Surely we have all watched with curiosity as “Occupy” protests have erupted around the globe, even in futile places like my scenic home town of McAllen, TX. This fervent movement spread like wildfire all over the world in a matter of weeks, garnering support and media attention faster than a marital lawsuit against Kim Kardashian. Personally, I hate the government and the rat bastard Wall Streeters that landed people of my age group the envied title of “The Lost Generation,” so I was anxious to join the fist shaking, albeit from the comfort of my own home. After all, as The Secret tells us, all we have to do to get things done is send out positive vibes into the universe, right?

These Occupiers, if I understood correctly, were protesting the fact that much of the wealth in the United States (and the world in general) is concentrated in a small group of people, the “1%,” while the majority of people, the “99%,” are languishing in varying levels of dissatisfaction, if not poverty. I can get on board with that. I’d rather most people be provided for, working, and content than otherwise. Who, honestly, wouldn’t prefer that? I’m not sure even those stone-hearted, baby-tear-drinking, dream-shitting-upon one percenters would disagree with that sentiment down in their heart of hearts.
So, we established that we’re discontented about the state of things and as such, we decided to have us an Occupation. Alright, cool. Go team, I like it. Let’s be the change that Obama left on the campaign trail. But after the initial shock-wave of excited rebellion dissipated, people began to ask a very, very important question: What did they want? We know why they were protesting (I’m pretty sure), but what objective were these Occupiers seeking to accomplish?

And that’s where no amount of ugly glasses, varying forms of unkempt facial hair, or unemployed angst could provide a cogent answer. The Occupy protest turned into a really, really large, angry two year-old. It was mad, its arms were crossed in unyielding defiance, but it could not, to save its life, tell you what would get it in the damn car seat. That is why, to date, I would call this movement a failure.

One might pipe up and say “No, Irishman, they have not failed. They raised awareness about the populace’s dissatisfaction with corporations and rich people, fiscal inequality, and percentages.” Okay, I hear you. The problem I have with that is that a movement of this magnitude had a lot of power. To use it just to raise awareness about something with which most people are quite well acquainted is irresponsible and, I would even say, stupid.

What do we do now, then? How could we make this movement into more than a global temper tantrum? I have a couple ideas in mind that I think both sides of the aisle could get behind.

First: Term limits. Think about it. How do corporations get the power that they have? Why do politicians seem so disinterested in accomplishing anything that could benefit their constituents, despite the political consequences? We have a system where politicians are much more concerned with their careers than they are concerned with service of their constituents. This means doing favors for corporations and lobbyists in order to garner the monetary support of numerous political action committees, both for their campaigns and for personal gain. If you limit their terms, the idea of a “career politician” becomes null and void, forcing our leaders to actually lead rather than obsess over partisan rhetoric and accomplish nothing.

Second: regulation of the derivative market. These obscure financial instruments are largely unregulated and, many would say, (including the critically acclaimed PBS production Frontline) played a large part in the financial meltdown in 2008 and in the recent collapse of MF Global. Obama promised strict regulation of this risky market, but has not succeeded in passing anything, maybe because of the strong financial lobby that manipulates career politicians who can be in power for a lifetime.

These are just a couple valid, realistic goals for the Occupy Movement that would benefit our entire country and make their protests more than just an angry blip in history.

Kent Woodyard and myself, Conor McCarthy, the imminent humor writers and cultural commentators at TheTalkingMirror.com (TTM™), have chosen to step out of our silence and pledge our votes for Rick Santorum for the Republican Primary.

Allow me to explain.

You may recall that, following our 2008 endorsement of Mitt Romney in the Republican primaries, Romney’s poll numbers plummeted. He was eventually defeated, with the nomination going to John McCain. An association with TTM is now widely considered the kiss of death in the political world, with Kent and me now being regarded as campaign coffin builders.

That was our bad on that one. Ol’ Mittens begged us not to endorse him but we thought it was because his Mormon proclivities required him to show mercy to his enemies. Turns out, an endorsement from us is like farting at a funeral. It’s a bad thing, socially, I mean. I wish we could take credit for McCain’s loss too, but that was all on Palin. We told McCain he needed to “sex up his campaign a bit” because boobs win votes, but he took that way too seriously. We never intended for him to give his eye candy a microphone.  Kind of our fault in a way, I guess.

Since the last election, Kent and I have had time to reflect on the impact we made almost four years ago. We’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it and talking about it – between discussions about which True Blood character is gayer. We were pretty confused at the time, sort of like how I always feel when a girl doesn’t slap me when I talk to her at a bar. Kind of a stunned, dazed feeling. Like I wonder if she’s a hooker, you know?

Well, we get it now. Santorum is our guy. He’s the best.

Santorum is the most reasonable dude out there. Electable, home-schooled, not at all a total fundamentalist asshole. It’s not like the surge that led him to a win in Iowa was a total fluke. It’s not like Iowa is honestly the least important state in the union and the last damn place we should be looking for political guidance as a country. It’s not like those things at all.

All the clothes I wear have “Santorum 2012” printed on them somewhere, and that will continue well into 2013. This includes my boxers, briefs, and banana hammocks. I invite you to envision that as creatively as possible.

TTM wholeheartedly throws its considerable girth behind Rick Sanatorium. Every time he speaks I just want to chest-bump Jesus, know what I mean? Kent and I both agree that every time Santorum speaks the angel Gabriel curb-stomps a Las Vegas resident and high fives Tim Tebow.

With the exception of Dawson’s Creek trivia, we don’t know much of anything about anything, but we do know this country absolutely doesn’t need a level-headed moderate that is fluent in Mandarin like Jon Huntsman. Screw that guy. Good thing he dropped out. He’s a crazy Mormon like Obamney, all they want is to level up so they get their own planet to rule over.

Newt Gingrich’s head is bigger than a regulation basketball. How on earth could we elect a leader of the free whose bobble-head figurines could be built to scale? We can’t have that. We’d get less respect than if a woman was the president.

And before you evangelicals ask, yes, we’ve prayed about it and stuff. And yes, we’re sober. Santorum is the man for the job. Not Ron Paul, with all his notions of freedom and the constitution and whatever. He uses words I don’t even know and makes cogent, unemotional arguments, and that scares me.  Also, he’s old.

Santorum speaks our language. Faith, Family, and Freedom. Know what we say to that, here at TTM?

Santorum 2012.  Yes, we f***ing can.

Chicago native of Korean descent also knows no martial arts

HOUSTON – The employment of James Kim as youth pastor at Mt. Olive Baptist church here has resulted in some disappointment among church members, but not for the usual pastoral dissatisfaction reasons.

“When I saw that we had hired him, I was so excited,” said church treasurer Lilly Rudd. “I thought we could finally start an outreach to the Chinese and Filipino populations of Houston, but when he opened his mouth I noticed there was no accent at all – even his l’s and r’s were all pronounced right. That’s when I had to ask him if he even spoke Chinese at all. I was completely speechless when he told me he’d never even been outside the US.”

Kim’s great grandparents emigrated from Korea to Northern Illinois in the early 1920’s. Despite persistent ethnic misconceptions from new acquaintances throughout his life, Kim says that he actually knows very little about Asian cultures.

“Well, I went to high school on the north side of Chicago, I root for the Bears,” Kim said. “My dad’s an engineer, not a convenience store owner, and I don’t really know how to cook any special kinds of food.”

But while he may be completely comfortable in his fully Americanized skin, Kim’s ambivalence toward his heritage is causing some problems in his new position. Kurt Eisen, a longtime member of Mt. Olive Baptist who served on the search committee that ultimately hired Kim, says that he feels Kim misrepresented himself.

“We had a lot of good candidates for the job,” Eisen said. “It was a really close race between some really good guys, and the slightest considerations ended up making the difference. While we may not have discussed it directly with him, the committee talked a lot about how great it would be to start some karate outreach programs with the youth group and how it would be cool to do some Kabuki drama skits on Sundays. Now, it looks like none of that is gonna happen. Needless to say, we were quite disappointed.”

Kim seems unfazed by the nonplussed nature of his new employers.

“We’re talking about starting a basketball ministry to reach out to some of the poorer youth in the African American neighborhoods,” he said. “Then we were talking about some kind of Halo 3 party to draw the kids in, but we’ll have to talk about that, because I’m not very good at video games.”

As far as satiating the hunger of church leaders for some eastern flavor from their youth leader, Kim says that there are a few things that may stand him in better stead over time.

“I’ve had acupuncture a couple of times, and I really liked it,” he said. “Oh, plus, I took some violin lessons as a kid, so I think I’ll be OK.”

HEAVEN – Sources close to Jesus say the Lord has grown weary of greeting lukewarm Christians with the traditional “well done, thou good and faithful servant.”

Christ was seen Monday rolling his eyes at new arrivals who filtered in after Hope Chapel’s bus crashed on its way to a Michael W. Smith concert in Temecula, Calif. “He just sort of looked exasperated when He sighed and waved them over, a la some dock worker helping a trucker back in his rig.” one angel said.

Martin Jones—who got saved at 21 and spent most of his life making millions of dollars while attending Hope’s truncated early service—was stunned. “I was a little embarrassed,” said Jones, 58. “He put His hands on His hips, shook His head, looked me square in the eyes and said: ‘Well, that was real half-assed.’”

New declaration from The Almighty makes gesturing to Him on field a sin

HEAVEN – In a press release issued earlier this month, God declared that professional athletes in any sport who point or gesture in any way in His direction while on the field of play will be subject to the normal penalties for committing a sin.

The policy seems to have been in the works for some time, as the release cites recent audits conducted by heavenly officials of post touchdown and homerun related adulation, which found relatively low levels of sincerity among professional baseball and football players in particular.

James Worthington, president of the Religious Studies Institute – a Chicago-based inter-faith think tank, is convinced that the timing of this new policy being released during the height of the NFL season is no coincidence.

“This is the time of year when you really see the celebrations ramping up, football players pointing with one or both hands and looking heavenward,” Worthington said. “We’ve seen the NFL crack down on celebrations significantly over the years, disallowing props and things like that. I see this as God’s way of saying that he’s not about to put up with being anybody’s prop either.”

The press release itself was relatively short – a mere 777 characters outlining the basics of the new policy, but a heavenly official speaking on the condition of anonymity told The Holy Observer that there were a couple of key factors in addition to the alleged lack of sincerity that prompted The Almighty to make the declaration.

“First of all, I think we can all agree that pointing is rude,” the official said. “Secondly, it’s more or less an open secret up here that God outsourced His sovereignty over sporting events at all levels to a startup firm in Mumbai about five years ago, so I really think he was starting to feel a little funny about taking credit for everything.”

It’s unclear at this point how the new policy will affect on field celebrations, as many well established sin-related policies seem to have had little to no bearing on the behavior of professional athletes historically. However, Worthington expects the new policy to at least have a temporary chilling effect.

“When you have God singling out your behavior directly like this, it tends to get your attention,” he said. “This isn’t like some dusty commandment telling you not to covet your neighbor’s Escalade. This is a fresh fax from cloud nine telling you to knock it off. I expect people to listen – at least until the playoffs.”

Luckily, even though the closest thing I’ve had to a child was a flower some chicks gave me in college that died because I forgot to water it for a week, I’ve been inspired (probably by God, but no guarantees) with a few hundred words of wisdom to guide you through the crap-caked puberty maze that is child rearing.

Part 1: Babies

Let’s get one thing straight. You hate babies. I get it. They don’t talk, they force you to abandon sleep, which you love more than almost anything, and their digestive tract is connected directly to hell. Babies are dumb and selfish and mostly no fun. And super, super breakable. One second the baby is having a good time with the weed-eater, the next second child services is trying to tell you how to be a parent. The hell do they know, right? After nine months of sitting on their asses and literally leeching off of you, you’d think babies wouldn’t be such… babies.

Here are two easy steps for handling these useless nightmares until they’re old enough to contribute:

1. Neglect:
If there’s one thing I learned growing up in an Irish home, it’s that you have to fend for yourself. Teach that lesson to your baby. Why should you have to change a diaper? You didn’t crap your baby’s pants did you? No. That baby knows damn well where the toilet is, it’s just being lazy. A few days of wallowing in its own filth will teach it to get up and take its nasty-butt business to the commode, where it belongs.

And breast feeding? Yougottabekiddingme! First of all, Oedipus, gross. Second of all, Maxim has taught us that boobs are for smashing into bras that are three sizes too small. That is NOT for you to munch on, munchkin. Toss your baby a Powerbar and a half gallon of milk. When the baby gets hungry, it’ll figure it out.

Got something to do? Got a TV? Problem solved. Plop that baby in front of the TV with an episode of Skins and go take that much needed siesta, my friend. TV is the baby opium that moms have been praying for since opium was outlawed. It really doesn’t matter what you put on the TV. Babies don’t give a crap, they’ll watch anything. No standards, the monsters.

2. Take Your Baby Everywhere:
Babies don’t know anything about the world. They’ve spent the first nine months of their lives sitting around and mooching off of their moms like some sweaty WoW addict. No more of that, kiddos. Going to see the latest horror flick, “The Exorcism of the Haunted Scream Halloween Saw: REAL3DTOtheMAX”? Bring your baby along. Everyone in the theater is going to respect you for it. You’re making the hard decision. Sure, maybe your baby will cry, scream, and beg you in baby language to take it home, but you’re the parent that clearly knows best. Stop crying and learn English, baby, and then maybe we can have a real conversation about how watching demons explode out of people’s eyes will put hair on your chest and prepare you to be a well-rounded, non-cannibalistic, non-satanic, non-serial killer when you grow up.

Pretty much every other place you might go is a good place to bring a baby. Crime scene? This is real life. Get used to it. Gym? You’re fat, baby. The world hates fat people. Booby bar? I know you love boobies. Look but don’t touch.

If there does happen to be a situation where, for some weird reason, you decide you’d rather not bring your newborn child, just leave it in the car.

And that’s it. Two easy steps for getting by until your baby becomes a human. Give me a week or twelve and I’ll hit you up again with the next step in How to Cope with Parenting: A Guide. Until then, get out there and show the world a new standard for parenting.

Have you ever gone to a friend of yours – someone you trust to care for and embrace you in your time of need – and bitched about that bad day, as unextraordinary as it might have been? You groggily stumble over to their desk/cubicle/house or lethargically shoot them a text message and talk about the excruciatingly verbose and unnecessary lecture you just received about the company’s policy on section whatever-dot-whatever in the procedures for whatever-the-hell-it-was, hoping to receive a little emotional “I got your back, bro” from your friend. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, really.

But, somehow, it apparently is too much to ask, because that asshat of a friend just has to respond with the most annoying that-doesn’t-help-at-all response:

“It could be worse.”

No way? It could be worse? Damn, I hadn’t thought about that. I feel so much better now that you pointed out that my crappy, frustrating day could be even crappier and more frustrating. You’re so right. I could be crippled. Or bald. Or Rachel Maddow/Sarah Palin (take your pick based on your political preferences). You’re always getting me to look on the bright side of things, friend.

Well...

Except that’s not at all how you feel, because that’s not at all a helpful thing for someone to say when you just want to have a bit of an innocent bitchfest about something that anyone would call obnoxious. In fact, it’s rarely ever a helpful thing to say. It doesn’t make something crappy better to know that there is something crappier out there. If I just broke one of my legs in a wild break-dancing related accident, it won’t make my leg hurt less if you tell me that I could have broken both of my legs. I still broke my leg you stupid jackass. That still sucks.

If you happen to voice this concern to your mentally inanimate friend, you may receive the following defense:

“It happens to everybody.”

If everyone got kicked in the balls at the same time, that doesn’t make getting kicked in the balls feel good. It’s still a kick to the balls. The fact that it happens to everyone just means that everyone has a pretty legitimate reason to piss and moan, not that they should just shut up about it because “it’s the standard.” If the standard sucks, then complaining about the standard becomes the standard.

Think about it. You’ll get it.

Ruth (Jenna Jameson) and Boaz (Michael Cera) have promised themselves and their Facebook groups to lose their virginity and have torrid sex on their wedding night. They’ve made it through the courtship, through the engagement, and through the Joshua Harris conference, but now they’ll have to make it through the wedding…and what a wedding it will be!  From a unity candle that won’t stay lit to an uncomfortable reading from Song of Solomon, events seem to be conspiring to keep Ruth and Bo from the blessed consummation they have heard so much about on the cover of Cosmopolitan.

True love has waited long enough!

When, at long last, the ceremony concludes and the reception begins, the mishaps and mayhem only get worse.  With no alcohol and no dance floor Ruth and Bo thought they were playing it safe and paving the way for a long night of necking and heavy petting.  They didn’t plan on Bo’s best man, Jeremy, having a few too many sparkling grape juices before his toast.  His graphic retelling of Bo’s church camp van encounters throws the assembled guests into fits of indignation.  Relationship Defining Talks and readings of Proverbs 31 ensue.  And that’s only the beginning!

What carnal advice is Ruth’s unsaved grandfather (Michael W. Smith) whispering in her ear?  What PG-13 plans do their friends have for their getaway car decorations? (You can bet there won’t be any prophylactics!)  Will the two ever make it to the Holiday Inn? Will they in fact “do it again and again” like that lady from the abstinence conference said they would?  You’ll have to watch to find out!

Whether you’ve had sex before or just think about it all the time, It’s About Time! has something for everyone.  Watch it with your youth pastor!  Watch it with your parents!  Watch it with your fornicating, non-Christian friends!

Watch it again and again and again.

This article was brought to us by the honorable and venerable James King, a master of thumb wrestling, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, and RISK: Lord of the Rings Edition. We’ve made him laugh many times, and now we thank him for returning the favor.

The social universe has an unspoken balance in place that ensures that life makes sense. We hang out with people as cool as we are, we date within our acceptable range, and people that are born into wealth and status run our countries. When some son of a bitch tries to upset that balance, bad things happen. Remember the French Revolution? That happened because one of Quasimodo’s descendants landed a smoking-hot art model. The Civil War? Some mustachioed sea donkey from the North decided she wanted to date a studly land owner from Alabama.  Name any natural disaster and it can be traced back to some fugly idiot not following the rules of romance. If you mess with the balance, the universe compensates with blood.

Despite this delicate equilibrium, matchmaking is never perfect. Occasionally it is so uneven that it elicits a deep sense of injustice from our communal soul, sort of like any time Keanu Reeves gets another acting gig. You know something isn’t right. You can feel it. Someone is getting something they don’t deserve.

So, you walking dumpster, how do you make things right once you have a hottie in your white-knuckled, kill-me-to-take-it grip? How do you cope with dating someone that is hotter than you? Grab your Moleskine and take a seat, my child. We have much to discuss.

One rule: Over Compensate
She’s a 10 and you’re a 3. That’s a pretty sizable gap, almost as significant as the one between your two front teeth. You’re going to need to string a rope-bridge across that dark chasm. When people see you with your deafeningly hot significant other, the comments will go something like this:

“Damn, (he/she) is so (hot/attractive/sexcellent). Why is (he/she) with that Seth Rogen look alike? Well, I guess (he/she) is at least (fill in the blank).”

That blank can be filled with a few different things that will help even the score between you and your walking fantasy.

That is one unattractive dude.

1. Get in ridiculous shape.
You can’t help having a Haitian Earthquake for a face, but you can blast your pecks into beautiful oblivion. Work out constantly, get really into triathlons, get ab implants – whatever you want. You need to work your way into the “butterface” zone so people may be able to shrug off the 7 point difference between you and the Greek sculpture you’re dating.

2. Get rich and/or famous.
Ideally this would happen before you start dating a walking masterpiece, but if you somehow win the lottery before buying the ticket you still have options. Are you talented? You’d better hope you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re the world’s greatest tap dancer or if you start the next Google, you just need to be on top of something. It can even be something nerdy like math or writing internet humor, people won’t care as long as they have a good reason not to kill you for upsetting cupid’s system. Hell, you may even be able to get away with being a second or third string celebrity/musician/mogul, you’ll just have to deal with more public anger and ridicule than you would have if you were Seal.

Apparently he's a great musician.

3. Get a horrible disease.
If all else fails, there’s always the “Make-A-Wish Foundation” route. This is the Hail-Mary of dating-up excuses, but it is also one of the hardest with which to argue. Example:
“Damn, that girl is fine. What’s she doing with that retarded hippopotamus?”
“Bro, you’re an asshole. That guy has EbolasyphillAIDS. He’s already died like three times.”
You’re clearly not otherwise qualified to bask in the magical fairy-glow of hotness that shines forth from your spouse, but somehow you’ve earned it by suffering so hard that even Job says “yikes, that sucks.”

Follow these rules and you might be able to avoid getting hit by a meteor for dating someone that even blind people can tell is better looking than you.

Enjoy pointing out who got the sweeter deal in a relationship? Roll on over to SheWonHeWon.com and vote on hotness to your heart’s content!

I’m not sure which scripture translation you are using this month, so I will greet you in the language of your four favorites – guten tag, konnichiwa, howdy doody, and shalom.  I am new to The Talking Mirror so you’ll have to forgive my unfamiliarity with “open email” etiquette.  Do I need to ACTUALLY email it to you, or is it safe to assume you have one of those “google alerts” set to search for your name along with the words “open email” a half dozen times a day?

If I was you, I’d probably set the search for “James Dobson” and “photoshopped to look like Satan” but that’s just me.  Actually, I hope you haven’t done that because then you’ll probably never read this – unless you see it on Victoria Osteen’s Twitter feed or something.  (Didn’t you and her have a thing once?  Did I hear that?  Maybe not.)  Maybe I should photoshop a picture of you to look like Satan just to be safe…

Oh gosh, you know what I just realized? All those questions I just asked about open emails are irrelevant (like the magazine! LOLZ!).  If you read them, I guess we already have our answer. Ha! Can you believe that? Isn’t it funny how life just works itself out sometimes?  Unless you’re Ted Haggard that is.  Things aren’t really working out for him.

Oh man, this email is getting long, and that’s the one thing my editors told me about writing an open email, they told me it’s like robbing a nursing home, “get in, get out, get some pudding.” Not really sure what they meant by that last part, but I’ve got some Snack Packs in the fridge and that’s where I’m heading now.

Thank you for your time Dr. Dobson. I appreciate you reading this open email no matter how you came across it. Hopefully in our next correspondence I will be able to address a few of the hot news items being discussed on FoxNews and elsewhere in the world, like the Christianity Today blog.

Peace, love, NIV,

Matt Browning

Managing Editor who also contributes

The Talking Mirror

P.S. We haven’t really talked about my title here, so that might change. Just didn’t want you to call our office and not be able to get a hold of me if my title changes.

P.P.S. I talked to Conor, he said we don’t even have an office, and that I’m the only Matt Browning writing for TTM, so don’t worry about the title changing.

P.P.P.S. Do you really think Obama’s a Muslim?