This is wrong.

It almost makes me feel sorry for Lindsey. It's just not right to sell a girl's cooter right out from under her. I mean, I suppose it speaks to the success of my Campaign for Anatomical Correctness that she even has one to begin with. But damn, this is harsh.

On the other hand, how the hell did someone manage to get hold of Lindsey's cooter to begin with? I'm telling you, this puts those New Jersey black market kidney sale rings to shame. Of course, I'm assuming she didn't give it up voluntarily; even Lindsey wouldn't be that stupid. She and Mr. Tiny were probably kicking it old school style when someone slipped a Mickey into her soda...when she woke up, she'd had an Involuntary Cooterectomy.

And WTF, an asking price of $49.99? Come on, that's humiliating. What price can you put on a cooter? Mine is priceless.

These are strange and perverse times we live in, that's all I can say. Hold onto your cooters, ladies. You never know what can happen.

American Girl Happy Meal Toy

As opposed to, say, a Happy American Boy Toy? Whatever.

The Playthings people are all a'twitter about a rumored American Girl Happy Meal toy coming out next month. Yeah, little do they know. The toy is actually a 5 inch hard-plastic anatomically correct version of ME, complete with bandana, knitting needles, whip, and assorted pre-programmed phrases such as:

"The dictionary is your friend. I'm not."
"Kiss my muslin arse."
"Join the Campaign for Anatomical Correctness. Because vinyl gonads are a terrible thing to waste."
"Two all-llama patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions, on a sesame seed bun."
"Scary, creepy and inappropriate? Yeah."

There were more options, but the voice chip was full.

Get there quick; these are sure to sell out.

Cute-mongering

This?



It's for those of you who are filling my message box with rants about how I've been censoring your right to use the word 'cute.' And it's for those of you who've been egging me on with substitute suggestions. Consider it a tool to bring you all together by sharing it to remove your collective undies from your collective butts.

Be nice and share and don't say I never gave you anything. Despite the fact that I am a fighter, not a lover (with all due respect to the late great King of Pop).

Seriously, take heart: my War on Cute has drawn to a close. Not because I've run out of words with which to challenge your hearts, minds, and spirits. Hell no, never that. Truth is, I am headed off with the Entourage to Johnny Depp's private island. Trust me when I say that I will have no time or inclination to expand your vocabularic horizons while there.

Plus, I've made my point thrice over. Cutesy it up all you want, but don't ever forget that there's more than one way to skin a cat.



My work here is done. Close the can.