I finally paid my taxes on April 15, shortly before the midnight deadline. Ever since I bought Rancho LaRoo, I’ve had to pay at least several hundred dollars in taxes each year because I filled out my W-4 withholding form incorrectly and never bothered to correct it. At the time I had the option of checking “Head of Household,” so I did. I have a house, I reasoned, and I’m the head of it. Apparently that’s not what the IRS means by that term. I also discovered that it’s not kosher to count cats, dogs, a horse and a Gila monster as dependents.

I really don’t mind paying Uncle Sam every year. Most of the people I know who get tax returns treat them as a kind of interest-free savings account. I’d rather have that money throughout the year to spend on things I enjoy, like rodeos, hookers and beer. I will admit that I am horrible with money. I’ve bought hundreds of books that I’ll probably never read, and am constantly downloading music that I quickly decide I don’t really like after all. I also collect things I don’t need, like various calibers of bullets. I’m not crazy about guns, but I do love bullets. Continue reading »

I follow the news pretty closely online, and try to stay focused on “hard” news, i.e., stories that are not about the size of Kim Kardashian’s ass (which is not to say that Kim Karsdashian’s ass isn’t hard). But in light of all the recent death and destruction and horror occurring In America and the world over, I decided to read something lighter.

I was on ABC News’ website and clicked on a link titled “Facials for Vaginas.” As a heterosexual man with an interest in both vaginas and confusing headlines, I clicked the link. And I’m sorry I did. Turns out the article was about the latest trend in caring for a woman’s bikini area. It’s called a Vajafacial. Here’s a brief description of it:

The 50-minute procedure begins with a cleanse and anti-bacterial wash of the bikini area, Goldman said, and is followed by a papaya enzyme mask that gets rid of skin cells that trap hairs. Next, comes extraction. In the same way that a facial extracts goo from the pores on your face, a Vajacial extracts ingrown hairs with a pair of tweezers. Finally, another mask is applied. Continue reading »

North Korea is continuing its fine tradition of making outrageous threats against the world. The hermit kingdom’s newest lunatic leader, Kim Jong-un (which in English means “Baby-Faced Shithead”) has been telling the world of his plans the nuke the Unites States and South Korea, so I’m guessing this won’t be a sneak attack. (My hometown of Austin is one the cities on Kim’s alleged hit list. I’m not sure why. Maybe he doesn’t like Willie Nelson.)

Last week Kim put North Korea’s rocket units on standby to attack U.S. military bases in South Korea and the Pacific. He has also threatened to launch nukes at the continental U.S., although most experts think his rockets don’t have the range to strike the mainland. It’s kind of like Gov. Rick Perry thinking his tiny brain was ready for the presidency, which was also a gross overestimation.

Kim then ordered communication between North and South Korea to be cut off, thus ending the use of the last land-line telephones on the planet. The phones were only used by the North Korean military for ordering pizza delivery from South Korea, so it’s not that big a deal. Continue reading »

The next technological development that will advance our civilization by a leap and a bound has arrived: talking shoes. Google, the company that apparently long ago abandoned its original “Don’t Be Evil” motto, showed off the high-tech trainers at South By Southwest (SXSW) festival.

These Google-engineered Adidas trainers have a built-in pressure sensor, accelerometer and gyroscope, all of which feed date into a microprocessor, which in turn calculates the user’s activity and then “talks” through a speaker in the shoe’s tongue. (What else would it talk through?) The shoes are meant to goad the wearer into greater activity. According to England’s Daily Mail:

When the wearer, for example, is stationary for too long, the trainers will say, ‘This is super boring’, or ‘Let’s do this’.

When someone ups their activity, the shoes will pipe up with, ‘That’s more like it’, and ‘I love the feel of the wind in my laces’.

And increasing to a sprint will prompt the speakers to call out: ‘Call 911, you are on fire’, or the ultimate in praise: ‘You have made me a very proud shoe.’ Continue reading »

The new pope has been chosen, and it wasn’t me. This is not the first time I was not elected to a high office of worldwide importance. My first two bids to be president of the U.S. of A. also ended in failure. Perhaps this should be a lesson to me: I should probably be more active on Facebook.

I was sort of hoping to become the first non-Catholic pope ever. That would’ve been a daring and radical move to re-envision the church. But no, the Catholic Coven of Cardinals (or whatever it’s called) replaced the outgoing old white guy with an old Latin American guy, 76-year-old Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio of Argentina. On Wednesday, Cardinal Bergoglio became Pope Francis. Rumor has it that he chose that name because he loves old Connie Francis movies from the sixties, especially “Where the Boys Are.”

Pope Francis is reportedly a humble man who, as a cardinal on a visit to a rehab center in Buenos Aires, washed and kissed the feet of 12 AIDS-infected drug addicts. That’s a gesture of compassion and humility, to be sure.  He also took public transportation and cooked his own meals. On the other hand, his career as a priest in Argentina coincided with the so-called Dirty War. As many as 30,000 people died or disappeared during the seven-year period that began with a coup in 1976. Some say the church didn’t do enough to confront the military dictatorship. More recently, Cardinal Bergoglio clashed with the government of Argentine President Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner over his opposition to gay marriage and free distribution of contraceptives. Not surprising. He is Catholic, after all. Continue reading »

It’s Valentine’s Day again. In past years I’ve grumbled about this day, what with all the societal pressures to have someone “special” in your life and waste money on short-lived flowers and edible underdrawers to demonstrate how much you care about them. My real problem is that I haven’t been involved in a relationship on Valentine’s Day in quite a while. There are only so many of those little heart-shaped candies made out of chalk that friends of the opposite sex give you that you can choke down without becoming a little bitter.

But this year I am in a relationship. A brand-spanking new one. (Not that there’s any spanking involved. Yet.) I met Sarah Jane a while back, but we’ve only been officially dating since the first of the year.  Sarah Jane is a lot younger than I am—17 years, to be exact. My lady friends are appalled at this, accusing me of robbing the cradle. My guy friends keep giving me high fives.

Things with Sarah jane are going swimmingly, as they say in the Olympics. It’s hard for me to find a gal who shares my interests: cracking a bullwhip at tin cans lined up on my fence, cracking open cold ones on the porch with my bullwhip, and talking long walks on the beach with my bullwhip. Sarah doesn’t share any of these interests either, but she does put up with my odd ways and peccadilloes, and there’s a lot to be said for that. I’m not quite sure what it is, but there’s something about this gal I really like. Continue reading »

Pope Benedict XVI announced his retirement today, to be effective on February 28. The pope cited his age, which I believe is 105, and the physical and mental rigors of the job as reasons for stepping down. I guess when you’re that old, riding around in the Popemobile wearing a hat that weighs 10 lbs. and waving at the huddled masses gets to be tiresome. Also, rumor has it that the pope is tired of rascally priests hiding eggs in his miter every year during the annual Vatican Easter egg hunt.

I would like to be pope. But since I’m not a bishop or a cardinal or a pedophile or even Catholic, I have about as much chance of being selected as pope as Donald Trump has of becoming spokesman for the Hair Club for Men. Still, a man can dream. Continue reading »

It’s now February, and by now approximately 78 percent of folks will have failed at their New Year’s resolutions; you know, the usual resolutions about exercising more, losing weight, being a better person, giving up crystal meth, and not picking up any more hitchhikers and dismembering them. I made some New Year’s resolutions myself, but I decided to postpone them until Chinese New Year, which this year starts on Feb. 10.

Why did I decide to follow the Chinese calendar? Is it because I broke my first New Year’s resolution, which was to stop procrastinating? No, it’s because the Chinese New Year is way cooler than the Western version, because the Chinese celebrate for 15 days with cool parades and hundred-foot dragons made of silk, paper and Donald Trump’s discarded hair. Americans celebrate by getting drunk and making fools of themselves while watching Ryan Seacrest, this century’s Dick Clark, grins like a well-groomed woodchuck while a cheesy ball drops in Times Square. Boring. Continue reading »

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