NBA.

It pains me too because two of my favoritest people in the world are currently studying at Duke (hello, Power and Cal)–but I’m terrified of setting foot on campus.

I went there once when I was younger, and the admissions officer said, “you’re too small for basketball, but I have a feeling you’d make a fine addition to our ‘Department of Facilities Up-keep”. Here, try holding this ; it’s like a really big pen. There you go. Now dab it in this bucket; it’s like an ink well for your pen! Now move it back and forth. Go up and down the hall a couple of times; try it out. Oh, and empty the trash in my office.”

So I’m a little nervous about going back. I imagine I’ll get there, and walk around and the Dave Matthews Band/Coldplay music that they’re piping quietly through bush-hidden speakers will come to a ripping stop, like in the movies when someone walks into a local diner.

Fast forward to about 20mins later, when you see me racing down Tobacco Road on foot while a Mercedes hatchback chases me down the path with torches, pitchforks, iPhones and chants of “Get back here!”.

I’ll ironically get recruited for the Track team after that.

One of the only Dukes I can get behind.

One of the only Dukes I can get behind.

So anyway, those are parts of a series of reasons why I find it so irksome that people that didn’t even attend Duke are rooting for this team during the NCAA tourney. Some other cool factoids about DU:

  • their student recruitment strategy includes showing clips from Birth of a Nation
  • most people think that the basketball fans are blue in support of the Blue Devils. They are in fact colored blue to match their nuts; Dukies get no play in college
  • undergrads are carted around campus on the backs of homeless people. At DU, this is referred to as “community service”
  • every admitted student is given a “Lil’ Arrogant F-cker” kit that includes a book on how to constantly turn your nose up at others and still see where you’re going, a brochure on how to throw off-campus stripper parties and a free copy of “Eskimo Kisses: The Trajan Langdon Story”

Rooting for Duke just doesn’t make sense. Rooting for DU is….I don’t know, evil.

duke-gi-joe

I heard that Lady Jaye went to DU.....where is she?

It’s like rooting for the mustache-twisting villain in those old black and white movies.

It’s like rooting for Jimmy Fallon.

It’s like rooting for STD’s.

As a matter of fact, Duke is low, low, low on my list of “Dukes That I’d Cheer For”.

Take a look:

The Kids…List of Dukes That I Enjoy Cheering For:

1. Duke, from GI Joe

2. Daisy Duke, woman

3. Daisy Dukes, shorts

4. Dukes of Hazard

5. Duke of Earl

6. Duke Nuk’em

7. David Duke

666. Duke University

Wojo Jr. watches on in horror.

Wojo Jr. watches on in horror.

So naturally I’m hoping that they don’t make it to the Final Four this year. I’d love, love, love to see all the Devils sitting on the sideline crying again. Especially if I can get a replay of that classic shot of that lil’ Devil crying when MD teabagged the Blue Devils not too long ago.

It’s shameful how much pleasure I get out of that picture still.

F’in Dukies.

*I apologize to the 8 people punched as a result of this blog entry.

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The Kids….are just Biden time on Twitter

Uh-oh. I’m looking at my Rol-y and it’s about that time, for Uncle Joe Biden to drop some lines.

I’ve reported in the past on the Twitter-ings of Amy Winehouse and Angelina Jolie, but this week we’re checking in on everyone’s favorite drunken uncle–Uncle Joe Biden!

I was only somewhat shocked to learn that Uncle Joe had a Twitter account; after all, I always imagine that Uncle Joe spends most cabinet meetings with his feet propped-up on the table, eating Twizzlers and launching NERF missiles at Rahm.

Something like that.

Anyway, I thought it’d be fun to share with you the latest Twitter-ings of Joe Biden, V.P. of the U.S.A. and Chair of the White House No Sissies Club.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Uncle Joe.

The Kids Don’t Get It Presents: SAY UNCLE!

11:14pm: HOT JAM ON TOAST I’M V.P. HALLELUJAH FALLUJAH THIS IS SWEET

YOU THINK YOU'RE REAL FUNNY DON'T YOU? YEAH, THEY'LL GET U 1ST

YOU THINK YOU'RE REAL FUNNY DON'T YOU? YEAH, THEY'LL GET U 1ST

11:17pm: NO REALLY I DONT THINK YOU GUYS UNDERSTAND THIS JOB IS FRIGGIN’ SWEET. I JUST HAD CAP’N CRUNCH IN THE OVAL OFFICE. CAP’N CRUNCH! THEY DONT EVEN MAKE THAT CEREAL ANYMORE BUT I SAID DAMN I WANT SOME CAP’N CRUNCH AND-SHAZAM!-SOMEONE BRINGS ME CAPN CRUNCH LOVE THIS JOB THANK YOU DELAWARE

11:24pm: SO BARACKY’S ALL UPSET ABOUT THAT ASSHAT SISSIE ASKING ABOUT OUR PROGRESS LAST NIGHT. SISSIE. I SAYS TO BARACKY I SAYS TO HIM U WANT THAT I PUT THAT JAG-OFF IN A HEADLOCK BOSS? AND HE’S ALL NO NO JOE WE CANT HAVE THAT BUT I SAY BALONEY TO THAT BALONEY SO I’M GETTING HIM ANYWAY I’M WAITING IN HIS BUSHES NOW

11:34pm STILL WAITING IN BUSHES JUST PEED ON HIS DOG REMINDER AMERICANS: CURB YOUR DOGS

11:45pm: GOT’IM. HE’S IN A SACK OVER MY SHOULDER CRYIN

12:00am: ei549wij4n5lkm70s9-ids49w-4jjgsmbs=-0vini3q93-v8a0an3-q9z797363ob2b66n20aann80afn80-283q535onanfan.n.n2–8ina3qp0a==kafmn931-9-gngamapntwog48wq3i5on4-95-9nsn3qn35/sg-g9-=awa924no

12:02am: KNOW WHAT THAT WAS? THAT WAS ME BANGING THAT SISSIE’S FACE ON MY KEYBOARD. I LEARNED’IM, I LEARNED’IM REAL GOOD MESS WITH BARACKY U GET THE BIDEN BULLRUSH

12:15am: HAD SECRET SERV DROP WHINY BOY OFF AT HOME AGAIN. WORK TO DO RIGHT NOW; CONVINCED BOSSMAN THAT WE NEED AN X-FILES OFFICE SO BARACKY PUT ME IN CHARGE OF A COMMISSION INVESTIGATING ZOMBIE ATTAX. THEY EAT BRAINS YOU KNOW. CRAZY!

6:05am: FELL ASLEEP WATCHIN’ THE WATCHMEN IN TEH OVAL OFFICE. AWESOME MOVIE. IT’S GOT A HUGE BLUE GUY NAKED WITH A BIG WEINER. WHO WATCHES THE WATCHMEN?

I'M TELLING U HAVE TO SEE THIS MOVIE. THE GUY'S DOODLE-STICK MUSTA BEEN THIS BIG AT LEAST. MAYBE BIGGER!

I'M TELLING U HAVE TO SEE THIS MOVIE. THE GUY'S DOODLE-STICK MUSTA BEEN THIS BIG AT LEAST. MAYBE BIGGER!

JOE BIDEN DOES!

7:11am: JUST HAD PIZZA FOR BFAST BEST JOB EVER

7:14am: JUST SCHEDULED TO DO AN INTERVIEW WITH CONNIE CHUNG FOR MSNBC. CANT WAIT GOING TO GET TO USE MY LINE ON HER: SO WHAT’RE YOU DOING TONITE CONNIE? NOTHING, HUH? HOW ABOUT U LET ME WANG-CHUNG TONITE? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NEWT LOVES THAT JOKE

8:44am: BIG MEETING TO TALK ABOUT STIMULUS PACKAGE AND RECESSION SOLUTIONS. MY SUGGESTION TO THE COMMITTEE? PUT A RING ON IT! GET IT? BEYONCE SONG

8:57am ON MY WAY UP CAPITOL HILL TO MEETING. I’M THE ONLY ONE THAT REMEMBERED THAT I SAID TODAY IS ‘FUNNY HAT DAY’. I HAVE A VIKING HAT

9:07am: ME BARACKY AND DOUBLE-D’S-PELOSI ARE ALL SITTIN TOGETHER. I LVE THIS IT’S LIKE WE’RE THE AMERICAN IDOL JUDGES. SHE’S SIMON BARACKY’S PAULA AND I’M RANDY. LET’S DO THIS MEETING DOGS!

9:08am: BORING MEETING. DRAW FUNNY PICTURES OF NANCY AND HILLARY HUGGIN AND KISSIN EACH OTHER PELOSI’S SAYING ‘UR SO HOT’ TO HILLARY AND I GOT HILLARY SAYING ‘OOH BABY BABY’. HIL’S WEARIN A SOMBRERO I LOVE CARTOONS READ PEANUTS SAVE OUR

MICKEY, EVERYBODY. EVERYBODY, MICKEY. MICKEY'S MY STAND-IN JOE DURING ZOMBIE ATTAX. SAY HI, MICKEY!

MICKEY, EVERYBODY. EVERYBODY, MICKEY. MICKEY'S MY STAND-IN JOE DURING ZOMBIE ATTAX. SAY HI, MICKEY!

NEWSPAPERS

9:10am JSUT SHOWED YM CARTOON TO BARACKY. EVEN HE SMILED AT IT A BIT. LIL’ DEVIL. I’M GETTIN HIM SOME KOOL-AID AND PUDDING FOR LUNCH. MAYBE A LUNCHABLE TOO.

MAYBE!

9:12am: BORING MEETING PLAYING WII BOWLING BARACKY SENT ME OUT TIL IT’S TIME FOR ME TO DO MY ZOMBIE REPORT. I BROUGHT A BAGGIE FULL OF GRAPE JELLY AND HAM TO SMEAR ON MY FACE TO HELP CONVINCE THEM THE ZOMBIE THREAT IS REAL

9:57am GOT BORED SO I JUST WALKED IN THE MIDDLE OF STIMULUS MEETING IN FULL ZOMBIE MAKE’UP AND SAID ‘I AM HERE TO EAT UR BRAINS AND CONSTITUTION’ EVERYONE’S SCREAMIN AND RUNNIG NOW. ZOMBIES ARE REAL TO THEM NOW. VALIDATED. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED

10:15am: I GOT A SHIPMENT OF YOO-HOO COMING IN FOR THIS WEEKEND’S SLEEPOVER AT TEH V.P. CRIB. CATCH YA LATER TWITTERS. AND IF YOU SEE ANY ZOMBIES YOU PUNCH’EM IN THE GUT AND TELL’EM UNCLE JOE SAYS HI. JUST MAKE SURE U’VE GOT A BASEBALL CAP ON OR THEY’LL BITE UR BRAINS. OR, PUT A RING ON IT! BEYONCE SONG

BYE!

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Blue Tooth

I’m starting to think that I curse too much, and I think it’s starting to really influence the people around me.

Lately I’ve been cursing everywhere: on the toilet, at work, in libraries.

Sometimes I use it when it doesn’t even call for it. It’s become part of my everyday vernacular. Like, I’ll order a pizza:

(Papa John’s): Good evening and thanks for calling Papa John’s where we microwave our pizzas at room temperature just for you. Would you like our special 7 pizzas and 40 meat-breads with cheese for only $9.99? You can add bacon for only $.99 more.

(The Kids…): Yeah hey f-cking Papa John. I’m f-cking hungry, godd@mn hungry.

Papa John's gives me the Smurfs.

Papa John's gives me the Smurfs.

(Papa John’s): What would you like then? We have–

(The Kids…): Yeah I got your roasting over a spit, you pig-f-cker. I’m out. You give me doo-doo shits.

(hangs up)

Totally unnecessary.

So I embarked on a quest to find a means to turn my mouth from dirty to flirty. I am too lazy to get a ‘book’ so I turned on the TV. First person I saw was Joel Osteen, the quack TV evangelist who preaches from a gold-plated Segway in one of those mega-churches that looks like they double for spaceships.

No luck there.

Eventually I found my way onto one of those old-school cartoon channels and discovered the perfect solution:

The Smurfs!

I totally forgot that the Smurfs talk in their own Smurf-language from time-to-time. It’s like they had lapses in code-switching or something.

Like the episode I watched, “Papa (Smurf) Was a Rolling Stone”. The episode opens with Papa Smurf, the only one allowed to wear a pimp hat in the Smurf ghetto, leaving Smurfette’s mushroom house.

He’s hitching his footsie-pants back up as Vanity Smurf and Brainy Smurf are standing around with some Smurf extras that will later be clawed and eaten by Azrael. Papa gives them this sheepish grin as they all stop talking and look at him.

Brainy Smurf says, “Well Papa Smurf, you sure look tired. What’d you just do?”

And Papa Smurf says, “I just got done Smurfing my Smurfing brains out, Brainy.”

Yeah, I Smurfed her. I Smurfed her good.

Yeah, I Smurfed her. I Smurfed her good.

Brainy says, “You mean with Smurfette, Papa Smurf?”

And Papa Smurf says, “No, with a Gummi Bear, Brainy–yes, with Smurfette, you Smurf-hole. Smurfette does some of the craziest Smurf I’ve ever Smurfing seen in my life. I’m getting too old for this Smurf, my little Smurfs.”

About 10 seconds later, Gargamel shows up and steps on 1/2 of the Smurfs there before Handy Smurf shows up with a machete and chases Gargamel out of the village. End of episode (they’re only like 3mins long).

That's some big Smurf-ing wood you got there, Handy.

That's some big Smurf-ing wood you got there, Handy.

Or that other episode, the one where the Smurfs go around spreading that disease by biting each other on the ass. You know the one; each time one of them got bit, they turned purple and angry and ran around biting others on the ass.

At one point Vanity Smurf, who was always calm and constantly looking in the mirror because he was high on ‘E’, gets bit and he drops his mirror and screams, “WHAT THE SMURF? NO, NO REALLY WHAT THE SMURF DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING? YOU JUST BIT ME ON THE TAIL YOU SMURF-SMURFER. I SHOULD TAKE THIS MIRROR AND SHOVE IT SO FAR UP YOUR SMURF–” and then the disease overtakes him.

Awesome episode.

So what did I learn?

This dirty little son-of-a-Smurf is just looking to cause trouble.

This dirty little son-of-a-Smurf is just looking to cause trouble.

1. That if I’m ever in the neighberhood to knock on Smurfette’s door. 3 apples high or not, she can clearly put it on someone like Papa Smurf.

2. That the Smurfs have a universal system for swearing that’s gone through a series of incarnations before becoming the present-day word, “jawn” (sadly(?), only very few of you will be familiar with this term).

So that’s what I’m going to start doing now; I’m going to replace my swear words with “Smurf”.

It’s great for all ranges of emotion, too, like:

  • Love: “Baby, I Smurf-ing love you.”
  • Anger: “I will seriously Smurf your Smurf up.”

    So what if her Smurfy stinks? She's still the only shot they've got at pro-creating.

    So what if her Smurfy stinks? She's still the only shot they've got at pro-creating.

  • Dismissal: “Smurf please.”
  • Bewilderment: “So get this; this Smurf has the nerve to come over to me and say “no, you’re fired” and I’m like, ‘Smurf, what the Smurf are you on?’. I mean, can you believe that? Smurf.”
  • Terms of Endearment: “You my Smurf, dog.”

See? You can yell all of those til you’re blue in the face.

So starting tomorrow, that’s how I’m going to start talking.

….

….

You know what? Smurf that. I’m starting today.

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Houston Rocket

So in the midst of researching something for work, I came across a host of celebrity-associated foundations, like the Kanye West Foundation (“proudly supporting the educational efforts of Bush-hated blacks since 2004”), Don Imus’ “Imus Ranch” (“proudly supplying combs to every nappy-head in the New Brunswick/Newark N.J. area”) and Rosie O’Donnell’s “For All Kids Foundation” (“desperately doing something before I fade back into K-Mart commerical obscurity”).

There were even a host of country-music stars foundations with missions ranging from “making sure the only ‘Black’ I see is Clint Black” to “Darius Rucker is

"Is that Hootie?!...This sh*t is f*cking with my mind."

"I KNOW that is not Hootie singing country...what's that fool on??!!"

really f*cking our shit up” to “save a horse, ride a Cowboy Troy instead. And then shoot him.”–ok, so the last one is a foundation that I’m trying to start-up, but still.

But by far, my favoritest foundation that I came across had to be the Whitney Houston Foundation. The WHF, which oddly enough looks like “WTF” if you’re reading too fast, is awesome.
First of all, it’s named after Whitney Houston, who’s about as lucid and bright as Roller Girl from Boogie Nights. I mean, can you imagine that? Submitting a proposal to Whitney Houston?
I can’t even imagine what this process looks like.
Knowing Whitney, it probably meant actually submitting the proposal in person; a distinct possibility since the website notes that they only accept written proposals.
In 2009.
When they already have a website.
Anyway, I think the process would involve taking your handwritten to the Foundation’s office (located in Newark, NJ–a city that passes out crack like it’s The Watchtower), where Bobby Brown, dressed like one of those flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz, escorts you to Whitney’s office where she’s sitting on top of a stack of busted VCR’s, boomboxes and water-stained copies of The Preacher’s Wife.
I imagine Whitney’s there with one of those Burger King crowns on, sucking the marrow out of a chicken leg and wearing a T-shirt that says, “I’m Your Baby 2-nite: for $5”. When she sees Bobby, she yells, “THE F*CK YOU DOING HERE, BOBBY. WE ARE DONE. I TOLD YOU WE’RE DONE–” and she pulls out a knife and the two of them circle each other like dogs and saying “Shoo, shoop, shoop, shoop be oop” before they collide and make crack love on the floor in front of you.
At some point (because you’re still watching–unless you watch VH1 a lot, you don’t get to see crackheads mating much), she turns to you and says, “Leave your paper on the VCR over there. You’re funded. And tell others what you saw here today, baby.”

Bobby and Whitney's New Jack Sling back in the 90s

Bobby and Whitney's New Jack Sling back in the 90s

It’s no surprise then, that the Whitney Houston Foundation, in real life, has the following posted in bold print on the main page:

Until further notice, The Whitney Houston Foundation For Children will not be accepting grant applications.

Curious, I did some investigating to find out just why the foundation wasn’t accepting applications right now. I mean, I know that because of the economy a lot of foundations aren’t offering much funding right now. But then I remembered who was in charge of this foundation:

Whitney Houston

So I decided that I’d better investigate further.

And boy am I glad that I did.

Turns out that the foundation was systematically drained of its assests over the last couple of years due to a bizarre series of proposals that were funded by teh foundation. I got my hands on few of them for you to see what I mean.

Proposal #1:

“dEaR mE MiZz HutoN,

pLez giVe me an BobBbbbbBy $5 ilLioN moNey to bUild sUpeR scools for thESe black kiz here.

we wiLl builT  it wiTh the help of diNNOsorz, sUperManand Mariah CaREY.

tahnk u,

NOT ME”

Proposal #2 (submitted during the brief period of time that Whitney’s mom, Cissy, was in charge of the foundation. This was awarded $500,000. 3x. Per year.):

“momMa,

can u please write a big check for me an’ bobby to open up a house here down south? we are tring to help clean the streets of drugs, so we want to build a house for evereony in the neirhborhood to dump their sweaet, wseet cocaine in one place moomma.

magine that momma: al thar coaince in one plaace. saef from cops kids. thanx moma, bobbby says hiiiiiiiiiii

whintey”

So, on the off-chance that they might actually have a bit of money left despite their website’s warning, I submitted two applications:

The first one was for partial funding of a student leadership trip to Colorado. Surprisingly, I actually got a response in a week! The sad thing though, that this was their response:

“Dear Applicant,

The Whitney Houston Foundation does not possess monetary funds to award proposals at this time. However, the board was impressed with your proposal, and so have awarded you the following to cook and sell.”

sugar_mound

Bizarre? Not as bizarre as the response to my second proposal, which sought funding for purchasing library books.

“Dear Applicant,

Thank you for your proposal. The Whitney Houston Foundation is currently not funding proposals at this time. However, we will suck your d*ck for $3. Please contact us immediately. Ask for ‘Shoop shoop’.

Sincerely,

Bobby Brown”

Geez, WHF?

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The Kids….wants to know, “Who you callin’ a ‘panzee??”

So, let’s say someone, a friend even, calls you up and says, “hey man, I need you to do me a solid. You free to help me out with something Saturday afternoon?”.

You’re probably thinking, “my friend probably needs a hand moving some furniture….maybe installing something onto the computer….maybe some afternoon delight?. Who knows, right? Either way, you’re most likely game to help, right?

"Hm, do I feel like having a pinot, a cabernet, OOOGG OOOG AAHH AHH?"

"Hm, do I feel like having a pinot, a cabernet, OOOGG OOOG AAHH AHH?"

Well, if your friend is Sandra Herold, you might want to think twice.

Sandra’s idea of an “assist”?

“Hey, can you come over and help me move my monkey?”

You’re probably thinking, “Oh, I see where you’re going with this. You want me to come over and ‘move your monkey’ huh? Oh yeah, I’ll move your monkey for you…I’ll move that monkey good….I’ll move that monkey better’n it’s ever been moved before, Sandra….”

And then you come over there and see it’s actually a monkey. And not just any monkey either, according to the following (pulled from the linked article):

“…he drank wine from stemmed glasses and used a computer…”. So not only was Sandra asking for help with her pet monkey, she was asking for help with her drunk, horny (b/c you know that monkey was looking at porn) monkey.

I know how wild and ungainly my friends are when they’re drunk at the bar; can you imagine trying to subdue a drunk, horny when he’s in his own home?

I’d take one look at the scene and would be like, “…here I thought you wanted me to come over so we could bang like orangutans and here you are trying to get me to play some ‘Gorillas in the Mist’ bullshit–I don’t want any part of this crazy white shit.”

Date Night!

Date Night!

And then I’d back out of the house slowly, never turning my back and never taking my eyes off that drunk, horny chimp. And then, once I was out, I’d burn the house down–because I don’t want any chick crazy enough to live with a fuggin’ monkey strolling the aisles of my local Whole Foods.

And then I’d call and turn myself in to Animal Cops.

But let’s say you’re a real pal and you decide, you know what? I’m going to stay and help Sandra put this crazy mofo down.

How would you handle that? I think you have to fight monkey-with-monkey.

I’d imagine you’d start by slowly removing your pants with one hand, and with the other, motioning for Sandra to move around to the other side of the desk to surround the monkey.

Then, once my pants were off, I’d take my draws off slowly–slowly–remember, this monkey’s probably got wood now, so you’ve got to be careful not to make it too excitable or you’ll end up unwittingly making man-monkey babies with this thing. The world needs only one Flava Flave.

As a matter of fact, this tactic probably works because now the monkey’s watching you, licking his red wine-stained lips, touching his monkey balls or something because you’re nekked. So while he’s watching you tip-toe over to him, with one hand you steady his gaze, peacefully, calmly, making monkey noises.

Now, while he’s watching, shit in your other hand.

Feel free to taunt him once he's drunk: "Look at with, with your stoopid monkey titties hanging out."

Feel free to taunt him once he's drunk: "Look at you, with your stoopid monkey titties hanging out."

Have Sandra keep pouring him glass after glass of wine. Keep him calm. Say, “hey monkey, whatcha got there–a merlot? 2006? Is it good? Yeah, I bet it is good Merlot you tick-eatin’ mofo–”

–and then sling the shit right into his eyes.

He’ll drop his wine glass (and scream something like “Egads you hairless ape!” since he drinks wine), stop beating off and be ready to rumble.

Well get ready because now this drunk monkey’s in full-on-ape-shit mode since you’ve reverted him to his primal state.

At this point, Sandra hopefully isn’t making out with him and is instead sticking to the plan and trying to subdue him, too.

DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE THE MONKEY.

This cannot be stressed enough. You ever seen a Jackie Chan movie? You know how he’ll use turtle shells, dish soap, candle wax as a weapon?– I saw a movie once where he used two tampons as nunchucks–well I’m betting that monkeys fight the same way. He’ll use his feet, pee in your face, Sandra’s wig….beat you with your own sneaker….maybe even appeal to your sense of reason since he’s a wine-drinking-monkey…but you’ve got to hold your ground until he’s finally overcome with the bottle of wine.

Then say, “ok, while this monkey’s passed out, I’m going to get a baseball bat and beat it.” Naturally, as a crazy white woman, Sandra will try and defend the monkey, but explain to her: “Oh yeah, sure, let’s let it live. You know what happens next? He’ll bring meth-monkeys back here with him. You ever seen a gorilla on meth? Me neither. Wine-drinking monkeys are like nosferatu. It must be killed.”

At this point, you may want to have her leave the room. Then, as the door slowly swings shut, say something real bad-ass like, “ok drunk-monkey, it’s just me and you now…”

and then spank the monkey.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll get your afternoon delight still.

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