Maximum Strength Sanity Remover

Doctors worldwide have been touting Chantix as a miracle smoking cessation drug for almost two years now. A lot fo larger hospital networks offering smoking cessation programs are even offering free as part of their class. Why for free? Well, everytime they hand out a script for it, providers are getting some major kickbacks from the fine folks @ Pfizer (a familiar "marketing technique" for the same folks that brought the not-always-effective Lipitor into millions American homes).

Well, as it turns out, Chantix is making people certifiably batshit crazy. The FDA has now launched an investigation into the so-called miracle drug (probably a misnomer because it's been the only true drug of it's kind in nearly a decade) for "serious neuropsychiatric symptoms." A total reported 39 suicides have occured while people have been taking drug, as well as nearly 500 patients in a controlled study reporting suicidal thoughts, behavior, and night terrors.

A few girls here at the office are doing one of the programs that doles out the Chantix to you for free (even sans insurance) and in the course of two to three weeks has gotten extremely testy, made what we call "fatal flaws" on procedural forms, and now has totally flipped out and decided to leave her husband and 3 children.

"Congratulations - you're smoke-free. And you're fucking nuts!"

I'd much rather get a trachiotomy or die from cancer at an older age than celebrate my non-smoker status by being on the business end of a .45.

Certified Shit Storm

I had some other crap I wanted to post, but first I think I should allow for a recap for any lurkers or strangers visiting.

In the less than two months, I have:

- familiarized myself with the correctional system
- passed a few kidney stones
- filed for divorce

The only thing better than being single again is being a single criminal. Dudes find that irresistable.

The downside is, I'm competely and totally broke - but trying to pick up extra work so I don't lose my house and don't have to get a roommate. When you think about it, if you don't like your roomie, you might as well have stayed married. Chances are, they won't hold down a job and you'll constantly be arguing with them about trivial shit and tricked into babysitting.
The upside is, an incredible weight was lifted from me when my husband left. My thoughts shifted from, "I wish I would get hit by a bus," to "I'll get by just fine," in no time.
My friends have been fabulous, with their letters, cards, phone calls, and gifts of pie and cocktails. I'm a lucky girl.

Your kid is a jerk.

I'm looking at you, America. All of your kids are probably jerks. And yet there you are, on Maury Povich and Judge Judy letting them put your dick in the dirt in front of the whole tv-watching country. Your kid mocks you, makes fun of you, calls you names, and is generally bratty and disrespectful. Your kid will never pay back a loan, keep a decent job, be able to take care of an animal, or do anything out of the genuine goodness of their heart. You know why? Because you're a total pushover, America. I'm sorry - did I say pushover? I mean pussy.

Up until the age of two, it is appropriate to make over and coddle a child, because (for the most part) they're tiny and helpless and don't know any better. But come the terrible toddler ages, you better start making your kid mind their Ps and Qs or you're going to have a holy fucking terror of Damien proportions on your hands.

What the hell happened to putting a kid over your knee and showing them who's boss? Since when did the ol' ear or upper-arm-chub grab get pushed to the wayside in favor of the ineffective, "Now, honey...that's not very nice." ? When I was growing up, the normal parents referred to this kind of parenting as "hippie bullshit," but now it's just the norm.

About this time last week, my husband and I were both severely sass-mouthed by the pre-teen son of one of our good friends. It ended in some harsh words exchanged between the adults, and a tarnished (if not irreparable) friendship. All because kids can't take a fucking joke and even at 13, they're throwing fits worthy of a pre-schooler. After the ordeal, I frankly approached our friend telling him that his son was disrespectful and didn't deserve an apology, to which his abridged response was, "you don't have enough parenting experience, so your opinions aren't valid." Well, maybe someone who was verbally berated and kicked in the balls by his kid in the first 15 minutes of a visit to someone else's house shouldn't climb directly onto any high horse about parenting skills. I couldn't even imagine the merciless punishment that wold have reigned down upon me if I were to have down something similar at that age. Hell, even now, I'm pretty sure my mom would pop me one for acting a damn fool like that.

Here are some guidelines that you might want to consider when raising a child. They've worked pretty well for centuries without churning out tons of little cream puffs.

- Divorced? Don't try to win your child's affection by never disciplining them and buying them everything in the entire fucking mall.

- Mealtime is mandatory. Your kid should not be excused from the table unless he/she is old enough to work, or has some kind of exotic flu.

- Baby fall down, go boom? Awwwwww. Too bad. I have news for you. If the baby is old enough to FALL DOWN, it's no longer a baby. You now have a toddler and it's time to stop rushing to them every time they cry. If you don't see blood, they're probably fine. You don't really have that kind of time for the next 4 years. See, they cry because they're not the cute baby they used to be. Now they're too old to be shitting themselves and generally kind of annoying. So, they're crying for attention. If you ignore it, it'll stop. If you give them a positive reward every time, it just becomes more consistent.

- It's great to teach kids about feelings. They should know how to love, and be able to tell good from evil. But, if you're teaching your kids that they should make all of their decision on their feelings, God is going to strike you down. Plain and simple. From a very early age, kids need to be told "no" frequently, so they can get used to how often they'll hear it as an adult. They also be need to taught to think with their fucking brain.

- The only time in which a child should sass an adult is when they're being beaten or diddled by said adult.

- Learn a happy medium of discipline, assholes. I'm very tired of two things:
1. Seeing children go so completely apeshit in a store that you start to wonder if anyone in line has both and old priest AND a new priest on their cell speed dial - and all you hear from the mother is, "Honey. Honey. Honey. Honey. Stop, sweetie. Sweetie, please stop. If you stop crying, I'll get you a cookie when we leave! Honey. Honey. Why aren't you listening to me? Honey....." *and*
2. Seeing a child reach out of their stroller and touch something that happens to fall over and listen to the threat (or even the act, if you live in Southern Ohio) of a public beating ensue. "I swear to God, if you touch ONE more thing, I am going to beat your ass when we get out of here. You're going to be sorry you were ever born!" Bravo, mom and dad! I'm sure your kid already wishes they were never born.

- If your kid was meant to be the next Picasso, it was engrained in him when he was born. Don't stick him in some bullshit new-age art class for toddlers because you "really just want his creative side to flourish!" News flash: the only thing that should be flourishing at two is your kid learning the alphabet and how to wipe his own ass!

- If your kid isn't keeping up with the other kids, get him screened for learning disabilities. I don't mean bullshit pigeonholes like ADD, I mean real shit like Autism. It doesn't mean your kid is slow or other kids are better, but they need extra help. It's a proven fact that children diagnosed with autism and given the help they need before they reach pre-school will likely learn and develop in time with other kids their age.

- GET YOUR FUCKING FIVE YEAR OLD OUT OF THE STROLLER AND GET THAT GODDAMN PACIFIER AND/OR BOTTLE OUT OF HIS MOUTH. AND SO HELP ME, IF THAT KID IS WEARING A DIAPER, SATAN WILL REIGN FIRE DOWN UPON YOU.

A message from the ad department

Rejected new products names from the people who brought you, "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter!"

You Call This Yogurt?

It's Really Not That Far-Fetched Egg Substitute

It Could Be Cheese

This Doesn't Even Smell Like Peanut Butter

Eating This Will Soon Become a Dare Deli Cuts

Not Necessarily Newtons

Awaiting FDA Approval-Os

Just a reminder....

That you can get another healthy dose of my sharp wit over at Randomville. This month's special: My review of Rob Zombie's HALLOWEEN.

Vaguely ethnic killer baby, brought to you by AHA.

It's really difficult to take the American Heart Association seriously about their CPR training when they're using a fake baby that looks like Michael Myers with giant pepperoni nipples.





The continuous use of the phrase "nipple line," doesn't really help matters, either.

Creepy Couture

I defy you to find a clothing company relying as heavily on the kitsch of early 80s kiddie p0rn as this one.



Aside from the fact that not some, but ALL of these clothes are intensely hideous - just browsing their web catalog makes me feel unclean. Coming from someone who's had relations in a church van, it's really a strong statement when an ad for bad clothing makes me feel like I should repent. Did I mention that all of the models are dog ugly? It's just another piece of the puzzle that really makes it seem like child p0rn. Really pretty teenagers would never do that. But these girls aren't anything to write home about, and they don't appear to be loved at home, so they must be desperate for validation - even if it's in the form of a money shot behind the Dairy Queen from the guy that owns the bait shop. The girls modeling sunglasses appear not to have washed their faces or hair in weeks. The one with the nice rack? A dude. The one that looks like Denise Richards form a distance? Take a closer look - more like Kathy Ireland with Downs Syndrome.

So, they'll pull an Abercrombie & Fitch Catalog (which you have to subscribe to or be old enough to drive to the mall and pick up) for being "too homo-erotic," but a web-catalog like this is no harm?

Smells like cash money

If I read one more blog about how "sacriligious" and "wrong" it is that Courtney Love is selling off all of Kurt Cobain's shit, I'm going to go totally apeshit. First thing's first: Kurt Cobain is not a divine being. He's a dude who, along with some other-semi-talented drug addicts, made weird music in the early 90s and helped usher out the bubble-gum pop frenzy. Everytime I say something about not thinking Nirvana was an incredible band, some holier-than-thou hipster wants to jump up my ass. Let's be serious - they weren't very good. They were bearable...if you were really stoned - and most of us were. Sure, I appreciate what they helped along just as much as the next person - but there were plenty of other Subpop artists and musicians from other labels that were actually very talented, likable and deserved a good slice of the "changing the music landscape" pie more than your beloved Nirvana. Kurt Cobain wasn't a God, or Elvis, or anything remotely close to either. When a woman is widowed, it's actually quite common for her to sell off some of her late husband's belongings. Granted, usually for different reasons than being a money-grubbing, washed-up junkie - but all the same, it's certainly not unheard of. Both of my grandmothers have done it. Your grandmothers have probably done it too. Is Kurt Cobain more important than your sweet ol' grandpappy? I didn't think so.

We all know Courtney Love is a gold-digging piece of trash, battier than a loon, and that it was only a matter of time before she started hawking his wares. At least she didn't try to make us feel stupid and say she was giving it all to charity. She was candid enough, stating that they would give "a bunch of it" to charity. The other "bunch" will probably go towards keeping her fake-titty deep in diet pills and diesel for another year or two.

Also, some poor stooges are apparently heartbroken by the following (paraphrased for your benefit) comment by Love:
"How am I ever going to go form another relationship ... wearing Kurt's pyjamas?"
More importantly, WHO CARES?!?!!
If any dude is bonkers enough to get up in that crippled and totally indiscriminate gash, I'm pretty sure none of us are terribly concerned about his welfare or what emotional trauma he might endure aftewards.

NEXT!