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.

“That was the worst day of my life,” says Walter Lincoln, a long time fan and a saintly Christian. “It was almost as if Amy [Grant] had died for real. I wept for a while, and then I just crushed my [Amy Grant] CDs with my Bible. It just weighed so heavily on my heart.” It was a dark day, indeed. Our sources tell us that on that day alone in 1999, 14 billion Amy Grant CDs and tapes were destroyed, most of them by ritualistic fire.* According to the RIAA, the demographic that most commonly purchased Amy Grant records changed after March 4th, 1999 from almost entirely Christian to mostly Satan worshippers.**

A ripe target for your holy hand grenade.

We surveyed a group of 1 million Christians on their opinions of Grant’s divorce and the results were significant, but not surprising. 78% said that Grant was “Likely never saved,” 91% said “Vince Gill is the devil incarnate,” and 135% said “’Baby, Baby’ is such a good song.” ***

Fred Phelps, the pastor of Westboro Baptist Church – commonly known for its God Hates Fags, God Hates America, and I’m Completely Insane organizations – had some wise insight regarding D-Day. “It shouldn’t be a day of mourning. It should be a day of celebration. That day, a sinner left the Church. That’s a good thing, y’all! Sinners don’t belong in our Churches, they belong in hell!”

Grant would not return our calls for an interview, likely busy with her new life of sin, but we used our patented Interview Simulator™ to suggest responses that Grant would probably have provided.

Us: Why did you divorce your husband?

Simulated Amy Grant:  Because I hate God. I am pro-choice.

Us: Isn’t divorce a sin?

Simulated Amy Grant: I love to sin. It is my favorite.

Us: Will you ever return to Christianity?

Simulated Amy Grant: Rachel Maddow is fun. I love Satan.

*Source not confirmed, but the odds are it’s true.

**Not actual data from RIAA. They know a lot about Satan though, right?

***We didn’t actually survey anyone.

What you’ll definitely witness and likely take part in, however, is the time-honored practice of the Christian Knock-Off. You see, we Christians don’t like to be original. We’re rip-off Jews, what are we supposed to do?

We take what the “secular” world produces, and we say “Hey, that’s super rad! But since it’s secular it’s probably going to hell along with everyone at MSNBC and Stephanie Meyer. We should make our own version of it so that we can make sure it goes to heaven too!” From music to movies to t-shirts, if you make it, we’ll take it, throw it in the washer a bunch of times so it shrinks and fades, draw a cross on it with a Sharpie, and sell it at LifeWay.

Remember back in the day when YouTube exploded like Octomom’s v…oracious appetite for childbearing (and life-ruining)? Music videos became relevant for the first time since MTV decided to change its programming strategy from “Music” to “whatever sucks and will destroy happiness and souls,” talentless pubescent zit-bags with webcams all over the world found a way to express their talentless pubescence with ease, and the Motion Picture Association of America and the Recording Industry Association of America found a whole new way to satisfy their hunger for all things related to lawsuits and making everyone hate them. It was a beautiful thing.

Fresh off of the loss of Jessica Simpson to 98 Degrees, Evangelicals needed us some beauty. Rather than, you know, participating in the normal trend with the rest of the world, we made “GodTube.” It’s like YouTube, but it’s for God. So only God can use it. Or something. Anyway it’s Christian, so tell your pastor.

Go back a few years before that. Remember when boy bands started tearing up our hearts? Anyway, we Christians lamentably had a boy band all of our own. The sonic equivalent of religiously motivated castration, plusOne – whose name signifies absolutely nothing except a possible reference to a wedding invitation – hit the scene in 2000. Their line-up consisted of 5 moderately-attractive-but-fantastically-moral Christian dudes singing songs about Jesus. Which makes a lot of sense, you know, to sing songs about Jesus using a genre that is known for its romantic songs marketed to pre-pubescent girls. Somehow I feel dirty, having just thought about the whole thing.

What about reality TV? You just cringed, didn’t you? You know what’s coming, just like my toilet knows what’s coming after a meal at Chipotle. Get it?! Crap. The joke is that it’s crap. One Christian reality TV show is called “The Uprising.” I said “one” on purpose. There’s more than one, but because I love you and this hurts me more than it hurts you (seriously) I’m only going to talk about this one. The central conflict of this particular show centers around whether or not a few pro skateboarders will decide to be “born again.” I’m fairly sure that will give people more delusions about God than anything Richard Dawkins could write.

Ever heard of the blog “Stuff White People Like”? It’s pretty funny. An original idea. Wasn’t long before the Christian “me too!” version popped up as “Things Christians Like.” It’s pretty funny, but can we really be proud of a good imitation? Thank God everyone else keeps having original ideas, otherwise we’d be stuck with Carmen and the PowerTeam.

I’m not going to even mention every single ridiculous Christian t-shirts you can still purchase at your local Christian bookstore. Those go without saying. I’ll mention an all-star though:

The product of Christianity's finest minds

How are people supposed to trust that our faith is relevant when our art and culture is not? Can we be “not of this world” and the “salt of the earth” without having what amounts to the store-brand version of secular culture? Only Kirk Cameron really knows. Speaking of which, if you’ll please excuse me, I’m going to finish writing a letter to Kirk Cameron about my script for a Christian vampire flick called “Sondown.”

I digress. The point is, I’ve been busy. The content on the site has been mostly driven by Kent and hilarious contributors. I receive a loud voicemail every other day from Kent that is almost entirely comprised of vulgarities and racial epithets that don’t apply to me. I’m sorry buddy, but you just can’t coerce hilarity out of someone. It has to come from inspiration.

And well, I found some inspiration the other day. The following is my commentary on a list from a website called “The Frisky” about what you should teach your sons about women. What kind of website has that kind of ridiculous name? Good question. It’s a site by women, for women. Anytime a woman writes something about how men work, what men think, or generally anything about men, you can almost guarantee that it’s completely wrong. This list is a decent example of that, although I do agree with some of what it says. The rest of it… well… You’ll see. Here it is. The list itself will be in bold, my comments will be in italics. Bon Appetit, gluttons.

1. Pick your battles.

Right on. Some stuff just isn’t worth the blood and violence. Like with Iraq, you know? After we got into the thick of it we realized, “hey, this might have been better to avoid.” Love is like that. Love is like Iraq. Yeah, that’s it. Remember that, all you single kids. Love is like Iraq.

2. Walk on the outside (closer to the street) of your female companion.

Also a good point. Although I’m not sure that the ladies over at The Frisky know the origins of that rule – it started back in the day when roads weren’t paved. The man walked on the outside in case there was mud or water in the crappy streets. If there was a splash from a passing horse or cart, he’d take the brunt of it. See that? TTM just educated you. You’re officially not wasting your time.

3. Saying “You’re being crazy” is never an appropriate response, unless you want her to go postal on you.

Hmmm… I mean, I get what she’s saying here. That’s probably not a productive thing to say in an argument, but essentially point #3 says that calling a woman crazy makes her crazy… which in effect proves the statement correct, doesn’t it? And going “postal” usually refers to really violent actions, i.e. a disgruntled postal worker shooting a bunch of people. So what you’re saying, Friksy (which coincidentally was also the name of my first dog, RIP) is that calling a woman crazy will turn her into a murdering psychotic.

4. Cooking, cleaning, and taking care of kids are things men can actually do as well as women.

True, true, maybe. Maybe it’s just me, but when my Dad would take care of us while my Mom was sick or out of town, it was a drastically different experience involving lots of microwaved food and diapers made out of newspaper.

5. Keep backup supplies of quality chocolate in the house for her to raid.

True. Chocolate is like catnip for women.

6. Buying tampons and other feminine products shouldn’t embarrass you –everyone knows they’re not for you.

Pshhh! How do they know they’re not for me?! I’m not buying that crap, like I’m gay or something. Chhh. Dumb chicks. (Seriously though, dudes don’t like doing this because it’s kind of weird and gross, not because they’re afraid people will think they’re bleeding out of their vagina.)

7. Women like compliments and gifts.

Men like beer and nudity. And compliments and gifts.

8. Earning less than her shouldn’t be emasculating.

Earning less than him shouldn’t activate the inferiority complex that your loveless father ingrained in you as a child.

9. Be on time, even if she usually isn’t.

That way you can make her feel really guilty about always being late and use it as a tool to manipulate her! Brilliant, Frisky!

10. Don’t be a pouty puppy when shopping with her.

Don’t make him go shopping with you if you don’t want to deal with him inevitably hating it. Studies have shown, actually, that women enjoy shopping because for them it’s a sensory experience – they enjoy the colors and textures of the items, making the experience very stimulating for them.  Mens’ brains, however, aren’t wired to appreciate the same stimuli. Suck it, Frisky.

11. Find out what her favorite flower is.

Conceded. Good point. Otherwise you’d never have a good card to pull out when you screw something up.

12. If you like her, then don’t buy her shoes; it’s bad luck.

Sounds like someone is inserting a little bit of their own personal narrative into this guide. I feel like some dude’s name should be italicized at the end of that statement.

13. Smiling and nodding aren’t the same as listening.

Thought vomiting isn’t the same as talking.

14. It’s OK to cry in front of her, but keep the blubbering to a minimum.

Wow. “Be vulnerable, but only to the extent of novelty. Any real vulnerability isn’t welcome.” Someone is a little dysfunctional.

15. Personality goes a long way.

Trying to justify your ugly boyfriend, huh?

16. At some point she’ll be more important than your mother.

Unless your name is Oedipus! BAM!

17. You will never completely understand women.

That’s because they’re crazy. Oh, no! Please don’t shoot me!

18. Oh yeah, and no woman will ever be good enough for my baby!

I don’t even know what the hell this is about. Freud? Where are you?

Mr. Jones and me… ba da dum dum dum da dum… Gawd I love this song. Is the singer Black? He could be from South America I guess… Like Puerto Rico maybe. Is that South America? Whatever, they all speak Spanish. His dreads are intense. I wish I had dreads. Man that would be so bad-A. I wonder if his dreads are what gives him that beautiful, chocolate pudding voice. Like Iron Man’s suit or something.

Man, this guy behind me is really following me close. I’d better step on my brakes to show him that I’d like for him to slow down. There you go buddy, see? Chill out. We’re all gonna get there eventually. Dang, he’s back up in my trunk again. What’s his problem? Speed limit is 45, I’m going 40! That’s plenty fast. Does he know what an accident at 40 miles per hour would do to your body? It would turn into a bloody violent mess. I guess he didn’t pay attention to those videos they showed us in driver’s ed. What was that called? Faces of death? No matter, that’s not gonna be me, bucko.

Alright, time to teach him a lesson. Just gonna ease down to 35 here to send a message to Mr. Speed Racer back there. Yeah, you noticed that didn’t you? Well I don’t respond well to tailgating. Now you see who the boss is, don’t you? Maybe next time you’ll appreciate 40 miles per hour when you have it. You don’t know what you got till it’s gone… Paved with some dice, with a foot on Marky’s cot. That’s a Counting Crows song too, right? Yeah it is. Marky’s cot… I wonder if he’s talking about Marky Mark Wahlberg.

Darnit, what is this guys problem? I can’t believe he’s flashing his headlights at me. I’m not gonna speed up. I’ve made that abundantly clear. You’ve been tailgating me, and now you have to deal with your punishment. Somebody has got to teach you how to be a safe driver. I bet you don’t even have your license, do you? I don’t even want to think about whether or not you have insurance.

Uh oh, that green light up there has been green for a while. I’d better slow down some more in case it decides to go red on me. Looky there! Better safe then sorry. It’s going yellow. Stop time. What is this guy’s deal? He’s honking at me and looking like he’s punching his car.

Seriously man, take a chill pill.

I love that saying. Chill pill. It rhymes, it makes sense, and it just rolls off the tongue. I need to get that on a t-shirt… Oh!  Or a bumper sticker! Oh man, that’d be hysterical.

Really though. Speeding is against the law. He should be thanking me for saving him from getting pulled over.  This is absurd. Sorry big guy, but this is a two lane road with solid lines in the middle. No passing. What in the heck? He’s trying to pass me! Alright 2 fast 2 furious, it’s time for me to awaken the beast that is the Chevrolet Aveo. Just gonna speed up enough to get him to realize that passing isn’t going to happen today… What? He just… Does he know what that finger means? I just… I can’t believe it.

Well just you wait, you jerk! What goes around comes around.

End Inner Monologue

An alternate inner monologue consists of the first 30 seconds of this song:

That, loyal TTM readers, is what I’ve been telling people for the past two weeks. The whole world has been in mourning, and I have been loving it. Did you see all those prisoners in the Philippines that did the Thriller jig? That little diddy got more news coverage than the tsunami I used to destroy Australia. JK I didn’t do that, but for real it was a great decoy. We tried doing something like that here in hell to celebrate, but tormented souls don’t dance so well when they’re on fire and are being reminded of all of their worst nightmares at the same time. I know. Lame.

Anyway, even the Iranians stopped protesting their most recent election to mourn the loss of MJ. I’m sure they’re happy that they aren’t so distracted by all those stupid shows about “revolution” and “injustice” that were always on so that they could catch all the beautiful specials that have been on CNN, NBC, ABC, CBS, Telemundo, CNBC, MSNBC, FOX, FOXNews, E!, and Lifetime. It’s just like I said to them, “Hey guys, look over there!” and when they turned to see what it was that I was pointing at, I destroyed any sign of democracy in their nation and any hope of change. And they didn’t even care! It was like I was a fat kid in a candy store, or a pedophile at the Harry Potter premiere. I was in absolute hell! Oh, that’s good for me, by the way.

The saddest part about it all is that now Michael Jackson is truly dead. The funeral is over, taxpayers are paying for it, (boo-yah! Count that one more point for me, sluts!) and the world is once again concerned with “real news.” I can no longer go around tormenting humans without anyone caring because everyone is too busy forgetting about that time MJ settled out of court for $25 million for not molesting a child. Do you know how many old ladies got hit by cars because the driver was busy watching Sparkle Jackson (or whatever her name is) cry on their iPhone? Let me tell you the number was higher than usual, just like I was higher than usual on PCP. And by PCP I mean on pain and suffering, I don’t do drugs. You should totally check them out though, they’re like candy in pill form.

I rained out over 500 weddings, I cursed the Chicago Cubs (again), I provided giant zits for hundreds of first dates, and you know that worthless idiot two cubicles over that plays Facebook Scrabble all day long and absolutely loves Puddle of Mudd? Yeah, he got a promotion. I was spilling hot coffee on so many brand new shirts and blouses that it became a habit. There are some upset demons with stained J. Crew shirts down in hell, let me tell you.

But that’s all over now. For two weeks I was running around the world with impunity.  It was like I had just gotten one of the lightning bolts in Mario Cart and everyone else was slow and tiny.  Now I’m just plain old Yoshi again. I mean I guess it’s cool how some people in the world are still sad. Naturally, I dig that kind of thing. And I guess it’s good that Latoya, Janet, and Jermaine Jackson are all back in the spotlight again. They do such good work. I guess I’ll go back to subversively scaring children as “The Boogie Man” or “Eddie Murphy” again. Oh well…

Next it's shirts with my face on them

Hello TTM Readers. this is just another installment in a long series of Self Promoting articles that have no substance in and of themselves, but only link to articles on other websites. I wrote my first “political” article for a Chicago website called Gaper’s Block. I met the political editor at Pilcrow Literary Festival, where I was a panelist with him. So if you’re feeling political and are tired of abusing your abdominal muscles with laughter here at TTM, take a jaunt over there and check out my article. It’s somewhat benign, I’d say:

Gay Marriage and Why Evangelicals Shouldn’t Care

Thanks for your undying love and charity laughs.

cheers.

-conor.

Luckily for you guys, though, I still hate fat children but, unlike before, I no longer worry about offending anyone. Hurray!

You’ve seen fat children before. I don’t mean fat 15 year olds. I don’t even mean fat 12 year olds. I mean fat 6 year olds. Porky little fatsos, gobbling down chocolate bars and Puffy Cheetos so quickly you’d think it was a contest to get some Miley Cyrus 3D tickets. It’s not a contest though, they’re just eating. They’re probably not even hungry. Just munching on some grub just, ya know, because.

Now before I freak the hell out all up in your face, I’m going to stop a stupid argument in its tracks. This isn’t about world hunger. I’m not pissed that little Robby is scarfing down that Snickers because we could airmail it to some hungry kid in Zimbabwe that hangs out with bearded white dudes that guilt you into sending just $15 a month. No, that’s a stupid thing to think or say. That Snickers bar isn’t going to destroy world hunger as long as we keep it out of the mouths of wasteful fatasses. I get that, you get that, we get that. It’s logic. Besides, what kind of idiots would we be if we were mailing candy to starving people? That would be pretty counterproductive. By “we” I of course mean Americans. We don’t do that, do we? We probably do. Dammit.

No, my lovely friends, this is about irresponsible parenting. Now before you fat people start getting all huffy and puffy (like you get when you just ran 10 yards) about “big bones” and “the fat gene,” let me just go ahead and recognize that not all people are born skinny and then eat their way into fatness. Some people really do just get real fat because… well… they just do. I’m sorry to those people, you’re not necessarily who I’m talking about. I’m talking about the people who are lazy, non-exercizing, crap-eating slobs who – either directly or just by example – turn their kids into little fat-chunk monstrosities.

rawr blahhhrrggg mmmggarrrr (other sloppy eating sounds)

I guess you could say that I don’t hate the children, but rather their parents. But honestly, how catchy of a title is that? “I Hate the Parents of Fat Children”? No way. I FoxNewsed that bad boy up and made it sensational, and that’s why you’re reading.

I don’t have any kids myself (unless you count that one I bought on Ebay from Thailand that totally never got shipped to me, ThaiKidSellerz1093 you thieving bastard!) but I think I’m smart enough to recognize some basic truths about life.

1. Being overweight is unhealthy. Everybody has seen The Biggest Loser. You get diabetes, heart issues, and I’m pretty sure impotence is in there somewhere. It should be, at least.

2. Kids do what their parents/adult role models do. You ever been around a kid? You ever said “boobs” or “skank” or “just kidding now that she’s closer she’s ugly” around a kid? It’s like having one of those Talkboy Tape Recorders, isn’t it? Or an annoying ass parrot like the one my neighbor has? Either way, kids learn from their parents. If you eat like crap and weigh as much as a SmartCar, they’re going to follow your lead.

3. Be lazy or be a parent, but not a lazy parent. I’ve watched people raise kids. The lazy ones do whatever they want and never say no to their giant offspring, giving them every video game console and Willy Wonka product they incessantly scream for in the aisles at WalMart. The good parents, though, are tired and worn out all the time. Why? Because they expend all their energy disciplining their children and not letting them eat Haggen Daas for dinner. I’m cool with you being a lazy fatass – that’s why we elected Obama, so that society could fund your lifestyle – I’m just not cool with you damning your child to a life of health and self esteem problems.

So parents of fat kids, get your act together. Love your children enough to protect them from the suffering you’ve already experienced. Things like not seeing your feet for the last ten years, breaking furniture by leaning on it, or needing an electric scooter to shop at Target – these are the kinds of humiliations you can save your child simply by giving a damn about them. Don’t let them eat crappy food. Make them go outside and ride a bicycle instead of playing Grand Theft Auto. Buy a giant, angry doberman to rabidly chase them around your backyard. There are plenty of wonderful ways you can help your children not be fat. People like me are really tired of being pissed about it.

First we have a little news article submitted to me by our webmaster Isaac the Conqueror:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/8081829.stm

It’s about two gay penguins that raise an adopted egg. No, this isn’t a nightmare from a conservative children’s book writer. Apparently it’s news from some German zoo. I’m not sure if anyone in the world really gives a damn about the fact that this is happening or has happened, but if they do I have a couple ideas of some potential perspectives that might arise on the issue.

The Raging “Conservative” Fundamentalists: Well this is just proof of how liberal Europe has become. Even their animals are gay. AND they let their GAY animals adopt babies! Europe has gone to hell!

The Raging “Liberal” GLBTs: See? See? Even penguins are gay and raise babies. Everyone likes penguins. Didn’t you see Happy Feet? Carrie Perjean, will you validate our lifestyle now?

Here’s the problem with both perspectives: they’re f’ing penguins. Who gives a crap whether or not they’re gay or raise babies as gays or whatever? They’re PENGUINS. BIRDS. They have minuscule brains. They’re not even closely related to us evolutionarily, if at all. At most this is some retarded news at which people should giggle or coo or grimace and forget immediately. This neither proves nor disproves anything. We already know gay people exist and that gay people can and will raise adopted babies, probably with the same successes and failures as heterosexual households. So who cares about penguins that do it? The only reason to report on it is to say “Look! Them too!” It’s pointless. These light-in-the-feet penguins aren’t going to raise a gayguin. (Did that work? That combination? I hope it did.) Anyway, like I said, I’m not sure if anyone commented on this “news” like I predicted. But honestly, would you be surprised?

Moving on. TWITTER. You’ve heard of it, right? The Talking Mirror has too. I run it because Kent breaks most things technological and because I’m a control freak. So anyway, TTM is following Carrie Prejean.

Because of the above video clip, Prejean has become somewhat of a spokeswoman for the anti-gay-marriage movement in addition to being a kind of Evangelical “icon,” if you will. One day I was just hanging out, being unemployed and screwing around on twitter when Prejean told her twitter followers that she had time to take some questions. I decided I’d see if I could get some substance out of the bodacious blond. I didn’t ask anything funny. Yeah, I can be serious. Seriously.

Here’s the transcript of TTM’s Official First Interview with Carrie Prejean.

TalkingMirror@CarriePrejeanCA Why are you a Christian?

CarriePrejeanCA@TalkingMirror I am a christian because God has changed my life in so many amazing ways. I trust and belive [sic] in him.

CarriePrejeanCA@TalkingMirror He gets me through the day!

TalkingMirror@CarriePrejeanCA How often do you read your Bible?

CarriePrejeanCA@TalkingMirror Everyday! I love the Bible!! It helps me know what to do and what decisons [sic] to make!

TalkingMirror@CarriePrejeanCA How do you deal with the responsibility of representing your faith to a very scrutinizing world?

CarriePrejeanCA@TalkingMirror I jus [sic] try to keep my head held high!

Clearly, as you can see from her answers, Prejean is in love with TTM and we’re now “going steady.” Don’t be shy Carrie-poo. I know you love us like we love you and your boo– er– super profound intellect. Right.

I also wanted ton include a link to a PDF of a serious article by Onion writer and one time TTM contributer Kurt Luchs. It’s not funny, but it’s very good. It’s short and worth the read:

http://www.ganderpress.com/spring2009/names/luchs.pdf

And, finally:

Some News in Review 06/05/09 Neti Pot from Conor McCarthy on Vimeo.

There’s a little phenomenon I’ve noticed among women that I’ve found troublingly pervasive. It seems to be like some kind of mental infection. I guess they call that insanity, huh? Anyway, girl after girl, all over the country, they seem to suffer from the same disturbing delusion that is destroying more relationships every day. It is this delusion, not the gays, that is responsible for the degradation of marriage in today’s society.

The habitual crime is thus: Women believe that it is funny to men when they use fake accents.

Oh my gawd! I sound British, but I'm not! Hahahahahaahhaha!!!!!!1

I’m going to begin with the cold hard truth, ladies. Your accents – British, French Russian, whatever Asian accent it is that you think you’re doing – are not funny to men. Your girlfriends may laugh, but your girlfriends also like Matthew McConaughey and Kate Hudson movies. Do you see what I’m saying? Follow the logical progression here.

Y’all can get together and watch How to Lose Ghosts of Girlfriends While Failing to Launch in 10 Days and pretend that you talk like a gay German all you want, just don’t include us. There are plenty of things that we know that you do that we don’t want to hear about or participate in. One of those things is driving. I know you do it, but it’s terrifying to me, so I’d rather block it out. Another is voting. Our whole country has been suffraging since the 19th Amendment passed, that’s a fact. There’s a large group of other activities that involve the bathroom that I don’t care to think about enough to name, but I will tell you that showering is not a part of that group.

Then there are the things girls do when they’re “out with the girls” on “girl’s night.” Unless girl’s night involves showering, pillow fights, or cooking, we’re probably better off not knowing. I’m not telling you to stop doing those things, I’m just asking you to keep it within the circle of protective estrogen where those sorts of activities are kosher.

I can already hear the protests from some silly, silly girls: “My boyfriend thinks my accents are hilarious!”

No, no he doesn’t. Your boyfriend does, however, understand that sometimes women force men to lie to them. He probably learned that when you first said “My cousin Cheryl is so pretty, don’t you think?” or “This dress from high school still fits me, right?” If you wanted honest answers you’d be asking honest questions. All you really want is for him to affirm things you know aren’t true to compensate for your daddy issues or your eating disorders or your multiple personalities or whatever it is that makes you insecure and prone to impersonation based humor. So, because he’s a smart man, he picks his battles and laughs when you respond as a Ukrainian woman, even though he dies a little inside.

And don’t even start with the “double standard” crap, you Lifetime watchers. I keep my fart jokes, objectification of women, and excessive vulgarity with Dude’s Night. Maybe I laugh at accents that some of my bros do. Maybe I do some myself when I’m with my bros. You’ll never know, baby, because that time is for bros and not for hos.

To clarify, when I say “baby” I am of course referring to “any interested woman,” because due to some scientific mystery I am still single.