Sarah Palin’s Autograph

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How to pay for this year’s christmas presents:

Step 1: Fuck her — steal every last copy of Sarah Palin’s book I can get my hands on.

Step 2: Fuck it — forge her loopy-ass autograph on each one.

Step 3: Fuck ‘em — sell the books on eBay to Republicans who deserve exactly what they get.

At $80 to $100 per signed copy, these should cover quite a bit of egg nog and artificial snow.

There is a growing movement of pharmacists refusing to fill women’s legally prescribed birth-control prescriptions. Some pharmacists even go so far as to lecture women, humiliate them in public, or refuse to hand back the prescription after they refuse to fill it.

No shit. This actually happened to me.

I had a broken condom incident one night at the Sundance Film Festival back in 2005. Luckily, one of my traveling companions was a doctor who immediately wrote me a script for the morning after pill.

Problem was, I was in fucking Utah surrounded by a bunch of Mormons. There was only one pharmacy in town that actually stocked the prescription, and the holy-rolling cunt at the window straight up refused to fill it.

I was standing there in an major chain pharmacy with a legitimate medical prescription being handed a scarlet letter by a bible thumping pharmacy tech. She actually used the phrase “whoring around.”

I went fucking nuclear. Words cannot describe the wrath and fury I unleashed on that sanctimonious bitch. She threatened to call the police. I’m pretty sure I threatened to burn down her church.

Ultimately, it came down to the general manager and the security guard pleading with her boss to fill the script just so I would leave.

I still get angry when I think about it.

Coke Talk of the Day

One of my favorite conversations when making new acquaintances over a coke mirror occurs when I discover that my fellow party enthusiast is on some sort of highly ritualized, self-inflicted starvation regimen.

These are usually rail thin model types in from New York who are a delightful combination of dumb and worldly, and I take great pleasure in listening to to them expound on the health benefits of raw veganism.

They ramble on about whatever rare fruit is currently setting antioxidant world records, and then express little pangs of guilt as they hoover up line after line with comments like, “I really shouldn’t be doing this.”

I can’t help but fuck with them a little bit. You should see their eyes light up when I explain to them in all seriousness that this cocaine is 100% organic and that it’s infused with all natural plant extracts from the mountains of Peru that clarify the mind, reduce hunger, and promote an overall sense of well-being.

You’d be surprised how often they say, “Oh my god, I’ve heard about this stuff!”

Unfortunately, I doubt I’ll be able to pull it off ever again.

I just read Molly Young’s latest article where she cleverly describes a rule of thumb about whether to take self-important food-stuffs seriously by asking “What Would Steve Martin Eat?”

Steve Martin is the court jester of my older-man crushes, and I can’t help but smile when I think about him. Inevitably, the next time I utter the phrase “100% organic cocaine,” I will first hear it in my head in Steve Martin’s voice.

There’s no way I’ll be able to keep a straight face.

Threes Company

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You want to invite her to your threesome and toss her salad? Actually, yes… Hallmark does have a card for that!

 

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