Remember the classic horror film “Village of the Damned?” And all those creepy children with their blank, somehow omnipotent gazes? Very unnerving. There is something about a group of suspicious children that can really unnerve.

Then there’s the group of mutations from “The Hills Have Eyes.” Man, they were painful to look at. Through horrible genetic violation, those hillbillies achieved both sad and hideous. I’m getting the chills just thinking about it.

There’s a great episode of the X-Files where Mulder and Scully go toe-to-toe with a group of inbreds living in a shack on the edge of town. Their mother/sister lost her arms and legs and now is a deformed torso living under a bed. The brothers (one is also the father, however that works) are fiercely protective of the truncated mom and… well, that’s a family reunion where camera should not be allowed.

Creepy images indeed. But somehow, they just don’t compare to the following picture which plays upon President Clinton’s reputed prowess with the ladies. Good gawd, man. He should have left his seed upon Monica’s blouse.

The loosened shaker top, sending a cascade of salt down onto the victim’s French fries. Few things rival the hilarity of the shock and anguish of a person who has just had his fast food dinner ruined through one of the oldest gags in recorded history.

The shaving cream in the sleeping man’s hand. Oh, the joy of watching someone smear himself after you give his nose a little tickle. The dollops hanging from his face only add to the hysteria when the dumbass rouses from sleep and realizes he’s been had.

The elusive delight of a sleeping friend peeing his pants after you dunk the hand in warm water. Allegedly, this is one gut busting prank. Unfortunately, my few attempts at this failed miserably, although I did get somewhat pop a blood vessel just thinking about the possible results.

The thumbtack in the chair, the bucket of water over the door, the black ink on binocular eye pieces. There are countless ways to rile, embarass or amuse an unwitting friend. But dude, if someone is eight feel tall, covered in hair and wipes his butt with small forest critters, don’t do it.

Less subliminal and artsy than the Geico cavemen, the “Messing with Sasquatch” ad campaign deserves an honorable mention just for sheer sophomoric delight. As entertainment, it’s great. As a marketing tool, well… who among you can name the company old Bigfoot represents?

I thought so. Here are some videos.

Children are smart. They know that a person who slithers down your chimney late, late at night is a the kind of person who will also touch you longingly while you sleep. They know that men with sprawling beards and thick mustaches likely have dark, dangerous secrets they want desperately to keep. And they know — intuitively, mind you — that they should run screaming from any old man who heartily implores them to come sit on his lap.

The children are right. Santa is one creepy dude who should not be trusted. Yet, year after year, we shove our children toward whomever has donned the red suit that year at the local mall. We push them forward even if they squirm and scream that they don’t want any part of the booze reeking dude with suspicious stains across the store bought beard. We do this because we want a photo, dammit, so that we can prove to our in-laws that we are good parents who indulge the kiddies in traditional holiday celebration.

The real Santa Claus may be a genuinely jolly fellow in spite of his cat burglar ways. But I don’t trust the mall replicas one bit and neither do many of these children with keen senses of instinct. But bah! Don’t take my word for it. Here is a collection of photos featuring homidical looking Santa Claus wannabes and the screeching children who hate them.

Merry Christmas to all. Just don’t go to sleep.

The Penthouse Forum has always pissed me off. Sure, I suppose you could end up bagging your girlfriend’s sister in the middle of a carwash while you’re wearing a Snoopy outfit and she’s dressed as Lucy. Surely it could happen, and God bless you if it did.
The thing is, if it DID happen, you’d run out and tell all your friends without consulting a thesaurus. You would not use terms like “throbbing member” or “ripe, juicy mounds” in the narration of this wild conquest tale. You’d tell it like it is and we’d pat you on the back and buy you beer. You lucky Snoopy, you.
But who am I to talk? I tried writing one of those things and spent half the time fanning away the heat of white hot story telling and the other half giggling maniacally. It was truly atrocious and now I write sex scenes only when I’m trying to distract a reader from glaring holes in a plot.
My hat is off to anyone who can fire off a libido tweaking narrative. Including the author of this tale, who wishes to remain anonymous. For obvious reasons. And if you want to weigh in with a smoking paragraph or two, by gawd let her rip. Winner gets a dose of penicillin and a case of Altoids. You know… the curiously strong mint.

Isn’t Amazon great? Without getting dressed, you can order some of those transexual romance novels you like so much, buy a flame resistant suit, pick out an MP3 player and plenty of John Denver to upload onto it, get a fresh Tai Bo workout tape, and order another Farrah Fawcett poster to replace the faded one above your computer. Or Sean Cassidy, depending on your proclivities.

And now, because Amazon knows that your neighbors are out to get you, there’s a personal armored tank that you absolutely must have. Order this sucker today, and by tomorrow, you’ll be cranking tunes at 2 a.m. and daring your traiterous neighbors to do something about it.

Remember that 1984 movie “Tank,” with James Garner and C. Thomas Howell? Yes, you can be that cool. Here’s how the bad ass Badonkadonk is described on the Amazon page:

The JL421 Badonkadonk is a completely unique, extremely rare land vehicle and battle tank. Designed with versatility in mind, the Donk can transport cargo or a crew of five internally or on the roof, and can be piloted from within the armored shell or from an exposed standing position through the hatch, thanks to special one-way steel mesh armor windows and a control stick that pivots up and down to allow piloting from the standing or seated positions. The interior is fully carpeted and cozy, with accent lighting and room for up to five people. A 400 watt premium sound system with PA is mounted to project sound both into the cabin and outward from behind the windows. The exterior is a steel shell with a rust patina, and features head and tail lights, turn signal lights, trim lighting, underbody lighting, fixed slats protecting the windows, and a unique industrial-strength rubberized flexible skirt that shields and protects the wheels to within an inch of the ground, while still allowing for enough flex to give clearance over bumpy and uneven terrain. Master power, ignition, all lighting, and stereo features are controlled from a single switchboard to the left of the driver, again accessible from either the seated or standing position. Standard drive is an air-cooled, 6hp Tecumseh gasoline (unleaded only) engine, with centrifugal clutch, giving the Donk a top speed of 40 mph. This vehicle is not licensed for use on public roads, and is intended as a recreational vehicle only. Badonkadonks are produced on an order-by-order basis, with each one having it’s own unique set of features. With your order is included unlimited consultations with the designer and manufacturer concerning all relevant options (a representative from NAO will contact you shortly after your order). Price does not include shipping and handling.

Badonkadonk on Amazon

Bandonkadonk: an alternative definition

We’ve all seen the guy outside the bar who will do a little dance for a shot of booze or some pocket change. A source of amusement for some, these dancing rummies have reached a stage of alcoholism where the liver can no longer produce pride and self-respect. Now and then a good hearted soul will come along and hand the tired sot a sawbuck and get him out of two-stepping for the night.

The following is a tale of two men asked to perform tricks to get out of a financial inconvenience. People make deals every day, but it’s not every day that police are on the demanding side of the bargaining table. Whether this is a gross case of racism or just discretionary policing is up for debate. Something to consider: if the litter bugs in question had been accountants from uptown, would they have been asked to prepare tax forms in exchange for leniency?

Deep thoughts. And on a weekend, yet.

Arizona Cops Tell Two Black Drivers They Can Rap Their Way Out of a Ticket

TEMPE, Ariz — City leaders have apologized after a program on Tempe’s cable channel showed a white police officer telling two black men they could get out of a littering ticket by performing a rap. Tempe Mayor Hugh Hallman and Police Chief Tom Ryff apologized for the show Thursday and suspended its future production after black community leaders voiced outrage and disappointment.

“I accept responsibility for the actions of my staff and apologize to any members of our community who have been offended,” Ryff said during a news conference Friday.

The segment appeared on “Tempe StreetBeat,” a program produced by police in the Phoenix suburb that followed several officers on patrol. It shows Sgt. Chuck Schoville pulling over two men in August in a mall parking lot.

He first asks for a name and ID from the driver and then asks the two men if they know how much the fine is for littering. The officer then tells the men that they can avoid getting a littering ticket “if the two of you just do a little rap about — what do you want to do a rap about? Littering? About the dangers of littering.”

The two men agree, and each performs a short rap, laughing afterward. One says, “The dangers of littering, you will get a ticket. If you ain’t wit’ it, you better be experienced.”

The second man raps, “Yo, I just got pulled over ’cause I threw my trash out the window when they rolled over. They got behind me and pulled me over.”

Schoville then says, “You know why you say I’m right? Because I got a gun and badge. I’m always right. That’s the way it works, right?” The three laugh and the two men get in their car.

Leaders of chapters of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People and the National Action Network expressed outrage and demanded that the city act.

The Rev. Jarrett Maupin of the National Action Network, who was at Friday’s news conference, said he had accepted Hallman’s and Ryff’s apologies and intends to make sure the police department makes good on a proposal for an African American advisory board and increased diversity training.

“It’s important for police officers to realize that black people do not speak hip hop,” Maupin said. “We’re not all rappers and thugs and gangbangers. We speak the English language and we’re entitled to the same amount of respect.”

• Click here to see the arrest and the rap.

I remember that night in Kennedy Park as all those Harry Potter books were heaped up high and prepared for the flames of censorship. Only, the group that planned the burning forgot to get a permit and so they had to settle for cutting up the books, instead. While there is something comical about a band of crusaders trying to hack into a very thick volume with very cheap scissors, the ultimate purpose of the exhibition was as ugly as ever. Here was censorship at its most vile. Here was a group of do gooders condemning a beloved story because they perceived it as evil adn full of witchery. Child corrupting witchery, no doubt.

And as frightening as the originators of the plan were to me, the hordes that fell behind them was even more disturbing. Average men and women who should fight for their freedoms were instead pumping their fists and screaming their support for the censors. Their eyes glazed over with the vacuous sheen typically seen in cows led to slaughter or followers of charismatic cult leaders. And they kept coming and coming, men, women and children who looked completely normal but who so easily allowed themselves to fall under the spell of the man at the podium.

I had an unsettling vision that night of growing legions gathering in number and strength around the globe. I saw them pointing out the books they deemed inappopriate and casting them out. And while my imagination usually tends toward the overly dramatic, there is no hyperbole at all about that bad dream. Every day, books are challenged and brought up for public scrutiny. Soccer moms who haven’t so much as burped in years will still rant about the evils of “The Catcher in the Rye” and insist that it be removed from high school book shelves.

Harry Potter is doing fine and so is J.D. Salinger, other than the fact that he’s dead. But the price of freedom is eternal vigilance, of course, and so I like to revisit the issue every now and then. And so for your nostalgia and unease, here’s a partial list of challenged books followed by a longer list of same.

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain (contains racial slurs. Imagine that: racial talk in the era of slavery.)

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck (foul language and it does not represent traditonal values. Whose traditional values, ya bastids?)

Go Ask Alice by Anonymous (a teenage girl’s horrible experience with drugs. Not appropriate for teenage girls to read about.)

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee (described as “filthy and trashy” by a New York school district).

The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton (teenage characters from broken homes. Certainly not something you want a teenager from a broken home to read about.)

A Light in the Attic by Shel Silverstein (irreverant attitude about child disobedience. If you don’t let your kids look at Silverstein sketches, they will be perfect.)

Cujo by Stephen King (profane language. But apparently the part about a St. Bernard eating people is okay.)

Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume (teenage girls have periods and stuff. For God’s sake, don’t tell the kids.)

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut (”vulgar and offensive.” Ah, so’s your mother.)

Lord of the Flies by William Golding (demoralizing because it implies that man is inherently a savage. This is among my favorite books of all time, so cut that shit out or I’ll kill you with a sharpened bone.)

Carrie by Stephen King (more girls menstruating, swearing and stuff.)

How to Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell (wagering and other socially unacceptable activities. Ah, eat my worm.)

Top 100 recently challenged books

Recently, a major literary award was handed out. No, it was not the Pulitzer Prize, the National Book Award or even the Man Booker Prize, but it is an award of special significance and distinction:

LONDON, England (AP) — First-time author Iain Hollingshead scooped a dubious literary honor Wednesday, winning the Bad Sex in Fiction Award for his novel, “Twenty Something.” Hollingshead beat established writers including Booker Prize nominee David Mitchell, best seller Mark Haddon and literary maverick Thomas Pynchon to the prize, which aims to skewer “the crude, tasteless, often perfunctory use of redundant passages of sexual description in the modern novel.” Judges were moved by Hollingshead’s evocation of “a commotion of grunts and squeaks, flashing unconnected images and explosions of a million little particles.” His description of “bulging trousers” sealed the win, the judges said. “Because Hollingshead is a first-time writer, we wished to discourage him from further attempts,” the judges — editors of Literary Review magazine — said in a statement. “Heavyweights like Thomas Pynchon and Will Self are beyond help at this point.” Hollingshead, 25, who received his award from rocker Courtney Love at a London ceremony, said he was delighted to become the prize’s youngest winner. “I hope to win it every year,” said Hollingshead, who receives a statuette and a bottle of champagne.

I would love to know whether or not British publishers use the “Bad Sex in Fiction” award as part of the marketing strategy for their authors. Here, if a book wins (or in some cases merely nominated) for a major award, that book is typically reissued with some kind of sticker or label telling the reader what award the book has won. What happens when a book has won an award for being, well, bad, especially in an area like sex? After all, there’s nothing worse than a badly written sex scene.

Alright people, I’ll come clean with you. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore, I’ll understand. I just can’t live with this horrible secret anymore. I’ll hang on to the secrets I have about prostitutes, drug use, strange emergency room visits and tender moments with farm animals. But this one… this one is eating me up.

I used to be a telemarketer. There, I’ve said it. You may start throwing rotted fruit or feces (Weasel) now.

My fling with over-the-phone sales lasted just a few weeks and I was absolutely horrible at it. There was nothing high pressure about my high pressure pitch. I would typically begin robustly enough, but midway through the speech, I’d start apologizing for the intrustion, agreeing that it was rude and offering never to call again. This before the person on the other end of the line even declined the offer.

I sold magazine subscriptions or some shit like that. Although as far as I recall, I don’t think I sold a single one. I collected a small check for my efforts, endured a windy speech from the sales manager about how I might have the right stuff if I just worked on my delivery, and beat feet to a bar to wash away my shame. I’ve been washing ever since.

As far as I’m concerned, the better a person is at sales, the more loathsome he becomes. I always want to be rude to those guys but I can never pull it off. Except for that one time, when an aluminum siding salesman called while I was having a tender moment with a farm animal. Boy, I let THAT guy have it.

Here’s a classic case of telemarketer revenge. It’s safe for work and absolutely brilliant. Resume feces flinging.

The Geico cavemen are very enlightened about their heritage. They are also cultured, well dressed and Epicurean in their tastes. We see them dining with the Geico brass, doing talk shows to augment their complaints of prejudice and traveling to presumably exotic vacations. We’ve come to love these Neanderthals because we perceive them as underdogs trying to overcome ostracization and bigotry.

With that being said, one question has always nagged me. Do you think these much maligned primitives are gay? Or just meterosexuals without the hair maintenance?

The apology

The airport