In like an emu, out like a tapir. Or a pig.

It's March. Quit asking where I've been. I've been busy, and that's all you need to know.

I am going to discuss pig-related things, because yesterday was National Pig Day. If you don't like that, go suck on a hot dog.

It was pointed out to me that I neglected a rant-worthy segue relating to whistle pigs, the topic of my last blog entry. (Yes, I just used passive voice. Deal with it. I refuse to directly acknowledge certain moderators who like to point things out to me).

Here it is: LINKY THING

That's Gus, the Pennsylvania lottery's attempt to capitalize on the popularity of its state's most popular groundhog. Piece of poorly animated quasi-pork, that. Seriously, he makes Lamie's animals look well-made and attractive. Next time you wish to complain about them (And you know you will. I certainly will if you don't), consider that AG could have charged you $34 for something that looks like Gus.

But wait:


Yeah, I can see the inspiration.

Really though, Gus? "Second most famous groundhog in Pennsylvania?" That's just sad. If that's your claim to fame, you need to re-evaluate your life. Or your ad campaign. Also, don't ask me why Gus is playing for The Eagles and not The Steelers. I'm thinking it was because the Steelers are too cool to associate with this kind of ridiculousness. Gus should think on that some more because maybe he shouldn't be joining a team that has Michael Vick on it. Just sayin'.

Enough of this quasi-pig talk. Let's talk about a real pig: John Mayer. Been following John-boy lately? Total pig. We can only wish that he'd be sucked down in that "whirlpool of selfishness, and greediness and arrogance" that compels him to do things like rag about the sex with old girlfriends and drop the N-bomb in interviews.

"But AJ," you ask, "why do you hate John Mayer so much?"

Because he's a pig.

I have it on good authority that he tours in the John Mayer Weinermobile because he is obsessed with his own weiner.


Look, musically, I could do better with my fused fingers and AG's plastic guitar. And I hold him partially responsible for that breathy vocal thing everyone thinks is so cool (much like Mariah Carey is to blame for the "Every Word Must Consist of 450982342 Notes" syndrome). And John Mayer, he writes things like THIS, which is really complicated shit about I don't know what.

No. Do not want. Let's get one thing clear, John Mayer: if you come anywhere near me with your sausage (yeah, you see what I did there?), I'll finish what Pink started. Me, I do not need any man to be the fucking "guide and weight" of my world, okay? Seriously, I have an Entourage for whom I am the guide and weight of their worlds.

Which reminds me, John Mayer: stop sending applications to join my Entourage. I won't have you. Because you're a pig.

I do have to step up and say that I don't get why Jessica Simpson thinks she can handle a pet teacup piglet when she couldn't keep a muzzle on John Mayer when they were dating. Then again, I need to remind myself that after the Mariah debacle, I'm done giving advice to stupid celebrity ingrates.

Sadly, pigs get a bad rep because of the likes of John Mayer. We should be celebrating pigs, not ridiculing them. I think AG should make a stuffed pig for its next GOTY character. The pig is truly a noble creature. In Germany, where they greet one another by saying things like "Ich Habe Schwein Gehabt," pigs are meant to represent good luck.

And also, pig parts are just plain tasty. Not as tasty as llama, granted, but tasty nonetheless.

So all hail the noble pig. And Pink, who knows a pig who needs kneed in the crotch when she sees one.

Replace all of your Playthings signature photos with pictures of pigs today. You'll be glad you did

Dr. Fail

Yeah, Dr. Fail McGraw. That's how we say it around here.

Today, with little fanfare, Dr. Fail teamed up with American Girl to devote a show to teaching girls about important things they need to know. At first I thought this to be a most excellent development, because it's high time network television devoted an hour to the proper usage of the English language.

But alas, 'twas not to be.

Because you see, Fail's agenda was about tackling "the most important issues facing tweens. Parents, if your young daughter is asking questions about her body, bullies or the birds and the bees, don’t miss this special show! And, for the first time in Dr. Phil history, the audience is filled with girls! Find out what the younger generation has to say!"

Bodies, bullies, birds, and bees, boo-yaah. I'll give him points for the alliteration. But WTF, for the first time the audience is "filled with girls?"

Really?

And I don't think we're talking about Girls Gone Wild here. That, I could understand.

What kind of promotional angle is that? See here, Dr. Fail, you've set a dangerous precedent that you are going to be hard-pressed to top. I can see it now: "For the first time in history, the audience is filled with midgets!" Then the next week "For the first time in history, the audience is filled with ponies!" And it escalates: "For the first time in history, the audience is filled with Martians! Pope clones wearing 3D glasses! Dragons!" And then it turns tragic when the studio catches fire from dragon sneezes because everyone knows that dragons are allergic to bald asshats. Everyone except you, Dr. Fail. You could have prevented this tragedy by not populating your audience with young girls. Or dragons.

Let's call this for what it is: shameless ratings pandering for Dr. Fail and positive PR spin for AG in the midst of Gwen-Gate. It was terribly ill-conceived (As were you, Dr. Fail. Your parents told me all about it but tried to swear me to secrecy because they knew the truth would traumatize you. Surprise!). If CBS needed a cutting-edge ratings boost, they should have called me. Not only is the mere mention of my name sure to increase the karma of all who utter it, but FFS, what does Dr. Fail know about being a ten year old girl?

Oh wait, right, he's an expert. Or at least he plays one on TV.

I'll give him this much: Dr. Fail is an expert in hiring staffers who know how to stick cute text onto videos. And he's really good at showing his age by using all kinds of old-timey expressions. "Greasers"? "Pencil-necks"? (BTW, Grease? Terrible movie. Much as I love leather, don't put it on if it's not your thing. Especially not if some guy tells you to do it.)

But here's a plus: Dr. Fail did cite Pink as a positive role model for girls. I approve of that. Girls everywhere should be encouraged to be like Pink and kick John Mayer in the balls. The world would be a far, far better place if that were done more often.

On Dr. Fail's show, we got the typical "OMG my daughter/ZOMG but my mom!" tripe. Listen up, you whiners. The appropriate age for Facebook and Myspace is age 13 or older. Not going on 13, not looks like 13, but actually 13. Parents, don't permit your tweenage daughter to lie about her age to join online forums. Seriously, you suck if you do that. And yes, I'm looking at you, parents who say it's okay for your doll-loving underage child to join Playthings and/or who don't monitor your kids' online habits. I'm tired of chasing down your little girls and giving them the slapdown because you can't be bothered to do your own damned jobs.

What really pisses me off here is that while I'll grant you that Dr. Fail's AG Expert Person did cite the Facebook age as 13, no one there bothered to mention COPPA, the Federal Trade Commission Children's Online Privacy Protection Act. That's only the federal law that protect children's privacy and safety online. We don't make this shit up, you know? It's the LAW. Cousin Antonin could tell you all about COPPA but we're not speaking at the mo' seeing as how I'm still pissed at him for not including me in the acknowledgments for his new book. I edited the hell out of that book. You wouldn't think Cousin Antonin would be capable of such chatspeak. I blame his friend Clarence.

Anyway, after flapping around some more about "where are the parents?" Dr. Fail sold his message that we should all stick together. That's all well and good but let me tell you, I'm not going to sit in a circle, hold hands and sing Kumbaya with just anyone.

Truth is, you learn to stick up for yourself when you get knocked down enough, and you learn to stick up for those who can't speak until they find their own voices. And that advice to "speak up?" Yeah, well, don't kid yourselves; saying it doesn't make it so. It's not that easy. The learning curve is wicked. I write this knowing that there are those out there who think I am a bully, but in reality I am the Anti-Bully, the Robin Hood of Bullies, the Squasher of Asshats and Puncturer of Platitudinarians.

At the end of the day, it comes down to this: if Dr. Fail knew anything about anything, he'd be giving all the girls Jess instead of Chrissa. After all, it's but one small step away from Chrissa to Gwen the Homeless Doll.

But that's another topic for another day.

Interruptions

So while I was vacationing on Johnny Depp’s island this summer, I got to thinking about how much I hate Mariah Carey. I don’t have any specific reason to hate Mariah Carey, although certainly Glitter should be reason enough for anyone to despise her. Nonetheless, I declared her scary, creepy, and inappropriate back in January, and I stand by that. Because you know, her father is an aeronautical engineer and her mother is an opera singer. Seriously, WTF happened to you, Mariah? You gave us Glitter?

But if forced to take sides between Mariah and Eminem (which is a terrible thing to have to do, but sometimes hard choices must be made), I’d have to go with Mariah. I don’t care if they dated or whatever. The plain fact is, in the words of the immortal Bea Arthur, “That man is a douchebag.” (Yeah, so maybe she didn’t really say that about Eminem, but she thought it). And lest you worry about any mental inconsistencies involved, rest assured that I choose not to think of being anti-Eminem as being pro-Mariah Carey. I prefer to think of it as being on the same side as Bea Arthur. The Winning Side. The side that prefers balls. Because we all know Eminem is a ball-less wonder. Eminem is my Sworn Enemy. He picks on washed-up pop tarts because yeah, ole Slim Shady, he knows he won’t survive five minutes if he goes after a fellow rapper. I’d like to see him piss off Pink, honestly. She punched John Mayer in the balls for making sexist remarks at her after a show. That’s the real reason Mayer and Jennifer Aniston broke up; thanks to Pink, he can’t get it up any more. Jackasses, these men.

And of course, that brings me to Jackass Extraordinaire, Kanye West, Jackass of the Moment. Granted, he’s maybe sharing that moment with Joe Wilson. I figure the two of them will soon star together in a self-aggrandizing cinematic masterpiece on par with Mariah Carey’s tour de force in Glitter. It will be hosted by the Banff Crashing Squirrel. I can see it now:



But I’ll tell you what, in this season of political turmoil, Americans are finally united in hatred of Kanye’s unadulterated, preening douchebaggery. That’s no small accomplishment, so part of me thinks Kanye ought to get a medal. But then he goes and does THIS.

Kanye, seriously, that’s a bad, bad move. Because President Obama, he’s an honorary Jedi.



Do NOT mess with him, Kanye. You’ve been warned.