#metoo

I generally stay away from posting my opinion on my facebook wall, but I do try to engage in ongoing discussions that appear on my feed, especially when I feel the need to explicitly call out injustice, misguidedness, or flat out assholery (as you can imagine, I've been busy). As most of you may already know, there is a current movement via social media that began to bring awareness to the prevalence of misogyny, sexual harassment, sexual assault, and inequality towards women. The outpouring of responses from female friends and family members has begun to underscore the severity and breadth of the issue, and hopefully enlighten men to not only be more mindful of their actions, but to be more active in the plight to change the status quo.

In reality, you'd probably be hard pressed to find a woman who hasn't been sexually harassed or assaulted ...and if you do, it's only a matter of time before they are. In fact, I've been wanting to respond to the call with my personal experience after many had encouraged men to do so, but I didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention, nor potentially belittle anyone's experience(s). I worried that it would be like holding up a white lives matter sign at a black lives matter event, which by the way, falls under the assholery category and entirely misses the point (cue Lewis Black’s aggressive pointing and heated rhetorical diatribe). However, the benefit of owning a few gigabytes in the internet's infinite landscape...is the ability to be as poignant, rebellious, humble, crass, or as civilized as I please. 

A small, albeit clandestine, part of my response to the #metoo movement, was to include the raising of my own hand in order to bring awareness to the fact that sexual harassment and assault, while rampant and primarily towards women, can also be, and often is towards boys and men. Again, including my voice in the larger discussion was not to highlight my own personal experience (as traumatic as it may have been), nor for any personal admiration or applause, so let me be clear, I am not innocent. 

While I may not have intentionally hurt or sexually assaulted a woman, I am guilty of not policing other men and of going along with objectifying and demeaning behavior, which in some contexts can be just as bad. Even in the context of being playful, these actions are not funny, and I now realize how they could have made someone feel uncomfortable, or even unsafe. Allowing someone to be bullied, raped, or murdered whilst having the power to prevent it, in the eyes of the law can get you convicted of aiding and abetting, or in other words, sharing the criminal's intent. 

All I can do, is apologize, recognize that I am not perfect, have the humility to realize my contributions to the issue, and change my own actions. I am not proud of it, and while my unique upbringing in a culture that perpetuates this behavior is not an excuse, I recognize how this exposure helped to influence me as a younger man. In any event, my goal is to stand alongside women, to bring to light an issue that merits more scrutiny, support, and awareness, to highlight the magnitude of the problem, and more importantly, to be a part of the solution.   

For those who have not seen the facebook post, I’ve posted it below.

I'm sorry that we can be pigs, that we objectify you, ogle you, lust after you and degrade you. I'm sorry that you have to put on armor every day, and carry a shield...I imagine the weight becomes exhausting. I'm sorry that you've had to learn how to give certain looks, how to decipher intentions, to constantly be aware of everyone around you, and that men can possibly misunderstand the meaning of the word no, or that more importantly, there should ever be circumstances we put you in where you feel the need to say it. I'm sorry that comfort is fleeting and so few places exist where absolute safety is a certainty. I'm sorry we live in a world where self expression can be misconstrued, where little girls have to learn the hard way, and where you have to always consider traveling in numbers to avoid being a victim. I'm sorry that I make more than you, that I'm considered less of a risk from employers and insurers because I cannot bear children, and that I've never once had to worry about workplace sexual harassment or unwanted advances. I'm sorry that we live in a society with an unhealthy attitude towards sexuality, where boys think porn is the norm, and that women have to incessantly worry about how they, their behavior or words are perceived in the presence of every man. I'm sorry that you often determine what you'll wear on any given day by the amount of energy you have to defend your choices. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel uncomfortable, if my flirtations teetered on harassment, or if my compliments triggered a previous trauma. I'm sorry for him, for them, and even me. I'm grateful for you, I'm embarrassed for my kind, and I'm so deeply saddened that you've had to endure what you have, and that we have to launch social media campaigns in order to open the eyes of men who still may never see. 

London Olympics: Hearts of Gold

I've been watching the Olympics rather religiously. It was a tradition of sorts in my family, and it seems that the ritual has stuck. After all, who cannot appreciate the world's finest athletes competing, sacrificing, and fighting for gold. There is no lack of drama, back story, media hype, and suspense. Perfectly sculpted bodies, with laser-like focus, disciplined, and meticulously trained keep us on the edge of our seats as they run, flip, fly, dive, kick, paddle, reposte, fling, spike and shoot.

The margin for error at this level of competition can be a hair off center, a splash, an extra hop, a perry, a point, or hundredths of a second. The majesty and poetry of what their bodies are capable of doing is inspiring, jaw-dropping, and often downright unbelievable. With steeled nerves, icy veins, and expressions that indicate their minds are on parallel planes, they take their positions...gravity is defied, time slowed, and sometimes for only mere seconds, they captivate millions. On this stage, heroes are made, naysayers quieted, nations shocked, hopes shattered, careers forged, and dreams fulfilled.

The true magnitude of what these athletes can accomplish boggles my mind. Some show such resilience and perseverance, while others succumb to pressure and scrutiny. While we all love to see our respective countries victorious, I think we allow ourselves to be consumed by whether or not a medal is won. Such seductions are inevitable, easy even. However, my attention is often stolen by an athlete who is simply grateful and humbled by the opportunity to compete, tasked with carrying not only their own aspirations, but those of an entire country.

A couple of nights ago, I was watching men's gymnastics and saw an unlikely competitor, an underdog from Ireland that had overcome amazing adversity. The announcers mentioned the sacrifices this young man had made simply to make it to the games in London. They alluded to the support from his family, all the bake sales and car washes, scrounging together enough funds to compete in various events. But that isn't all. He overcame countless injuries, a botched leg surgery that left him with extensive nerve damage and doctors that told him he would never walk again. Later, he suffered a brain injury that threatened his gymnastic hopes again.This too he overcame. With such a display of tenacity, resolve, and sheer will, who could not wish him the best? Who among us could not root for him?

I don't want to take away from any other athlete's success, plight, or their similarly daunting obstacles. Please revel in the dominance of the USA's women's beach volleyball tandem of Misty May-Treanor and Kerry Walsh. Cheer for the Michael Phelps's, the Dana Vollmers, and the Ryan Lochtes. I certainly did, but don't forget that the hope of some countries rests upon the shoulders of young men with torn rotator cuffs, on surgically repaired legs, and damaged brains...upon the dreams of boys so brave that they defied doctors and science, simply refusing to give up.

In my mind these are the true champions. Not the privileged with unfettered access to facilities, unlimited resources, or those endowed with impressive frames or inherent physical prowess, but those who were laughed at, ridiculed, and told no. Kieran Behan did not win a medal in this Olympics, but he won something more grand than gold: not only was his dream of reaching the Olympic stage realized, but he walked away with our hearts and knowing that he has set an example for everyone who will ever face adversity, or have to hear the unsavory echo and seemingly insurmountable weight of the word no. It is this aspect of the human soul that makes me truly awestruck and fraught with compassion. Winning an Olympic medal is undoubtedly an impressive feat, but sometimes just getting there is in a class all its own.

Operation Just Cause

22 years ago today I was fast asleep. Under the veil of darkness, navy seals swam stealthily towards their targets. Weapons were locked and loaded and night vision goggles snapped into position. The overly confident enemy sharpened their blades of corruption. Bombs fell…whistling merrily as they descended upon poverty. Bullets flew, their traces glowing through the night like fireflies at warp speed. Cannons blasted; helicopters were hovering dragons spewing fire upon fortresses. Explosives were anonymously planted like carefully placed parcels under the Christmas tree.

City blocks singed. Ashes fell for what seemed like weeks. Looting was done casually and without remorse. Old appliances replaced new ones. Some fell from windows as shiny new microwaves and toaster ovens found their posts. People intently looked for matching shoes in heaps of merchandise strewn about, as if they were in the store during a sale. I saw one kid pulling a dryer on a sheet of cardboard, his friend pushing from behind, grinning with satisfaction over their bounty. Everyone in the city had new clothes, but this was far from a fortuitous holiday as thousands were suddenly homeless, refugees in their own streets.

The months, weeks, and days leading up to the conflict were filled with minor inconveniences. Sometimes we had to stay late at school for safety reasons. Infantrymen and their German Shepherds patrolled the school grounds. M16’s were as commonplace as backpacks and school books. With a multitude of military installations in the country, military personnel, vehicles, and weapons were ubiquitous ornaments on a tropical backdrop.

Curfews were eventually implemented. Checkpoints and searches became the protocol. Unlike airport security, we welcomed soldiers into our homes as it made us feel safe and gave us brief moments to express our appreciation. I remember my step-mom would make sandwiches and give them cookies, sodas, and caprisuns. It was obvious they appreciated the hospitality and the reprieve from their usual rations. I imagined some of them bragged to their buddies, while others stuffed their cargo pockets and greedily enjoyed their snacks in solitude.

Armored vehicles patrolled the streets instead of police cruisers. Tensions were measured by words from the phonetic alphabet...Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, and Delta, indicating the degree of alert. Things eventually became tense. Stories of Americans being detained and harassed quickly circulated. A car was shot up. Servicemen were killed. Panama’s dictator declared war. Weeks later he surrendered, blanketed by blaring rock n roll music.

Somewhere in the night, a new president was sworn in; a barrage of missiles and bullets pierced the humid air. Families huddled close together, a corrupt dictator fled, and bombs peppered the city like a falling deck of cards. Somewhere in the night, a teenage boy was dreaming as an invasion took place. 22 years ago today…I was fast asleep.

When regular porn just won't cut it...

I've always wanted to skydive...it just never occurred to me that I could do it while having sex. I suppose for some people, the thrill of jumping out of a plane isn't enough; apparently, neither is good old fashioned, regular, wholesome porn either. According to MSNBC.com, a porn star in California, who also happens to be a skydiving instructor, thought it would be a good idea to jump out of a plane while having sex with the secretary. No, I'm not joking, you can check it out for yourselves here. Although my imagination has been known to conjure up some rather fanciful and outlandish ideas, I regretfully admit that this would have never crossed my mind. (Well, okay, the secretary yes, but not quite in that context) I can understand why a person capable of doing porn would have come up with such an idea, especially one that moonlights as a skydiving instructor, but an innocent, mild mannered administrative professional? 

According to the article, the local police department has issued a statement about the incident saying that there are no criminal charges pending. Apparently, the creators of the indecent exposure and public nudity laws were not insightful enough to include sexual acts that occur at high altitudes. I wonder how this makes people in Nepal feel? I find this mildly amusing because, to my knowledge, temperatures at higher altitudes generally aren't conducive to blood flow, and anyone who's ever had sex while a fan was blowing on them, (don't ask) knows that personal lubricant is absolutely necessary. I'm assuming that a porn star would be privy to this information and would have been thoroughly prepared, but what kind of calculations might one need in order to figure out the wind to lubricant ratio before some serious chaffing takes place? See, I told you my imagination was robust. I bet you didn't think of that did you? I mean, if you're going to do it, you may as well do it right.

I have a feeling that we're not going to see the end of this skydiving tomfoolery. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if we see a commercial in the near future advertising personal lubricant potent enough for even the craziest of adventure seeking genitals. I may have been beaten to the punch on the whole skydiving thing, but that commercial idea is all mine. 

Protest this...

I used to think that protests were a waste of time, particularly those aimed at corporate powers or the government. I mean really, besides creating unnecessary pressure on local law enforcement and fodder for the news, what do they really accomplish? What do they change? Over time, I've realized that my feelings were such because we haven’t had a reason to seriously fight for a worthy cause in a long time, whether it was for independence, allowing women to vote, or to end segregation. The idea of protesting against the government seems like a vain endeavor, very much David and Goliath without the voice of God or impeccable aim to guide our ammunition. How is it that this attitude exists when it is the government that was created to serve the people?

The more I ponder the current status of the political game, corporate greed, climate change, and the ever increasing abyss between socio-economic classes, the more I realize that now is as good a time as any to assemble in protest. Our current president alluded to much of this need with his campaign message of change. He was right; we were just foolish to think that he could do it alone. We thought, somehow, that casting a vote and then going back to our entitled lives of lattes, smart phones, and miniature dogs, that things would magically change.

You can’t really blame us though can you? In essence, we have become entitled. We are a society fraught with the entitlement that comes with instant gratification. With the spawn of the internet and our ever powerful handheld devices, we have been conditioning ourselves to believe that things such as the economy, the presidency, and the attitude of millions can be changed as quickly as we can change our facebook status. 

However, what we’re failing to realize is even though women can now vote and we can all drink poor tasting, bacteria-infested water from the same fountain, protests are still needed now more than ever. We have enjoyed years of economic growth and supremacy, and in our complacence we’ve allowed politics and corporate America to grow into powerful, monopolizing behemoths; enormous conglomerates run by CEO’s more concerned with their elite financial status than ethics. Wall Street, lobbyists, and the insanely wealthy continue to take advantage of legal loopholes that do nothing more for the economy than they do for bridging the gap between financial classes. 

Protesting isn’t just a right, but a civil duty. If we’re going to turn things around, we have to demand transparency with political campaign funding. We must demand that corporate greed be punished, that the affluent pay appropriate taxes, and that the attitude towards education and health insurance be shifted. How is it possible that we continue to lay off dedicated, loyal, intelligent, and ethical educators, but grant huge bonuses to CEO’s in charge of organizations mired in legal trouble and financial ruin? I don’t know about you, but I know who I’d give a pink slip to.

King of Popping Pills...

Apparently Michael Jackson is still capable of taking over the media with his escapades even in the afterlife. Schamone! I was listening to the radio coverage of Dr. Conrad Murray’s trial, the physician who was administering potent sedatives to the King of Pop, and in my professional opinion, something is seriously amiss.

The doctor is being charged with neglect and involuntary manslaughter, and what I find interesting is that the defense’s case is Michael Jackson killed himself by taking a bunch of pills after the doctor had left the room. Now, I’m not a lawyer, forensic scientist, or even a criminal justice major, but neither am I an idiot. If a doctor is supposed to be keeping a close eye on patient who is taking powerful sedatives leaves a room, and keeps a bunch of medicine within arm’s reach of that barely coherent patient so that an overdose is possible, then that in my mind is the very definition of neglect.

Providing in home patient care with medications administered only in hospitals without the presence of medical staff is already dangerous and requires extra degrees of vigilance. The mere fact that the doctor left the room under the circumstances underscores gross neglect and medical malpractice. Conrad Murray violated the first tenet of the Hippocratic Oath, which is to do no harm, regardless of whether the defense’s proposition that Michael committed suicide is true or not.

To top it all off, neither when the medics arrived on the scene, nor when MJ was taken to the hospital did Conrad disclose the medications in the patient's system. I don't know whether or not that could have made a difference at that juncture, but that is far from the point. Everyone knows that by telling doctors what medications are present in the body increases the chances of survival and minimizes the chances of administering a lethal combination of meds. How is it that Conrad had two opportunities to do this, but let it slip his mind?

Poltergeist

Psssssssssssssst! Hey. You there, yeah you.....I'm baaa-aaack!

Brown's back in the game with an all new look, but that same ol' swagger. Going to continue with some original themes such as book and movie reviews, but also adding a product review segment. That's an open invitation to all you inventors, artists, enthusiasts, business owners, and mavens. If you've made something, found something, or love something you want me to watch, read, checkout, listen to, or use, let me know and I'll gladly make you famous put it under the scope.

Many changes in Brown's life, so in order to reflect that higher level of consciousness, the blog needs to evolve. We're toning down the language a bit (shit I know) and adding a lot more pictures, (for those of you who like visuals) but not to worry....I shant be losing my sarcastic and comedic tone. After all, you can only be yourself. Enjoy my poppets, and as always, I look forward to your comments. Muahahahahahaah....

Ode to the King . . . .

Albeit sad, his passing seemed a little less shocking than the effect you would initially expect to elicit from a tragedy of this magnitude. In retrospect, I think it had so much to do with Michael Jackson's transformations and latest media woes.

Everyone was grossly aware of how significantly his appearance changed over the years and although he may have lost many fans with his celebrity antics and later during his legal trials, (allegations from which he never fully recovered) those of us that were such fans of his former self, seemed to acknowledge these faults but still stay loyal to the King of pop.

Regardless of how you felt about Michael, he leaves behind a legacy that changed music, dancing, and in many ways, the world forever. He revolutionized the music video, popularized MTV, brought people from around the world together, spoke out against racism both publicly and through his music, supported more charities than any other pop artist, and could dance like the dickens. Man could he dance. His musical accolades are astounding and he probably remains the most recognizable person on the entire planet. People in 3rd world countries devoid of televisions even know who he is, and that's pretty remarkable.

So many of us grew up imitating Michael and his timeless moves. We dressed like him, danced like him, and played his songs and videos until we were satisfied. In recognition of his departure, I went out with a friend last night for dinner and a movie, and everywhere we went I did the moonwalk or a conspicuous MJ leg kick. The cars that let us cross the street gave appreciative nods, some people laughed, and others gave a hoot or a holler. The hostess at the restaurant didn't find my moves very amusing, so I threw in a crotch grab and a few pelvic thrusts for good measure. No, I really didn't . . . . but I should have.

As should be respectful and customary when reflecting upon the lives of those we lose, perhaps we can remember him for his greatness and not his idiosyncrasies or shortcomings. Perhaps we can remember the time how Michael thrilled us, encouraged us to look in the mirror, told us to beat it, scream, or heal the world. It seems that he spent his whole life giving, but we were never quite able to give anything back. We are a society that is pitiably infatuated with the celebrity phenomenon and we show our fickle adoration by smothering the lives of those we idolize. Stardom carries a hefty price, and it seems that being the King requires even a greater one. Michael Jackson was a brilliant entertainer, but before that, he was a person. A person like any other, with fears, dreams, passions, and thoughts. He possessed an infectious smile, a huge heart, and the uncanny ability to make you want to groove. And that, my friends, is worth a crotch grab any day of the week. Hee-hee . . . Schamone!

A League of Their Own

Pssssssssssst! Hey . . . . you. Are they gone? You know, all those relentless poopie fanatics. I was hoping to shake the majority of those thoughtless, uncultured minions off my trail with an extended hiatus. All the e-mails, letters, and comments were becoming too overwhelming. I mean really, who has time to respond to all that shit?

Well, now that it appears to be just us select few again , let me say the majority of the reason behind Mr. Poopie's glorious return is due to my Dad, and of course the Amazing Cheasty Pants, who by the way, was the only person who begged me to come back. And by beg, I mean she sent me endless e-mails pleading for me to once again grace blog-land with my all-knowing voice of reason. As part of her elaborate plans of coercion, she sent pictures of herself in mid air, pictures of her friends in mid air, pictures of random Central American foliage, food, and even poetry. Yes, poetry. She begged, pleaded, implored, and groveled. After witnessing enough of her rueful antics, I figured I would bestow her some clemency. Although, I think I would have never tired of all the Nicaraguan beer I received.

The truth is, I've been reading voraciously, writing a book, and doing lots of homework for school. Yeah, you heard me . . . . . . . school. I suppose it's time for me to finish school and secure my Masters so that I can join the elite 9.4% of the populace to have accomplished the same. Let's face it, as much as I'd like to, I can't rub people for ever.

To say that things have slowed down in the massage business would be an understatement. Although, the industry leading, luxury resort conglomerate I work for caters to the affluent, we have begun to feel the effects of our ever weakening economy. Consequently, Mr. Poopie has had a lot more time to do other things like reading and pondering why certain people are allowed to procreate. Also, to be even more forthcoming, there wasn't a whole lot I felt impelled to talk about that wasn't already being shoved down our throats by mass media. Economy, blah blah, Obama, blah blah blah, Iran and nuclear-blah blah, bad peanut butter-blah.

One thing I do feel relatively inspired to discuss, besides boobies of course, is all this ubiquitous discussion about steroids and baseball. Helloooooooo, am I the only person on the planet that knew these fools were juicing? The commissioner of baseball has the cojones to act like he didn't know what was going on, and worse yet, the gall to say he's going to consider distributing punishment. I have a couple of problems with this entire A-Rod steroid saga. For those of you who live in a shell, or Cambodia for that matter, there were some random, supposedly anonymous, drug testing done back in 2003 to get an idea of how many baseball players were taking steroids. We won't address why an "anonymous" test involved actual "names" to begin with, but some how, the list of those positive tests has leaked, and of course A-Roid (as he's been so appropriately named) was at the top of that list. Keep in mind that performance enhancing drugs were not illegal in baseball at the time. (reason number one, the results should be thrown away and this entire fiasco forgotten)

The second problem I have with all this, is that congress has been involved with the witch hunt to find out who has been taking PED's, which inevitably has led to some athletes to lie under oath, which in turn has put their freedom in jeopardy. By no means am I siding with the players, or condoning the use of banned substances, I just feel that all this is a huge waste of time and money. Implement better testing and move forward. No need to drudge up a bunch of meaningless tests, dirty syringes, (who keeps this shit?) and DNA samples that ultimately aren't going to solve the problem, but only confirm what we already suspected in the first place.

Congress? Why are my tax paying dollars being used to out athletes who we already know used steroids, when there is a 1100 page stimulus package that I know the majority of them haven't dedicated the time to read? I'm sorry, but Congress needs to stay out of baseball. I think the sport is completely capable of cleaning things up without the help of a large bureaucratic counsel of geriatric law makers. Figure out how to balance the budget, save Michael Jackson's face from falling off, then worry about sports. It's only a matter of time before the spot light turns to football. Which, by the way, is where they should have been looking all along. Hee-hee, Schamone!

The Great Debaters

I'm sure most of you watched the debate, or at least those of you who aren't under the assumption that the presidency has already been decided because of skin color. But for those of you who did, I just wanted to point out some occurrences and observations that I found in each candidates approach.

During the debate, I noticed that, even after the moderator had encouraged the nominees to share thoughts and statements that we haven't already heard, Senator McCain still had difficulty doing so. Quite frankly, he sounded like a broken record most of the time which was disappointingly similar to what he's been trying to force feed the nation at his last few speeches. A good portion of his retorts were not only identical to what he'd thrown out in the last debate, but were also repeated even when the topic of conversation didn't warrant them. It almost seemed as though when he was asked to respond to a particular theme, that he would use the majority of his time saying something negative about Senator Obama, than actually pointing out major highlights of his own policy. Even after the topic of negativity in both campaigns had been addressed, and Obama emphasized the importance of using the time to more wisely discuss action, Senator McCain still couldn't refrain from keeping a negative standpoint.

I've also discerned, that after every criticism McCain had, Obama wouldn't give merit to his adversary's instigating remarks by firing back, but instead would not only quell accusations with factual accounts and intent, but would also refocus our attention on the topic at hand by outlining the differences in their policies and pointing out the reasons to implement each endeavor. I really enjoyed how Obama not only used attacks as opportunities to explain specific initiatives within his policy, but also how he eloquently would show how each politician's strategy was either similar or different in contrast. I also found it interesting that McCain not once, but three times made a comment about Obama being eloquent, as if that were a bad thing. Look, if you find someone who is intelligent, articulate, has the ability to answer multiple questions, and can explain intricate concepts of government in a clear fashion to be intimidating, then maybe you need to reconsider what it is your doing there. Let's be honest, being eloquent shouldn't be a reason not to vote for someone, but I think you should be weary of someone who thinks so. Ultimately, I think it will be refreshing to have someone in office that can represent our country without looking like a dribbling fool to its citizens and the rest of the world. Someone who can speak intelligently, take decisive action when needed, and wisely consider the things that warrant more thorough attention. Forgive me if I have a standard for who should be our leader. I'm extremely sorry if that person can put a sentence together. I apologize if they don't engage in childish antics. My sincerest regrets if they just happen to be engaging, focused, or God forbid . . . . . . . . . eloquent.

Another observation I had, that kind of goes back to McCain's approach to make aspersions and negative remarks is when the moderator asked what each senator thought about the other's running mate. When Obama answered the question he had nothing negative to say about Palin, (which could have easily been done on multiple levels), but instead spoke of how she would make a fine president. He even went a little overboard so far as to say that she was competent and highly intelligent. When answering the same question, McCain followed his singular compliment of Biden with a rhetoric of his supposed inadequacies and failed insights. How apropo senator, but certainly not unexpected. I think that Obama summed it up perfectly when he commented on how McCain's ads had more to say about McCain's character than who they aimed to slander.

The Patriot

Although I should be bringing this up next month, since technically October is Breast Cancer Awareness month, I just got so excited thinking about breasts that I couldn't wait to talk about those lovely mammary mounds of joy. Surely at this point I don’t have to expend a single breathe expressing my wholehearted devotion to the preservation of breasts and my indefatigable vow to support the research for a breast cancer cure, even if that means the arduous task of single handedly inspecting each one of them myself. That’s my level of commitment. That's how I roll.

Until my license as High Boob Chancellor has completed its final phase of processing, which will allow me unquestioned and unfettered access to thoroughly inspect any breast anywhere, I will intermittently have to join the common man in the trenches and take a less hands-on approach to do my part. I am taking this opportunity to challenge all of you to take up arms (and legs) and join me in the boldest walk for a cure in mammary history. You can do so by visiting The 3 day website to find out when the 3 day walk for a cure will be in your chest of the woods. Basically, it will be a 3 day 60 mile walk dedicated to finding a cure and raising awareness for breast cancer. You will have refreshments, hot meals, and even entertainment provided for you along the way. It will be held throughout all the major cities in the U.S., and I really can't find a better reason to walk anywhere. So, visit the site, mark your calenders, and prepare to lace 'em up (shoes and bras) and get to steppin'.

Don't forget you can always continue to show support by buying pink-products in stores, where portions of the proceeds go to Cancer Research. Yoplait Yogurts, which are delicioso, donate a dollar per lid when you send them in. Philadelphia cream cheese is on board, and toothbrushes, contact solution, and air fresheners can all be found in pink. My contact case is pink, thanks to one of my sisters, a pink ribbon hangs from my car's rear view mirror, and my favorite cutting board, (thanks Regina!) is also, you guessed it, as pink as a freshly picked areola. From pens and magnets, to shirts that profess your healthy adoration for bosoms of all shapes and sizes, can be found just about anywhere. And although we can't all be respected booby chancellors, at least we can all be ambassadors for breasts. Save the boobies!

Apocolypse Now

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This Christmas

Christmas has fallen upon us again and with the celebration of the birth of my main man JC, another milestone remains to be witnessed, although not nearly as significant as the arrival of Christ. That day, my friends is the much anticipated anniversary of this here blog. Although I was part of the recent writer's strike and vowed not to participate in any writing through the month of December, I could not let this day of remembrance go by without it's due recognition.

As I sat in church last night for Midnight Mass, a tradition that has remained in my family for centuries (well, okay maybe not that long, but it did have a nice ring to it) I began to reflect on the entire year's events and adventures as I struggled to get communion dislodged from the roof of my mouth. One of those adventures was ignited by the beloved Cubana Gringa last year. As I prayed for her addiction to cheese to be more manageable, I also gave her thanks for introducing me to one of the few places on the internet with value and relevance, besides e-bay, You Tube, and porn.

So, here we are. A whole year later and hundreds of thousands of brain cells lost listening to our President speak. In my moment of reflection I also gave thanks for Britney, MJ, OJ, Lindsay, Michael Vick, and the slew of other knuckleheads that made life worth living. They say that God only puts you through only what you can handle, and I have no earthly idea how I would have survived without pictures of Jennifer Love Hewitt's chunky ass. We're friends by now so I'm going to speak freely. I couldn't have been the only person on the planet that found it peculiar that every commercial she did was shot from the waist up and every episode of that Ghost show she was on, had her in a dress to hide the double wide she kept in her pants. I'm not angry at her, I'm just saying I didn't need close-ups to confirm my suspicions. Why magazines find it necessary to publish some shots I'll never know. Some things are just better left to the imagination, even if it takes you to Charlie's Chocolate factory.

Of course with the celebration of Christmas, comes another time that people find it necessary to drink ungodly amounts of alcohol for no reason (as if we needed more excuses) I'm sure with the invention of the calendar, the Egyptians didn't have what our modern New Year's festivities entail, but then again they did have wizards and believed that cats were evil (They may have been on to something with the latter if you ask me)

With the New Year, as tradition would have it, comes a plethora of empty promises we've come to know as resolutions. Basically that means that my gym is going to be overcrowded for the next three months until people realize they bit off more than they could chew, literally. I've actually ceased with making such votives and decided it best to just keep from going to jail or getting anyone pregnant. Both significant accomplishments I think and a lot easier than becoming a Vegan, for example. Not that I would ever do something like that. Someone has to help with the depletion of the ozone. And I vow to do my part, one Filet Mignon at a time.

With that my friends help me to wish my blog a happy anniversary as I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

p.s.

My computer was fixed so the Brown man will be back in full effect.

Breast Men

So much to blog about. . . . First things first. . . . I'm not going to delve into the painfully obvious, like the lack of a new banner, the fact that it's been a year since my last post, and that when God invented chicken he should have made it taste like chocolate so that whenever we eat something devoid of its own distinct flavor, we could just say it tastes like chocolate. Because that my friends would not only be funny, but would also explain the chocolate eggs during Easter and their creamy filling. Because we all know how disturbing it was as kids to flirt with the idea that Jesus laid those eggs. Oh c'mon, I know I wasn't the only one.

As in true Brown Man fashion, a few current events if I may. My disdain for talentless pop starlets has been well documented. However, I cannot in good conscious rejoice in Brittney's latest catastrophe, having to lose custody of her children. As much as I believe that the destinies of those two love children are already plagued, no mother should have to endure losing her own children. We can only hope that this will lead Brittney to a treadmill rehab.

Now to talk about something that is near and dear to my heart . . . . BREASTS! I was going to say strippers, but I wouldn't want any of you to think less of me and it wouldn't be a smooth segway to discuss something that threatens beloved breasts around the world, breast cancer. That's right. October is breast cancer awareness month and those of you who are overtly aware of my unhealthy adoration to female mammaries, know that I will do anything to protect them. Even if that means visiting every strip club in the country to spread awareness. I know, I know, a long and perilous adventure it will be, but I'm prepared to take one for the team.

Although a meager contribution, I've vowed to do a multitude of things this month in order to show my love for breasts. As of yesterday I proudly started wearing a pink ribbon on my shirt and intend to wear it every day this month. Originally I wanted to wear a big pink bra on my head, but the spa director said the ribbon would not only get my point across, but also prevent a lawsuit. I suppose that why she's the boss. I'm not stopping there. I also plan to buy as many products as possible that are contributing to the cause. I've already bought some pink tic tacs and pink M&M's. I anticipate buying a few pink bracelets to pass around, running a 5k, and even providing free breast massages exams. I'd also like to buy a couple of dome tents, spray paint them pink, and put them on the front lawn. I just need to check with my home owner's association to avoid any unnecessary monetary setbacks. If you can think of any other "creative" ways for me to support the preservation of the ta-tas, I'd love to feel hear them.

Okay, so maybe the reconstruction of my little piece of the internet pie, was a little premature, but with so many breasts to think about, I don't think I can really be blamed no? Besides, the elves I had employed for the job apparently were Mexican and were recently deported for being illegal immigrants (I seriously hope they don't deport the cleaning ladies at my work before I'm able to give all of them proper breast exams).

Anyway, sorry for being out so long. The new banner will be up before you know it. Intermittently I will continue to brighten your daily lives with a little bit of Brown.

The Devil's Advocate

Okay folks, quick updates on some celebrity criminals . . .

Lindsay Lohan (a.k.a. freckle titty), plead guilty to nine misdemeanor charges which included her second DUI with cocaine on her person and has been ordered to serve only 24 hours in jail. Her punishment might has well have been a massage and a pedicure. Thankfully she's still on vacation in rehab, and will finally be getting better.

On a lighter note, Nicole Richie served 82 minutes in jail (1 and a half minutes per pound). That is exactly one hour and twenty two minutes, which is barely enough time to watch a movie, catch a cold, or see the last two minutes of a football game. She was released early due to overcrowding, which is quite comical considering she’s skinny enough to fit IN BETWEEN the damn bars. She reportedly blinked 6,398 times during her stay and licked a Twizzler for nourishment.

Michael Vick met with prosecutors this morning and plead guilty. As you may already know there are minimum and maximum penalties associated with the charges. As part of his plea deal, Vick agreed to assist the government in testifying in other dog fighting cases in return for a lighter sentence. Now, even though the plea agreement carries a recommended sentence from the prosecution, the federal judge has the final say on what he feels adequate punishment will be. More often than not, the judge’s decision usually coincides with the government’s requests. We’ll find out if this is the case for Vick on December 10^th.

One more thing, I have something to say in regards to people who think he should be banned from the NFL for life. Although I don’t agree with what this man may have done, I also don’t agree with mercilessness. I think that he should serve his time as a result of his criminal actions as well as additional years suspended from the NFL and then be cleared to play. I think his subsequent punishment and fines should all benefit animal rights and rehabilitation. He’s already been dropped from every endorsement deal and lost millions in salary and merchandise (as he should have), but to vindictively strip away the only thing he’s ever known is vengeful, hateful, and unfair. I think he should eventually be allowed to play again, but preferably with a shock collar in case of poor performances.

Keep this in mind as well. As a convict, he will not have access to top notch training facilities and therefore will have great difficulty staying in professional athletic shape. Once released, he will have to continue training until the league suspension is served and he can be readmitted. Then, and only then, will he be able to attempt a comeback. However, you don’t just walk back onto the field and play. A team owner has to make the decision to offer you a job and that person won’t just be deciding whether or not you’re fit to play either (that’s the easy part), he’ll be deciding whether or not he wants to be the guy who offered a job to a dog killer. Vick will have to be as good as, if not better than when he left, in order for an NFL owner to conceive taking on the potential risk, and that possibility is even thinner than Nicole Richie. If people would only show the same passion in preventing child abuse, rape, illiteracy, and deforestation as they do in crucifying Vick, we all might live in a better place. Well…… at least one with more trees anyway.

Turner and Hooch

I thought I’d give you a quick update on the Michael Vick situation, just in case you haven’t heard, although I know that the majority of you are extreme animal lovers and probably just came back from a protest anyway. Here was the result of your efforts.

We’ve already established that federal courts don’t play around. With the state courts, you have a little leeway. You can probably finagle getting an Atlanta Falcon fanatic for a judge, a reasonably lenient jury, (perhaps even a few that had been bitten by dogs) and ultimately local law enforcement officers fond of misplacing or incorrectly labeling and storing evidence. No such luck with the Federal Courts.

Many of us have come to know the unfortunate atrocities that occurred at Michael Vick’s property, but what many of you may not know is that when Sir-breeds-a-lot was indicted, 3 other douche bags were as well. And as you can very well imagine, the other 3 defendants, albeit friends of his, were not upstanding, let me help you with those groceries, kind of citizens. The feds knew this and spent no time in exploiting their pasts. It took only a week for one of them to change his plea to guilty in lieu of a lighter sentence. Now we hear that the other two have finally agreed to cooperate with the government for similar deals. What this means for Vicky-poo? Not good. Basically this means that all his boys are going to sing like canaries and give up everything they know about Vick and his involvement concerning the allegations in return for mercy from the courts (Your dirty tax dollars at their best).

It’s even been rumored that the puppy slayer himself has considered a plea bargain. A source close to the investigation says that Vick has until Friday to make up his mind whether to accept a plea agreement. Otherwise a superseding indictment will be filed and Vick will face at least two more federal dog fighting charges. His lawyers are in the midst of negotiating a deal that would involve less than the year of jail time that the prosecutors have already offered. Looks like it's gonna be a maximum fine and minimum time. I’d hate to tell you I told you so. Well . . . . . not really. I have no problem saying it at all. Told you so.

Keepin the Faith

Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologize for my little hiatus, but between Guitar Hero II, baseball record breaking milestones, and breeding blood hungry Pitbulls, frankly, I’ve been a little busy.

I know you are all dying to know who the dummy of the week is, and I assure you that it will be announced shortly, but before I do I’d like to bring you up to date with some current events, just in case some of you have been hibernating in a cocoon. (I love saying that word . . . . . cocoon.) Moving on.

Lindsay Lohan was arrested again for drinking while intoxicated, this time with cocaine on her person. Apparently she still can’t afford a driver or a tan.

You would think that a person with Britney’s money could afford a wig that looked some what real. I would almost prefer it if she’d just wear one of those Jamaican hats with the fake dreads. I think one of those fake arrows would be really cute too, but some how I think that would trigger an uproar in the Native American community.

The morning show The “View” apparently got rid of one loud ass, nonsensical, fat lesbian for another one. At least Whoopi is funny though. Sometimes.

Drew Carey is now the new host of the TV show “The Price is Right” and “The Power of 10”. Because being an embarrassingly unfunny host on one show isn’t humiliating enough.

Alex Rodriguez hit his 500^th home run the other night. To put that into perspective, he’s only the 22^nd person in history to do so and only six of those twenty two have reached the 600 mark. A-Rod has shown interest in buying the baseball from the lucky Yankee fan who recently had to sell his house due to unemployment. He’ll now be able to afford a nice New York apartment facing a brick wall. Cha-ching!

Barry Bonds finally hit his 756^th home run surpassing Hank Aaron’s all time record. I’m happy for Barry even though he isn’t the most liked athlete out there. And before people start pointing fingers concerning steroids, take a good hard look at the “holier than thou” NFL. Definitely no juicers there.

Eddie Murphy is off somewhere thinking up another horrible idea for a movie.

Tom Cruise has just prayed 3 Hail Aliens.

Now that we’re all caught up in the world, here is the dumb ass of the week . . . . . Drum roll please . . . . . The award goes to Rev. Robert Whipkey of Frederick, Colorado. As if the Catholic Church needed anymore indecent “exposure”, this ignoramus decided it was okay to go jogging naked on a high school track at 4:30 in the morning. He told officers that he sweats profusely if he wears clothing while jogging. Apparently priests are horrible liars.

When approached for questioning the quick witted Pope dawned a disguise and plugged in his ipod.