Many people think the best orgies occur in the spur of the moment, when the opposite is true--if not mapped out, an orgy can become a tangled mess of bodies and egos. On the other hand, a well-planned orgy can be a pleasurable and fun exchange between friends, even if nothing goes as planned.


Step One: Make a list, and check it twice.
One of the most important things in planning an orgy is having the right sexual company. If you're gay or lesbian, it's probably easier for you to determine that you want an all male/all female orgy. However, if you're open-mindedly straight (hey, if you weren't, you wouldn't be planning an orgy in the first place) or bisexual or omnisexual/try-sexual/whatever classification you may give yourself, you must first decide whether or not you want a fully same-sex experience or if you want to go for the mixed bag. If this is your first time, decide on what your gut feels most comfortable with. Also, be sure to settle on a good number--don't worry about odd numbers, because things will work out if you choose wisely.

Further, don't be too ambitious in what type of people you want in your orgy. If you think you can get away with an orgy solely comprised of Adriana Lima or Scarlett Johanssen lookalikes, think again. You are probably dealing with high-maintenance types, which does not bode well for any pleasure you may be hoping to receive. Further, the likelihood of you achiveing this mixture of beauties may largely correlate with the amount of Mexican Snuff Powder you are able to obtain in one given evening.

If you're a hetero female and your sexual life's ambition is to be entangled with five incredibly gorgeous men, you're asking for too much. No straight men will willingly engage in a full-on cooperative orgy with each other--the most you can hope for is a train. Don't even think about asking gay men unless you're planning on being a spectator.


Be realistic about your orgy invitations. Don't settle for people you're not into just because you feel sure they'd say yes. Be sure to choose people with whom you feel some degree of attraction--it also helps if they at least think you're cute. The pixie who works at the record store and calls you personally everytime there's a new release she thinks you might like? Check. The guy watching himself pump iron in the mirror while wearing striped Bike shorts? Not so check (then again, this may be your thing--but don't rely on him to add any significant, er, contribution to the mix).

If you're not experienced in orgy planning, stick to friends with whom you might consider initiating "benefits" (or at least people whose sexual preferences you feel comfortable with). While it may seem exciting to invite a random person into the mix, you may in fact be inviting someone who has a soiled diaper fetish. This may end in tears (unless you happen to be into that). Be sure to invite people who seem relatively comfortable with their sexuality and yours, whatever it may be. If you don't know where certain people stand, conduct surreptitious interviews. A tipsy night of high-school-style Truth or Dare works (just make sure you save the multiple blowjobs for the actual orgy).

So get working on the list. Next, we'll discuss how to actually invite people on your list.

burning bush
n.

1. in religion, the plant from which occured God's revelation to Moses in Exodus 3: 1-4, 17.

2. In politics, the supposed fate of the current president in the event of a revolutionary takeover.

3. In sex, a sign that one has been more careless in one's sexual dalliances than imagined.

During Hu Jintao's visit, Dick Cheney takes time out to dream about pumping birdshot in Liberal ass "look at his notes."


If Dick Cheney can get away with sleeping on the job while serving post as one of the most powerful people in the free world, does this give me a viable excuse for skipping Film class for a nap?

Cheney Snoozes (abcnews.com)

Here's some stuff that you may or may not have known about Mother Teresa:

In a 1981 press conference, a reporter asked her: "Do you teach the poor to endure their lot?" Mother Teresa's response: "I think it is very beautiful for the poor to accept their lot, to share it with the passion of Christ. I think the world is being much helped by the suffering of the poor people."

In her Nobel Prize speech, Mother Teresa described abortion as "the worst evil, and the greatest enemy of peace ... Because if a mother can kill her own child, what will prevent us from killing ourselves or one another? Nothing." Further, when asked about a case in Ireland about a 14-year-old rape victim, Mother Teresa replied: "Abortion can never be necessary because it is pure killing." Besides this, Mother Teresa disapproved of all forms of contraception (yes, that includes jimmy hats).

When Indira Gandhi imposed martial law on India in 1974, Mother Teresa publicly expressed her support for the government's tactics, which included an effort in controlling the poor population--the indigent were rounded up and forcibly sterilized.

Mother Teresa willingly accepted a Legion d'Honneur from nontorious Haitian dictator Jean-Claude "Baby Doc" Duvalier, after which she claimed Duvalier "cared for his poor, and they care deeply for him." (Don't get the implications? Read about Baby Doc here and here). She also paid homage to Enver Hoxha, an Albanian leader who imprisoned and murdered thousands in efforts to consolidate land into collectives, by laying a wreath on his grave much to the chagrin of her compatriots (Mother Teresa was Albanian).

Perhaps the most interesting (to me, anyway):
"During one of her hospitalizations in Calcutta, the local archbishop noticed that Mother T had a habit of fitfully pulling out her EKG sensors at night. He told her that she 'might be under the attack of the evil one' and offered to arrange an exorcism. She agreed. After it was over, the archbishop says M.T. 'slept like a baby.' From which one could reasonably conclude that Satan had indeed been working to possess her." (rotten.com's profile of Mother Teresa)

And, as expected, there's plenty more where this came from. Read The Missionary Position: Mother Teresa in Theory and Practice by Christopher Hitchens. It's better than any romance novel.

(Blogger's note: My grandmother used to say that to me all the time. I have no clue what it means, but there are more nonsensical similes/metaphors/analogies in this post.)

One can only wonder how such a significant, historic meeting as the one that occurred between village idiot President George W. Bush and Chinese distraction President Hu Jintao could have possibly been so anticlimactic. With a list of important issues to discuss, such as globalization of trade, the War on Terror (AKA The Great Fiasco), and nuclear arsenals.


This morning, I read the official White House transcript of Dubya's speech. It droned on and on like one of those CultureGram projects your seventh grade geography teacher gives you when you're supposed to pretend like you've been to Estonia or Albania or Indonesia but you really don't learn shit about the culture from a packet so you end up sounding like you're reading from the damn paper anyway.


Intially, George drones on (with what could only have been derived from a middle school World Cultures project that he hijacked from a White House staffer's kid) about his idealistic hope that China becomes "a responsible member of the international economic system and a responsible member of the World Trade Organization" (better be careful what you wish for--if our economy doesn't get back on track soon, Dubya, you may just find yourself looking back at this and shaking your head).

As I expected, Dubya quickly spins his agenda around to "threats to global security." His list:
"The nuclear ambitions of Iran;
the genocide in Darfur, Sudan;
the violence unleashed by terrorists and extremists; and
the proliferations of the weapons of mass destruction."

I'm not denying that in some respects these seem like important global issues. Coming from Trigger Happy George's mouth, however, it sounds like he's rattling off a multiple choice that he made up the night before:
"Which of these things is not like the others?
A) Britney Spears;
B) people who actually need my help but my administration put this on the back burner because photos of shaking hands with a goddamn Commie chink progressive Asian leader is more important for my image as an accepting world leader, and furthermore all our troops are babysitting Iraqis instead of being available to help the people who suffer in Darfur;
C) Jessica Simpson; or
D) Lindsay Lohan.
(I'm sure George Dubya would pick C, because she, unlike the others, is a natural blonde.)

Anyway, I can't help that this meeting was forged in order to appease the global forum in some part, because Bob knows we could use the public relations bonanza. So we try to prove that America (whom, if the world stage were the current season American Idol, would play the role of that one stupid Southern blonde girl who pretends to be absolutely dumb but you can see in her eyes that she knows exactly what she's doing and has a contingency plan to shank and even murder that cute Rainbow Brite black girl and the brunette who actually has talent if she needs to) can condescend play nice with controversial countries after having stamped our boots all over the Middle East. Why aren't we intervening where it makes sense (i.e. Darfur)? I can only suppose that would be like deciding to shoot five innocents and one murderous criminal, then asking to only be held accountable for taking out the bad guy.

So I guess I should feel good about the United States' efforts to connect diplomatically with China. As unlearned as I am about diplomatic procedures, though, my gut (which is grumbling from an all you can eat fete at 'Ohana's) is telling me that this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship--one that allows Dubya easy access to 1.3 billion allies and back door access to Kim Jong Il's house.

Oh, and please educate yourself on the situation in Darfur. It's really worth a look, and worth your concern. (SaveDarfur.org)

So here's the deal: nipples are excellent in general. Men like them. Women like them. Babies like them.

Erect nipples, in particular, have a tendency to awaken primeval sexual lust. The nipple is obviously the most erotic part of the breast, which is why standard American print media renders them taboo. We'll allow Pamela Anderson to show ninety percent of her VW Beetle-sized breasts, but you only get to see the perkiness if you buy from the likes of Playboy and Juggs.

So, of course, men and women follow the nipples. And other women follow the men and women who follow the nipples. Someone noticed this and decided to capitalize by creating false nipples, so that women could have perpetually perky nipples and be ogled by the men and women who faithfully follow the nipples.

I'm going to be frank (and yes, you can be Shirley). As a person with PENs (Perpetually Erect Nipples), I'm not wholly excited about this. I find it hilarious that women are actually paying money to have erect nipples, when I have to deal with my nipples (whom I call Derek and Hansel, respectfully, because of their constant walk-offs) standing at attention at any given moment.

I envy my fellow smaller-chested (but boobiliciously perky and awesome) women who can get away with wearing bras. Me? I have to wear padded bras because Derek and Hansel show through regular ones. Further, if you look in one of the bras I keep in regular rotation, you will notice the imprints. Yes, it's that bad. Cold weather is horrid. Warm weather is bearable, but the slightest change in room temperature and you might just see Derek and Hansel a mile away.

As a woman, I like to be looked at on occasion (some feminists will say that I'm allowing myself to become the Object, but being admired to an extent is sometimes a nice affirmation for my self-esteem). However, I don't like to draw attention to myself by being The Braless Wonder. If I do dare to go braless, I end up wearing a hoodie just in case I need a quick zip-up--whether men find me attractive or not, nipples are like magnets for their eyes (call it not-so-latent oral fixation). When I go to the gym, my sports bra offers plenty of anti-bounce support; when the blood starts pumping through my body, though, Derek and Hansel are smiling at me in the mirror as I do chest presses.

To make matters worse, the only thing I can do to alleviate this issue is (as fate would have it) is to manually stop Derek and Hansel in their tracks. Needless to say, there's not many ways a girl can get away with surreptitiously rubbing her breasts in public. Hansel and Derek are like the little girl with the curl--when they're good, they're very, very good (in the sensation department) but when they're bad, they're horrid. There's nothing exciting or sexy about having constantly erect nipples if you want people to take you seriously in any capacity.

Sure, false nipples will make some women look and feel more sexually attractive, but at least they can remove them when the wrong attention heads their way. Me? I get to cross my arms, zip up my hoodie, and flee the scene.

I know plenty of amicable French people (well, maybe only two), but I have some slight qualms about their contributions to the public--they invented mayonnaise, the guillotine, the pantomime, and of course, the wonder that is the Maginot Line. However, the French seem to have gotten something right with their production of effective campaigns against unprotected sex and the spread of AIDS. However surreal, they do seem to speak volumes for their cause. So in this sense, I do envy the French for taking initiative to use the public voice. When was the last time you saw a powerful anti-AIDS campaign in the United States?

Exhibit A:
It took me a while to think on the relevance of the absent man and lady parts, but I think it's saying that if you're going to be irresponsible, you might as well not be allowed to have genitalia.
The captions on the ads for this campaign roughly read (forgive my French-literally-it's rusty):

"DOESN'T AIDS CONCERN YOU?
"Each day, twenty people are infected in France. Gay and straight, men and women, they think sex without a condom was a sign of confidence. Now they know it is the opposite. Only condoms protect from AIDS."






Exhibit B:
I think these insect ads are my favorite--they're pretty blatant in creating a metaphor for unprotected sex.






Exhibit C:
This one's pretty bizarre (it's literally a "dickhead"), but I think its point comes across.
The caption to this one says something like: "Condoms are like a good bath: once inside, you don't want to get out."




Exhibit D:
And last but not least, this campaign demonstrates that no one is invincible when it comes to AIDS and unprotected sex.
The caption reads something like: "Everyone should be concerned about AIDS."





As much as Americans may dislike the French, we must give them credit for actually using their government resources to educate people towards something as important as perpertuating safe sex practices and not just copping out with a bullshit "abstinence is the only way" initiative.


*A play on the famous opening line from Marilyn Monroe's song "Diamonds Are A Girl's Best Friend."

So here's my other end of the Conditional Monogamy spectrum: the Open Relationship.

Remember when I told you that people don't get my philosophies on relationships? This issue is where things usually tend to get annoying. If at some point in time I happen to be in an open relationship, a condescending naysayer who doesn't know the whole story and is too afraid to call me a skank-whore to my face but really wants to, as indicated by their clenched jaw, will inevitably ask, "Why would you want to be in an open relationship?" or "What is the point of being in an open relationship?"

My usual answer, dear reader, is the only answer you should have to give regarding any of your decisions that has shit to do with them: "It works for me." (You could tell them to mind their own fucking business and plant a boot squarely in their abdomen, but this is only acceptable behavior within the Five Boroughs.)

Here's how I, the Conditional Monogamist, see an Open Relationship. I don't expect my partner and I to base the better part of our sex life on having regular intercourse and swapping multiple partners who dwell outside of our Chinese Love Basket. For me, having an Open Relationship is not collecting random bedfellows while my partner ires (or derives immense enjoyment, for that matter). But I don't dictate my perferences for anyone else. In fact, Open Relationships can't be generally or statistically quantified in terms of how many partners one is alloted in a given period of time; Open Relationships depend on the private agreements of two people, who really don't need to justify their decisions to anyone but themselves (and to a lesser extent, any participating third parties).

Of course, an Open Relationship can only work if two people are like-minded in their sexual practices. Some people prefer to add multiple conditions, like a basic "don't ask, don't tell, don't bring home VD" policy. Some like to enjoy multiple partners together. Some say an Open Relationship is only okay if the other person's away for a while; some allow Open Relationships to occur in the general vicinity of where they live. It all depends on customization--what works best for both parties.

I'm not saying that strictly monogamist relationships are wrong--they can be great, and I specified earlier that I am willing and highly capable of being in one for however long it manages to work. But the fact of the matter is that each relationship entered will vary in what pushes our emotional limits; in certain cases, the issue of being sexually open hasn't been a threat to me or my partner. In others, there have been times where I would have been devastated to think of my partner with another woman. In my case, deciding whether or not to have an Open Relationship has to be played by ear.

The main rule of an Open Relationship, no matter how else the couple decides to play it, is this: no forming attachments on an emotional level. Both partners should make this clear from the outset to anyone they may decide to hook up with.
Of course, some numbnuts will ask, "Well, why risk the chances of this happening by having sex?" The fact of the matter is this: if a person is not mature enough to know that sex in itself does not formulate a foundation for any emotion other than lust/infatuation/limerence (which can and usually will fade at the drop of a hat), then they shouldn't be in any kind of relationship. Further, a person could emotionally cheat on his/her partner without ever having sex by falling in love with someone else (after all, love without sex is possible).

Open Relationships aren't for everyone, and I will never attempt to push the idea of them upon people. I can't tell you exactly for which type of person this works, and I can't promise there won't be flaws--all relationships are flawed by nature, and there are a million ways any given relationship could go wrong. My only hope is that people in Open Relationships won't be so quickly branded by close-minded notions--"to each his own" is always a nice thing to say if you want to disagree without getting roundhouse kicked in the gut.

So now I've heard of everything.
Christians are generally known for only condoning sex that occurs within a marital arrangement with one partner.
The Liberated Christians are a group of Christians who also enjoy swinging (if you don't know what swinging is, step away from this blog). I'm not against swinging, but I'm annoyed by this level of hypocrisy.
So if you're a practicing Christian, apparently it's now acceptable to commit adultery and covet another's wife (or husband). Next, those crazy Christians will be worshiping graven images--oh, wait, that's why one of my kooky neighborhood denizens has a huge effigy of Jesus and the Virgin Mary in her yard that she prays to on holy days.

Start Swinging For Jesus (Liberated Christians)

Oh, and on a funnier note: DateJesus.com is pretty fucking hilarious.

In light of the fact that the city of New Orleans has seen a lot of tragedy, suffered from a lot of underpreparedness, and now stands a shot at rebuilding itself to something better, I've been keeping up somewhat with its impending mayoral election to be held on 22 April (which is on a Saturday, but whatever--to each his own).

I'm surprised that there are actually twenty-four candidates running for the position. For a city that needs such a dramatic overhaul, I'm frankly surprised that anyone would be up to such a daunting task. To become new mayor of New Orleans at this time would have a drastic effect on one's personal image. Most of the citizens are looking for a fearless leader who will step up to the arduous rebuilding task, and the candidates are not lacking in their promises to do so:

Kimberly Williamson Butler, who was fired during her stint as CAO under Mayor Nagin's administration, claims: "I represent every person who feels that their voice hasn't been heard, every person who has been incarcerated, right or wrongly. I can rank myself among many heroes: Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi and Nelson Mandela.”

Ron Forman proposes to use the riverbank as a "new front porch for the city."

"Johnny" Adriani says, “Things don't really look any different than they did right after the storm. As I told my father, 'If someone doesn't do something, we may as well leave.”

Then there are candidates who propose holding regular emergency evacuation drills (for a population for 1.4 million in the Metro Area? Brilliant); some who put forth generic platforms that could be applicable to just about any city (one says New Orleans needs "an increase in affordable housing" and a resurgence of small businesses--wholly generic). One candidate even suggests brigning in revenue from other sources besides tourism and lists "shipbuilding" as an alternative (because it makes perfect sense that a city at such great risk to be devastated by a hurricane would do well in that respect).

It seems like all these people are pointing fingers and fussing about what should be done--none of their platforms correlate, so who's right about what New Orleans needs? As far as this cynic can see, each candidate's goal is not to be a servant of the city, but to one-up the other candidates and assume Hero Status as the Mayor Who Rebuilt New Orleans. I hope for their sake that they're already working towards helping the city, even if it means taking out time from their political platforms on high to go out and build a school or bring food to a homeless shelter.

I for one, agree with Mayor Nagin: New Orleans would be awesome as a chocolate city. Imagine being able to take a bite from a Godiva City Hall. Delicious.

pork barrel

n.

1. in politics, government spending that is intended to benefit constituents of a politician in return for their political support, either in the form of campaign contributions or votes.

2. in religion, the portly abdominal region of a priest who has had plenty of bacon on the dime of his congregation.

3. in sex, a partner's closed hand when used in fisting. Compound usage invented by the poster, derived from a dysphemism for vigorous coitus (i.e. porking) combined with the barrel-like shape of the hand in proper fisting position.

Most people with whom I have had an in-depth conversation about my relationship preferences know that I am a Conditional Monogamist. Most people who hear this don't understand--they think it's just another way of revealing my promiscuity (which is arbitrary--I'll never tell how many partners I've had, so don't ask).
So: I'm here to explain the basic tenets of a Conditional Monogamist. You don't have to like them, but it works for me.

Conditional Monogamy, at its basic level, means that I need certain relationship conditions in order for Monogamy to work. As far as monogamy goes, I believe that 80% of a commitment lies in emotional trust. In order for me to remain emotionally monogamous, I need a very secure emotional trust. I need to know that my partner can and will provide me with the emotional support I need, no questions asked. I'm not asking for a perpetual crutch, but I am asking for someone who would be willing to put themselves out there for my emotional well-being. When I have such an establishment, I do a pretty bang-up job of reciprocating for however long I have it.

As a Conditional Monogamist, I need said emotional foundation if I am expected to remain sexually monogamous. If I have a strong emotional attachment and the sex was already good to begin with, then la di da. I can even deal with a partner who needs help refining his sexual prowess (as long as he doesn't mind when I start barking out orders and sending him referrals to sex educators). If I feel a relationship is nurturing enough on an emotional level, I have no problem remaining sexually monogamous--in fact, if I have a strong emotional attachment, I'd prefer to have that person as my only sexual partner and would expect him to do the same. If emotional connection is lacking to a dangerous low, then I lose sexual attraction, and eventually the desire to be sexually monogamous towards that person; however, I will not cheat in this circumstance because it's not conducive to my attempts to rebuild the emotional trust. However, if this cannot be salvaged, I'd prefer to call it quits.

I'm of the belief that in a relationship, I have to view myself as number one before I can take care of another person emotionally and sexually. It sounds selfish, but relationships are selfish first and unselfish second by their very nature. We enjoy relationships because they make us feel good; as a by-product, we want to make the other person feel good in order to maintain our own happiness.

So, in short: Monogamy is great, as long as "mono-" is not an indicatior of how many people within the 'ship want to make it work. You put in for me, I put out only for you. Otherwise, I can take my heart and my goods elsewhere.

Tune in next time, dear reader, for my continuation on Conditional Monogamy: Open Relationships.

January 26, 1998

What he said:
"I did not have sexual relations with that woman, Miss Lewinsky."

What he should have said:
"And by 'I did not have sexual relations with that woman,' I mean we only got to second or third base. Those rounds of stinkfinger are totally worth the Senate hearing."

What we learned:
As the Supreme Leader of WASPs, the President of the United States is only allowed to have a sex life as dictated by the rules of WASPdom, which prohibits oral sex and "stinkfinger." Therefore, one can also assume the Bush twins were conceived by means of an unwarranted invasion of Laura Bush's womb, after which George W. proclaimed that Laura was not hiding weapons of mass destruction in her vagina as his intelligence (i.e., a fifth of Wild Turkey) led him to believe.

You know that quip that goes, “Sex is not the answer—sex is the question, and ‘yes’ is the answer”? There’s a postscript to that somewhere.

What is it about sex that has us all—straight, gay, bi, single, committed, in one of those open deals—in a rat race, looking for that one piece of cheese that will bring us unadulterated, complete sexual nirvana?

From the moment we get our first taste of sex, we’re bumping blindly into the sides or sitting at the sealed entrance waiting to turn back or trying to get around the two inches of walls because we know the cheese is just on the other side.

The secret to sexual nirvana is like the meaning of life. Some people have no clue, and some have an answer—but no one has THE answer.

The secret lingers in the twinkle of the eyes of someone who could get us to drop trou in the middle of a Baptist revival. It sits on the edge of the bed we share with the person we love. It condenses on the swizzle stick of our third vodka tonic. It rests in the “what if” arms of a friend that’s looking pretty damn good at the moment.

But we allow ourselves to be swept away, and the Secret flies away on our orgasmic pleasure to some mythical land where horses can fly and French people are genial to Americans. And it leaves us here, standing in its wake, where nothing is mutually exclusive.

We’re left wondering how someone so attractive could turn out to be an asshole; we’re so angry at our loved one for something that we want to drown a basket of kittens; we shake our heads the next morning to relieve the fuzziness and the shame; we screen our calls until we’re past the awkward “friends with benefits” crossover stage (and sometimes it never leaves).

And then there are those alternate moments where we’re cynical and don’t expect anything spectacular from the next shag, but an hour later we’re sweaty and elated and we still don’t have a fucking clue, because the Secret decided this time to swoop in on the orgasm wave and hit us with a jones so hard that we’ll never be able to see it through the high (which can last for a long time).

It gets so confusing. But here’s the kicker: none of us really want to drop out of the race, because the prospect of getting our hands on that stash of cheddar is worth the risk.

Ahhh, Easter. The time of year where you trade an hour of your life for a gift basket filled with tooth-decaying agents, a new Sunday best outfit, and a lifetime of dogma.

Since Easter is based solely on the concept of Christ's Resurrection and has NOTHING WHATSOEVER to do with Pagan traditions and fertility rites because Christians would NEVER condone such an association even though their holiday is ostensibly named for the Anglo-Saxon spring goddess Eostre, I looked up the concept of Resurrection in the Catholic Encyclopedia. I was confused beyond belief, so I turned to Encyclopedia Britannica, which says:
the rising from the dead of a divine or human being who still retains his own personhood, or individuality, though the body may or may not be changed.

Wikipedia adds:
The term resurrection is used in the literal sense to mean either the religious concept of the reunion of the spirit and the body of a dead person, or the return to life of a dead person.

So if we disavow the reimbibition of the soul, Easter is celebrating the resurrection, or reanimation of Jesus Christ in the flesh.
Let's see what Wikipedia says about "zombie":
Essentially a dead body re-animated by unnatural means....

Some would say that Jesus' resurrection was not unnatural. However, if one acknowledges his existence, one must also acknowledge that Jesus was a flesh and blood human, son of God or not. The Bible acknowledges humans as naturally sinful (2 Peter 2:18), and acknowledges that death is a by-product of said natural sin (Romans 6:23). Therefore, death is natural (although none of us need the Bible to tell us as much). So, "unnatural" would be a return from death through supernatural means.
Thus, if Jesus returned to his dead (and probably decaying) body, he was probably a zombie.

However, someone probably asked about this rotting corpse (which would make for a better zombie movie), and there is an explanation, as always.
1. Mary Magdalene finds Jesus' tomb empty and runs into an unrecognizable gardener, who is actually Jesus. She accuses him of taking the body, and Jesus says her name in such a way that makes her realize it's him. She tries to weep at his feet, but he says, "Do not touch me, for I have not yet returned to the Father." (The Gospel of John, Chapter 20)
2. Jesus appears again to Mary Magdalene (he must have really liked her) and another woman (either Mary mother of James or Salome) "in a different form." (The Gospel of Mark, Chapter 16)
3. Jesus appears to two of his disciples (Cleopas and an unnamed), who "were kept from recognizing him." (Gospel of Luke, Chapter 24)
4. Jeus appears to his apostles, who don't get that it's him until he shows the nail marks in his hands and the wound in his side (from the crucifixion and soldier's spear, respectively). Only then do they recognize Jesus. (The Gospel of John, Chapter 20)

So, either Jesus was one hell of a master of disguise, or he had a different body with the same marks superimposed into them. Hmmm. A person's soul leaves one body to return to earth in another corporeal form...didn't those evil heathen Hindus come up with something like this called reincarnation?

Of course, all this is all irrelevant, because Jesus ultimately ascends to heaven. One can only assume that the Easter bunny handled all his travel and accomodations.

Happy Easter.

Do John Travolta and Tom Cruise know about this?
(ks, in case you're interested, you could change your question to, "Are you sure you aren't just a little bit Clear?")

Join the Fun (Clear Rainbow)

free rider
n.

1. in sex, a partner who copulates in a manner so as to bring themselves rapidly to orgasm without allowing the other partner to climax.

2. in politics (economic), a person who chooses to receive the benefits of a public good or a positive externality without contributing to paying the costs of producing those benefits.

3. in religion, a person who adopts a specific faith only for the ostensible benefits of enjoying an afterlife devoid of damnation, and performs only the minimum requirements needed to achieve such an outcome.

There's this controversy about a new document that claims that Judas Iscariot's betrayal was not an act of treachery against Jesus, but instead a propitiatory act of his faith. This reminds me of that one Bob Dylan lyric from "With God on Our Side":

You'll have to decide
Whether Judas Iscariot
Had God on his side.

Should Christians immediately write this off as apocryphal, or do people allow themselves to consider the fact that maybe Judas did, in fact, have God on his side?

Having grown up in a Christian household (for the record, I am no longer religious), I was always taught that Jesus's ultimate purpose on earth was to vindicate humankind--I've you've ever been to church on a regular basis, I'm sure you know John 3:16--and the ostensible way to do that was to spread his word and to sacrifice his own "perfect" life to replace the original sin of Adam, also "perfect" (Jesus is sometimes referred to as the Greater Adam). In essence, the redemption of perfection can only be begotten by the sacrifice of perfection. So, if Jesus was to die anyway, why does it matter in which manner this was accomplished? Regardless of what his role was, Judas was a player in the scheme. Could it be so bad to posit that Judas was actually a double agent, so dedicated to Jesus's cause that he was willing to sacrifice his eternal reputation?

Here's my scenario in brief.

As we already know from Jesus' miracle-wielding history, he inspires faith in his followers by nothing less than theatrics, whether you believe in the miracles or not. Jesus's and Judas's collaboration could have been nothing more than a theatrical production in order to maintain his followers. It was necessary for Jesus to become a martyr, because it would seem more tragic if he died for his beliefs. People would assume that such a belief worth suffering the death of a common criminal must be something pretty special.

The religious men hated Jesus because he was a religious and political radical. But there was no way the religious figures (who also had their hand in politics, natch) would have laid a finger on him themselves--they risked breaking the law and alienating the laity, who were in awe of Jesus's claims to be God's Son (they wanted to make him king).

Jesus knew this, so he needed someone to "betray" him. To make it more dramatic and to appeal to common logic, he needed someone who was by his side constantly and thereby in a position to do so. His other apostles were constantly arguing about which of them would be Jesus's right hand man in heaven. There was no way any of them would risk ruining their holy reputations before men as they were too afraid of what people thought (remember Peter, who denied knowing Jesus three times after his death even though everyone saw him with Jesus all the time?).

So Jesus picks Judas, who was probably less ostentatious than the others and maybe more sincere in his devotion--therefore an oddball and a prime suspect. Judas agrees. He betrays Jesus.

The Bible says that after Jesus saw what he had done, he committed suicide by hanging himself (unfortunately, the rope broke, and he took a nasty spill on the rocks below). That doesn't sound like the reaction of a traitor who was hungry for money--this sounds like someone who couldn't live with themselves after being forced to place someone they admired or loved deeply (INSERT QUEER THEORY HERE) in the way of certain death.

So, was Judas on God's side or not? I guess the devil may care.

"I just don't trust him."

How are you supposed to feel nowadays when a significant other says this to you, or vice versa?

Let's say, for the sake of example, you have an appointment with a personal trainer. A personal trainer who is reasonably attractive at face value, if not for his fake bake and manscaped eyebrows. In another life, you could have seen this person as one half of an equation that resulted in eight minutes of drunken stupor--a really, really drunken stupor--and nothing more. Nonetheless, said gentleman was obviously of the guido nomenclature, and you do not find these type of men attractive on any level that would matter to anyone.

A certain male companion, upon seeing your "collusion" with Trainer Commando, rants and raves about how you're being ripped off. The issue is not how much you're opting to pay for a personal trainer--Trainer Commando himself is obviously at the heart of his furor. As usual, the companion has the whole situation completely wrong; when you tell him so, you gradually elicit the truth behind his castigation. And out the infamous phrase tumbles from his lips.

In the above scenario, the male companion did not stop to think that you have no attraction to this type of person in the first place. Further, in the event that you did find this person attractive, the male companion seems to think that your judgment is nonexistent--you couldn't have seen Trainer Commando's skeeviness if it hit you right on the ass while you were doing medicine ball crunches. You have no ability to think for yourself. You are gullible. You can be easily seduced.

But what happens if you did, in fact, have sweaty gym sex with Trainer Commando in the locker room? By nature of the "trust you/don't trust him" invalidation, the male companion has no legitimate reason to be angry or hurt or disappointed (at least, not with you--he trusts you). He made it known that he doesn't think it's your fault. You weren't strong enough to stave off Trainer Commando's sexual wiles. You had no ability to think for yourself. You were gullible. You were easily seduced.

And it's times like these when you wonder: does the male companion get you as a woman at all? Does he understand that if you had sex with Trainer Commando it's because you damn well wanted to and not because you were "gullible"? Does he understand that you're a woman of your bond and you have no reason to become a West Hollywood cliche? Does he get that you're a strong enough person to fend for yourself, regardless of which of the above two you opted towards?

Next time you think about saying, "I trust you--I just don't trust them" to someone, dear reader, heed your words. Don't make people feel like helpless, vapid weaklings who have no control of their actions--or worse, don't jinx your trust.

The devilry that is MySpace is tainting kids everywhere. This newfangled trend of teenagers talking to other teenagers on "the 'Net" is taking over. Disregard the fact that your husband has been receiving virtual blowjobs from a Thai trannie on AIM since 1997. YOUR CHILDREN ARE IN DANGER!

Teenagers should be treated like gullible heirs worth billions of dollars, and they are just asking to be kidnapped by a gang of evil paparazzi who peddle kiddie porn on the side. MySpace is a breeding ground for pedophiliac paparazzi, so you should be sure to never let your child fall prey to the evil entrapment. YOUR CHILDREN ARE IN DANGER!

On MySpace, your child can post actual pictures of himself/herself! People may actually know what your child looks like, whom there is no realistic chance of ever seeing in person because you still breastfeed them six times a day and would instantly notice if there were no teeth gnawing at your wrinkled teat, and this is unfathomable for any parent. In fact, just to be one hundred percent safe, you should never let your child leave the house because real people might actually come in contact with them. YOUR CHILDREN ARE IN DANGER!

Further, your child may be posting dangerous information such as his/her birthdate, favorite color, and, perhaps worst of all, favorite celebrity. It is all too easy for a 56-year-old man from Poughkeepsie to trick your child into thinking he is the lead singer of Fall Out Boy and that he would be willing to do a performance on her birthday while wearing a posy pink bandana around his neck if only she would just meet him at the local Hot Topic. YOUR CHILDREN ARE IN DANGER!

Don't fall for the hype. Just because your teenager is not posing provocatively in photos or tagging themselves as "HotSexyTwat4U" on their MySpace page, it does not mean that their space is not full of secret devilry. When your child posts "omgz" or offers virtual hugs and/or kisses on someone else's page, this is probably Satanist code that describes explicit instructions for marijuana-induced orgies and blood sacrifice. YOUR CHILDREN ARE IN DANGER!

Make sure your children do not fall prey to these cyber-machinations of the devil, because it may be the last thing they ever do. The only space they will have to call their own is in the fiery depths of Hell.

That is all.

"Ladies and Gentlemen and Fellow Americans of America:

I have great confidence in myself as leader of the known world, and in my decisions as Master Chief. I firmly stand by my decision to invade, er, liberate the Iraqi people; it saddens me as a leader when one of my trusted colleagues opts to pinpoint me for wrongdoing in this matter in order to save his own tarnished reputation. Lewis "Scooter" Libby claims that I gave him permission to leak information about Valerie Plame, because I wanted to rebut former Ambassador Joseph Wilson's claims that our intelligence about Saddam Hussein's attempt to buy uranium from Niger was not based in fact--as if I needed to slander someone because they saw through my bullshit refuted my legitimate information. As your President, I feel I owe some sort of statement in this matter.

Firstly, when I was little I had a hamster named Scooter that I accidentally dropped from a window--he did not survive. Now, I'm not calling Libby a hamster, but I will just say I have experience dropping things. I'm not saying I'll drop you for calling me out, Scooter, but I will. And when I say 'drop,' I mean secret intelligence code for 'kill dead.' We know how to do it Texas-style, and by 'Texas-style' I mean--well, I don't know what I mean, but it sounds bad-ass. Go Longhorns!

Libby's claim that I authorized the leak is completely erroneous. I assure you that I was on vacation that week. I don't remember where, but I can assure you I was not busy at work. And if, in fact, I did give permission, I probably thought he said "Uranus" instead of "uranium" because I think space jokes that are secretly butt jokes are hella funny, especially ones involving Saddam Hussein. Also, I would never use such a derogatory word as "Niger" in public. To assume that all Nigers provide uranium to terrorist countries is racist, and I am not racist. In fact, I loved what Professor X did for civil rights in this country.

God Bless America."


Leaker in Chief? Scooter Libby and George Bush (msnbc.com).