Opinion: I Could Steal Your Man for at Least Four or Five Days

Don’t give me that look bitch. All fat and like 30, and hatin on my cleavage. My cleavage ain’t the problem here. What you doin at a Gnarls Barkley show anyway? Snackin, that’s what. So take your evil eye and better walk on home, or else. Because you know I could steal your man for at least four or five days.

Probably longer.

Men be men, and they like what I got and what you don’t. Like a dental hygiene degree from Metro Tech. Oh, and also my smoking hot Bally Fitness bod and tramp stamp right above my tight little ass. Where’s your tramp stamp? Probably on your forehead, from the girly magazine your husband has to lays over your face so he can do his business on you. Fact, honey: he’s lookin at someone who look just like me. Only not skanky.

Do you know what I could do for your man? I sure as hell ain’t gonna nag him and make him call me every ten minutes about the “honey do” list. Not unless on the “honey do” list is me. I’d be on top of the list, like I’d be on top of him.

He’d come like ten times in one night. That’s why he’d be back for at least three more nights. Then I don’t want his sorry ass around anyway—I just do it to show you who’s boss here: my wrinkle free stomach and pretty blue eyes and coal black hair and my little sexy nose.

I party, too, like your man used to before he met you and got chained to the kitchen sink. I’ll do a sex on the beach shot with him—then I’d do another, and this time hold the beach.

You know he’s lookin at me too. Even if he’s holdin your hand, and pretending to listen to you blab about why you feel fat—he’s still lookin at me, like when he takes a drink or says nothin’ botherin him. There is something bothering him—his chubby down in his pants from lookin at me. And that’s how I steal him, by just being sexy, which you can’t be.

Or I might just give him a handjob in the porta-potty.

You’ll be all cryin and screaming and making a scene. You’ll throw his stuff in the yard, but who you kiddin? You’ll take him back, but you’ll be sad for the rest of your life.

Well you shouldn’t have looked at me like that.

And even when he come home after I kick his sorry ass out, it won’t ever be the same for you. You’ll be all lookin at wedding pictures and wondering, “How could he do it?” Well, I’ll know how he did it, because I’ll be there—and he’ll be doin it to me. For four or five days straight.

And ain’t nothing you can do about it.

Stay tuned to Newsmaker News for more opinion commentary.

Copyright © 2008 Newsmaker News.

Fannie and Fweddie, the Twue Stowy

Editor’s Note: As Mr. Crumbs has not been made available for further comment by his corporate and/or Bush Administration handlers, Newsmaker News is proud to bring the following verbatim transcript of his recent testimony before the Senate Banking Committee regarding the government takeover of mortgage giants Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac.

 

Mr. Crumbs: Oh well, we twied. [blows horn] But it was good to get all those Amewicans into homes, wight? Of course it was!

Chairman Dodd: I think you are overlooking a major financial crisis here. Fannie and Freddie are the only entities shoring up the industry now, and they have really screwed it up so bad, the government has had to take them over.

Mr. Crumbs: I agwee! But the pwoblem here is not my haircut. It's the overwegulation! If Fweddie were wun more like a corpowation and less like a socialist experiment for Twotskyites, we’d be smoking cigars as we speak. [wiggles nose] Speaking of… [lights cigar. cigar blows up in face.]

[laughter from senators]

Mr. Crumbs: Oh well. See, we twied our hardest. It just didn't work. Now it's time to say we're sowwy. 

Chairman Dodd: Mr. Crumbs—

Mr. Crumbs: Please, call me Cwacker.

Chairman Dodd: Mr. Crumbs—

Mr. Crumbs: How about Cwumpitty? Can we agwee to call me Cwumpitty? Can we also agwee that an adjustable wate mortgate is just the thing you need to get into a nice condo, maybe in Arlington, where the taxes are low?

Chairman Dodd: Well, I have been looking—

[balloons and streamers drop. lights flash. Mr. Crumbs’s bow tie spins.]

Mr. Crumbs: Looking is the magic word! Evewyone should be looking.

Chairman Dodd: Everyone should be taking fiscal responsibility.

Mr. Crumbs: Fiscal wesponsibility is a wonderful thing. And another wonderful thing is a condo! You don't even need money! Because for a downpayment, we have tax payers. [to gallery] Wouldn’t you love to help Mr. Dodd get into a new condo, nice people? [blows horn]

[gallery applause]

Senator Shelby: You’re all right, Crumpitty Cracker Crumbs.

Mr. Crumbs: I twy. This is much easier than Enwon. That one was a tight wope to walk. [rises, ascends onto table, walks tight rope, falls with loud crashing sounds, possibly cymbals.]

[gallery gasps]

Chairman Dodd: Are you all right, Crumpitty?

Mr. Crumbs: I’m better than all right! I’m bailed out!

[Mr. Crumbs’s assistant wheelbarrows Mr. Crumbs out of hearing room.]

[gallery applause]

Senator Shelby: Movement to adjourn?

Chairman Dodd: Yeah, let’s do that. I got nothin’.

[adjournment]

Copyright © 2008 Newsmaker News.

Op-Ed: What Tiananmen Square?

Beijing, CHINA—Well, it was a wonderful Olympics, wasn’t it? China presented herself flawlessly, with world-wide acclaim, and with no shame or embarrassment of any kind. From the simple purity of a young child’s voice to a night-defying display of pyrotechnics, China rose to the Olympic challenge and put on a show to awe the world for generations to come.

What’s that? Tiananmen Square? What Tiananmen Square are you referring to?

Sorry, I have no idea what you are talking about. Is anyone talking about such a thing or place? I haven’t seen it, if it exists. What I saw was China grabbing 51 gold medals, putting—how would you say?—the smack down upon America. Also there was a smacking down on all other countries.

I also saw over a million visitors and athletes descend on our glorious people’s city—all of them shopping, eating, and celebrating with China as host. Why, I walked down into the Sanlitun Entertainment District and saw many people hoisting drinks and dancing dirtily with friends. I saw too a Budweiser commercial with sexy Chinese girls at a nightclub, and I saw you think to yourself “Wow, I wish I was in Beijing with those sexy Chinese girls having a cold Budweiser while Michael Phelps walks by in his Speedo.”

You know what I didn’t see? I didn’t see any fucking Tiananmen Square. Nowhere.

Maybe you mean Olympic Green or Shunyi Olympic Rowing Stadium, both places where China put some more spanking onto you? Or maybe you mean some square in Iraq that was being bombed while your gold medal hopes bombed too?

Certainly you cannot deny that no one once uttered the words “Tiananmen Square.” Certainly not the athletes, who know what’s good for their careers. Black facemasks my Chinese ass.

What’s that you say, human rights? I heard no one talking about such things—maybe there was too much noise from the five million pounds of fireworks we lit off, and of course the eternal playing of “March of the Volunteers” while another Chinese athlete sported a gold medal over some skinny American.

Nah-nah-nah-nah-nah, can’t hear you! I see you squawking but can’t find your birdhouse, as you Americans might say. Besides, I’m too busy counting Yuan from all the American debt securities China owns. Maybe we can talk Tiananmen Square when Premier Wen Jiabao comes to evict your president from the White House when we decide that we own it now.

Then you will say to us, “But we are a superpower!” And I will say to you, “What superpower?”

Stay tuned to Newsmaker News for more Newsmakers Speak commentaries.

Copyright 2008 Newsmaker News.

Op-Ed: Ve Have Vays of Making You Eat Spaetzel

Stuttgart, Germany—You Americans, always trying to be Mr. Smarty Pants, Mr. Macgyver with ze Hero Mind. But you have no idea how ze real vorld verks. You think you can outwit us, but no. Ve are crafty, ve Germans. Believe me, ve have vays of making you eat spaetzel.

Why try to avoid this, when it is so easy for us? Ve might grind it up vith your Big Mac. Ve might blend it vith a blender, put it in green bottles, and call it Riesling. You know zero about Riesling. You vill have no idea you are eating spaetzel.

Listen, one night ven you are taking out this little frauline you are trying bang, and she suggests ze cute German cafe she’s been hearing so much about, and she looks on the menu and says “Spaetzel, I love spaetzel.” Then you vill be eating ze spaetzel.

Or ve might put it in your soup.

Ve also might send a coded message to your friend Jill, who has been saying for years how much she loves Oktoberfest—this is all according to plan. She vill say that this is ze year, mister buddy boy, that you go vith her to Oktoberfest. It’s fun, never mind that it is Zeptember still! And because you are a nice boy like your mommy raised you to be, you vill go. And because there is nothing else to do at Oktoberfest, you vill have many glasses of Spaten, and guess vut vill be put on a plate and placed in front of you then? Ah? Vut are you going to do, get up and drive yourself to a Perkins? No, no, mein friend.

Don’t be a hero. Eat ze spaetzel.

It’s only a matter of time. All ve have to do is rely on our brutal German fortitude. And also keep ze spaetzel warm because no one wants cold spaetzel.

Vun day ve might distract you vith a lovely Broomhilda vith ze high heels and legs up to her ear lobes. And ven your jaw drops like ze American toad with horns you are, ve vill pop ze spaetzel into your mouth like so much popcorn shrimps. And if you do not drop your jaw, ve have trained Broomhilda to zeduce you and take you back to her condo, where you vill find yourself on her bearskin rug vith her luscious German legs wrapped avound your neck as she is moaning vith pleasure—vut do you think you are eating then?

Think you can tell ze difference between spaetzel and vagina? Okay, how about this: Ve have people in all ze hospitals in your city, so when you go in for your appendectomy, or to pass ze kidney stone, or when you have ze heat stroke, or vutever it doesn’t matter—when ze nurse gives you ze I V, vith ze needle, and the drippy drip, ya? Spaetzel!

Why are you so special that you won’t eat ze spaetzel? Ah? Vut are you, better than every one else? You get to decide vut you eat? Ve have news for you: it doesn’t verk that vay, except in Hollywood or Disneyland or ze Grand Canyon. You can eat vutever you vant in ze Grand Canyon. But ven you come home, trust me, ve vill make you eat ze spaetzel.

Ve could just torture you, you know.

Either vay, this spaetzel thing is going to happen. And you know something? It’s not that bad. It’s like gnocchi. You never had gnocchi? This is okay—ve vill just mix it vith ze spaetzel.

Stay tuned to Newsmaker News for more Newsmakers Speak commentaries.

Copyright © 2008 Newsmaker News.