Last night I was mindin’ muh business, perusing Facebook, when an update appeared from my friend Rev. Random. The Rev usually has something interesting, insightful, or hilarious to say, so my natural inclination was to click the link.  I did, and that’s when all reason left me and I was unable to function or form words for the next several minutes.   What she linked to was this: A story about a Louisiana Justice of the Peace who refused to marry an interracial couple. After reading the first few sentences I twitched, I spasmed, I twitched again and grunted, then finally I let out a stream of expletives that only stopped when my brain shut down in either self-defense, or what might be the first documented case of Tourette’s Overload.

Note: I know many of my friends are in interracial relationships, or as I like to call them, relationships, so you might want to tape your head before reading.

In the article, Justice of the Peace Keith Bardwell states, “he refused to issue a marriage license to an interracial couple out of concern for any children the couple might have. ” and that “it is his experience that most interracial marriages do not last long.”

That’s where I started twitching, but it wasn’t until after I tried to wrap my mind around his declaration that he wasn’t a racist that my brain broke. He said:

“I’m not a racist. I just don’t believe in mixing the races that way,” Bardwell told the Associated Press on Thursday. “I have piles and piles of black friends. They come to my home, I marry them, they use my bathroom. I treat them just like everyone else.”

Recipe for cerebral hemorrhage : 1 part confusion, 1 part slack jawed awe at the absurdity, 2 parts anger, stir.

First of all, what the Jim Crow does he think racism is?  Had I just been transported back to 1950 when it was progressive to let black folk use whitey’s facilities? If so, why aren’t my boobs pointy?  Secondly, really, “piles of black friends”? Piles? Are they dead and piled in your basement?  Were they actually once white but turned black as they started to decay? And what the hell? Was he proud that he lets his black friends use his bathroom because he thinks you can catch black from a toilet seat? Does he actually live in the 18th century where he’s mistaking the smiling, singing, dark skinned people working his fields as friends?  “They’re singing, so they must like me!” Ahhhhh!!!!!!! *POOF*

I admit, I find his logic and defense of it so absurd it is actually funny, but the reality and repercussions of his act are anything but funny.  There may be some truth in what he says, but it’s only true because it’s a self-fulfilling truth.  It’s not always easy being in an interracial relationship, but it’s not the interracial relationship that’s the problem. The entirety of  the problem is other people thinking there’s something wrong with it! So as long as people like him take that stance it won’t be easy.

I could freak out about this for days, but instead I’ll just say, I hope he gets run over by the giant ball of racist crap he’s rolled up his non-existent slippery slope.

Thanks to a tip from AdmittedlyAddicted, we bring you a pole dancing doll, because your daughter needs to learn to be sexually objectified at the earliest possible age. Hey! Great idea just in (my head).  You could buy her a Glutton baby too, and she could pretend like the flowers on the bra are pasties while she emulates a pole dancer on the playground jungle gym!

(Free self-esteem issue with every order. Ages 3 and Up, batteries not included, call today. Operators are standing by.)

A Madea impersonator, lesbians, a sexually stimulated tree, dancing cows and dead babies–they’re all part of Cracked’s 7 Insane Ads That Have No Clue What They’re Selling

Off-the-wall ads are nothing knew[sic]; advertisers know weird-ass ads will get people talking. But some commercials just get the “bizarre” part down before shutting off the cameras and going home for the day, producing a worrying number of insanely ineffective and downright baffling commercials which for all their quirky weirdness forgot to actually market a product.

This is number 7, and they just get odder.

Not the drag clown in question...probably

Really, I can’t do more comedic justice to this story than the facts do, so here they are.

According to thedenverchannel.com, Boulder Police are looking for a a man who robbed Boulder Beer Emporium late Saturday night.  Shortly before midnight on June 27th, an Emporium employee called 911, stating that the store was robbed. The perp was described as a man “wearing red and white face makeup, a red and purple wig, a fake nose and a denim dress.” In other words, they were held-up by a transvestite clown.

Employees told police they didn’t think anything was odd at first, because Pridefest events were going on in the city over the weekend, but that eventually the man walked up to an employee in the store and asked for help in a feminine voice, saying, “Will you help me? My husband is out of work.” When the clerk refused, the transvestite clown…did I mention the transvestite clown thing?  I think I did, OK…when the clerk refused to help, the clown pulled out a gun.  And while I am willing to bet that if the clown had pulled the trigger, a flag reading “Bang!” would have sprung out and unfurled, the clerk wasn’t nearly as convinced. As such, the sight of the pistol made him far more amenable to helping.

After the clerk forked over the contents of the cash register, the clown fled on foot. Presumably, said feet were sporting very large, squeaky shoes.

According to Reuters, Japan’s latest “craze” in women’s underwear is the loin cloth.  By “craze” they mean, “We hope to create a craze by calling it a craze.” Which is crazy.  The manufacturer suggests it’s a comfortable alternative to that tight, rigid, rubber underwear that women normally wear, leading one to believe the manufacturers have never actually seen women’s underwear.

Do you think? Huh…I mean..uhhh…well, hmm…that’s just…just…um.  I think it broke my brain….yet, I want one…

And a gas mask…and wetsuit…

After a 6 month long investigation, Peter “Quincy”  Bedford, surely Britain’s sharpest coroner,  recorded a verdict of misadventure for the death of Security Guard Ralph Santiago.  On July 22nd, 2008 a co-worker discovered Santiago’s body  in the men’s room of the building in which the two men worked.  At the time of his discovery Santiago was wearing Wellington boots, a wetsuit and a gas mask.

The inquest revealed that on his second (and last) night on the job  Santiago, who worked the graveyard shift, evidently felt he could best protect the property with which he had been entrusted by dressing up in rubber and masturbating furiously while snorting poppers from a gas mask. It would seem his cardiovascular system disagreed.

After returning his verdict, Mr. Bedford, in a winning attempt to prove he has no apparent grasp of cause and effect, added: “He indulged in a certain pastime which he was fully entitled to do in his own time. This time he was doing it while he worked as a security officer. The fact is he was taking a risk. Tragically and unexpectedly this caused him to die.”

Friends and family who paid tribute to him on Facebook have defended Ralph’s proclivities and character (no word on his judgment).  One friend, Claire Feltham, went so far as to say: “Billy Joel was so, so right when he sang Only The Good Die Young.”

No, Claire, I think we can safely add the kinky to the list, too.