What a Tangled Webb We Weave...

Katherine Webb consuming a Buffalo Blue Cheese Burger. Not shown: The toilet she'll be purging it into.

Carl's Jr., which has concocted a grotesque conglomeration of crap they apparently found at the back of the walk-in cooler and called it the Buffalo Blue Cheese Burger, 620 calories of red meat and white flour on which they slather blue cheese and hot sauce to unleash on an already obese populace. What I find especially offensive about the hot mess (which makes me feel queasy if I even look at it), is that the company's corporate marketing department hired a model named Katherine Webb, who gained fifteen minutes of fame by sitting in the stands of a football game to cheer on her boyfriend (University of Alabama quarterback A.J. McCarronto) and was gushed over by infamously perverted sportscaster Brent Musburger on national television, to promote it. Ms. Webb was engaged to appear in a commercial recreating her star-making moment before going into "a fantasy sequence" that depicts her erotically stuffing the heinous burger down her face and dripping hot sauce all over her perfect body, conveniently overlooking the fact that one doesn't possess a body like Katherine Webb's by letting something as foul as a Buffalo Blue Cheese Burger anywhere near her lovely face. Carl's Jr. has a history of sexist ads depicting gorgeous women stuffing fatty, deep-fried swill down their throats, which is a step up from the commercials they made in the 1970s and 1980s starring the company's ultra right wing, white supremacist and homophobic founder Carl Karcher. I never liked seeing Mr. Karcher pop up on my television screen but at least it seemed plausible that he actually ate the garbage cranked out by his restaurants since the fat appeared to travel straight to his head. When Katherine Webb is seen choking down a blue cheese and hot sauce-infused hunk of cow meat, one has the image of her hustling to the nearest toilet to purge the monstrosity from her system; which is exactly the same thing that I would do after listening to Carl Karcher. At least you've got to give Carl's Jr. kudos for consistency.

“Menopausia el Musical” stars Jeebus Burbano and Marabina Jaimes with Bond, James Bond

Jeebus Burbano, who is starring in the Spanish language extravaganza Menopausia el Musical at Los Angeles' Ricardo Montalban Theatre. The producers obviously hoped to pull a fast one by casting a hottie like Ms. Burbano in a musical about menopause, as evidenced by former James Bond Pierce Brosnan showing up at the venue and being photographed with the cast, all of whom looked happy as non-menstruating clams to be seen with 007. It is interesting to me that with the hundreds, if not thousands, of women that Mr. Licensed to Kill has bedded over the decades, there doesn't appear to be any James Bond, Jrs. running around. The photograph made it obvious to me that the superspy has a secret fetish for menopausal women, thus allowing him to satisfy his overactive libido without enduring any unwanted pregnancies. This news will require some updates to the names of Mr. Bond's conquests: Pussy Galore from Goldfinger would be rechristened Hot Flashy Galore. Ling from You Only Live Twice would be known as Mood Swing, and Octopussy would be renamed The Insane Woman Suffering From Vaginal Dryness. And compared to that last one, Ernst Blofeld is a rank amateur when it comes to wreaking havoc on mankind.

Team Jonny

Glenn "Piece of Shit" Simon. I created another enchanting illustration for my Facebook cover page, this one depicting various attractive people of my acquaintance wearing Jonny tee-shirts while I brought up the rear wearing a Winston tee-shirt. This predictably brought out sneering taunts from you people that you'd love nothing more under your Christmas Tree than a Winston shirt whereas the Jonny shirts could be consigned to the rag bin where they would be used to wash the car or resorted to in a pinch when the toilet paper supply ran unexpectedly out. The charge was led by the bitter Mr. Simon, who commented "I'm afraid that I'm Team Winston." When I pointed out that my pug was wearing a Jonny shirt, Mr. Simon countered "Winston is a smart dog. He knows where the food comes from." I parried that Winston loves me, to which Mr. Simon reposted "I think 'loves me' and 'knows where the food comes from' are synonymous in a dog's vocabulary." That's where I had him, for every time that Mr. Simon cons himself into believing that he is "in love" with a woman, he has also talked said woman into participating in the various disgusting sexual fetishes for which he is even now serving out a suspended sentence in the state of Alabama. Mr. Simon may attempt to sully Winston's feelings for me because there is an element of quid pro quo in them, but I respond that is no different from any other loving relationship, human or otherwise. If Mr. Simon feels differently, I challenge him to count the number of "I love you's" he whispers into the ear of his lady love before she'll agree to a three-way with him and his boob cup.

Bro Joe preparing to pursue his sadly macho lifestyle

Bro Joe, who continues right on schedule with his mid-life crisis by going sky-diving for the first time last week. I don't know why Joe would pay good money for something like that since I know lots of people who would happily push him out of a plane for free. I know that sky-diving is a popular daydream for a lot of you but when I have been in free-fall – at an amusement park ride or jumping out of a nooner's second story window when her husband comes home unexpectedly – the unfortunate hunk of postulant flesh that is my genitalia feels like it's been placed in a blender set on puree. The idea of exposing myself to that experience from 12,500 feet to Ground Zero isn't something that my junk is interested in. Of course, that's also true of some of the stuff subjected to it by my nooners but you can't always have it your own way. Joe did say that he had a fine time plummeting to earth and looked forward to doing it again. I feel the say way about my nooners but I want to find out the husbands' work schedule before I make any plans. I'm not as young as I used to be.

The GOP taking its ball and going home

The United States Congress, which finally passed a bill ending the shutdown of the government which required over a million federal employees to go on furlough or work without pay. The shutdown was orchestrated by the Republican side of the legislature in a desperate bid to bring down the scourge of ObamaCare, a move which was totally ineffectual and had the residual benefit of making the GOP look like a little brat who would run home with his ball if the game didn't play out his way. This was especially ironic behavior from the party that cow tows to "job creators,"since the shutdown laid a massive turd on the jobs of hard-working government employees who pay taxes and need their work-supplied health care just like everybody else. I'm still not sure what the GOP was trying to accomplish since they couldn't possibly have expected Mr. Obama to simply fold over the defining piece of legislation of his administration. And the Republicans used such outlandishly hysterical rhetoric to describe ObamaCare to attempt to mitigate the public perception that they were being dicks - comparing it to Nazi Germany and American slavery - that even the smartest of them just wound up looking like fools. The chief fool was Texas Senator Ted Cruz, who spouted baldfaced lies about the repercussions of ObamaCare at a press conference that was staged just as the end of the shutdown was being announced and is now seeing some of his once-core supporters withdraw their backing. It would be a shame if Mr. Cruz lost his Senate seat and the security of that sweet government paycheck twice a month. That would put him in the same boat as the government employees he screwed over in his party's failed power grab. But at least he won't be totally high and dry. He can always sign up for ObamaCare.