The only reason I’m going anywhere over the winter break is because my mother generously bought tickets for both Husband and I to visit her, brother, and the rest of her family in Indianapolis. I’m really looking forward to it!

Argh, I just wrote a post and then put in some faulty code and the page froze and I lost the post. Anyhow….

In light of all the bias and hate incidents occuring on a campus in my city lately, I was feeling in need of a good laugh. Russell’s Teapot sent me over to The Smoking Gun to read this post, and it provided the needed humor:

Dead Reverend’s Rubber Fetish

Autopsy: Pastor found in wet suits after autoerotic mishap

OCTOBER 8–An Alabama minister who died in June of “accidental mechanical asphyxia” was found hogtied and wearing two complete wet suits, including a face mask, diving gloves and slippers, rubberized underwear, and a head mask, according to an autopsy report. Investigators determined that Rev. Gary Aldridge’s death was not caused by foul play and that the 51-year-old pastor of Montgomery’s Thorington Road Baptist Church was alone in his home at the time he died (while apparently in the midst of some autoerotic undertaking). While the Montgomery Advertiser, which first obtained the autopsy records, reported on Aldridge’s two wet suits, the family newspaper chose not to mention what police discovered inside the minister’s rubber briefs. Aldridge served as the church’s pastor for 16 years. Immediately following his death, church officials issued a press release asking community members to “please refrain from speculation” about what led to Aldridge’s demise, adding that, “we will begin the healing process under the strong arm of our Savior, Jesus Christ.”

You simply must click on the link about what the police discovered, and then read the last sentence of the first paragraph on that page of the autopsy report. Normally this would be sad instead of funny (My opinion is by all means engage in your fetishes as long as they don’t involve unwilling partners, but be safe about it!), but given that the man is an Alabama Baptist Reverand, it’s funny.

On a similar note (about how people manage such hypocrisy), I listened to a great podcast by the Center for Inquiry today which interviewed a professor of psychology who studies the phenomena of dissonance and self-justification. I’ll definitely check out her book at some point: Mistakes Were Made (But Not by Me): Why We Justify Foolish Beliefs, Bad Decisions, and Hurtful Acts, by Carol Tavris and Elliot Aronson.

I found this to be really great, so I thought I’d share it here. It was passed to me by a friend, and can be found at Laugh Break.  What a great example of rigorous academic research!

Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.

Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them cracks and splinters. That is the “loser,” and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.

I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.

Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.

When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3×5 card reading, “Please use this M&M for breeding purposes.”

This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this “grant money.” I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.

There can be only one.

From Russell’s Teapot, a great site with many comics: Misconception

I’ve been to this site before, but recently a friend forwarded the page of most popular things overheard, and it’s pretty amusing, so I thought I’d share. My favorite on the page:

Hey, Man, Where Do You Think Families Come From?

Young woman #1: Guys never want to eat me out.
Middle-aged dad with kids: Hey, we’re trying to eat over here.
Young woman #1: See, even hearing about it freaks them out.
Young man at next table: Maybe I can take a look for you and give you my assessment.
Middle-aged dad with kids: For God’s sake, this is a family restaurant!
Young woman #2: You have a very controversial vagina.

–Mickey D’s, Times Square

Recently, I felt like I myself could have been put on this site. You see, I normally take the subway, and so I’m often spending big gobs of time with people I don’t know at all who can hear every word I say. I don’t censor my conversations, even though there are usually so many people around who can hear them. I figure there’s no reason to shelter people’s ears, even if I’m gonna say things slightly unconventional. I don’t hide when I read books about atheism or other…sensitive topics, and I’ve had conversations out loud on the subway about how getting pot is easier below 96th street because there are more dealers that deliver straight to your apartment in the lower half of Manhattan (and they usually have better selection too!).

So, last weekend, I was traveling with two girlfriends of mine, and we had been on the train a long time so even though it was rush hour we all had seats next to each other. The train was pretty crowded, and the bars to hold onto are such that people often end up standing and facing those that are sitting. So we had some women facing us, and we had engaged in minor conversation with them about the current movies (as in, we mention a movie, a women comments, we respond, maybe she comments once more). So that conversation dies down, and we return to looking at the AM New York that my friend had picked up on the way to the train. We arrive at a page that declares that burlesque shows are undergoing a revival in NYC. So my friends jokingly point out the page, and I, a bisexual who enjoys going to strip clubs with my Husband, express great enthusiasm for it. So we read some of the places it mentions - they vary a lot in price - and I see that some are places Husband and I could afford. Since I’m sure my two girlfriends aren’t too interested in actually going to these places, I ask, in no small voice and still possibly with the attention of these women facing us:

Me: “Can I have that page?”

Friend: “Sure, you can have the whole paper if you want.”

Me: “No thanks, I don’t need the whole thing, I only want the page to know where the good Burlesque shows are.”

And I wasn’t kidding. Husband and I will go to one soon, perhaps this one:

The Lounge at Elmo
156 Seventh Ave., between 19th and 20th streets
212-337-8000
www.elmorestaurant.com
Hunny Bunny Hot Box, founded in Austin, Texas, comes to Elmo’s underground Lounge every Wednesday, featuring ladies that conjure film-noir traces of glamour, with the comical delights of vaudeville and Broadway. Smoky jazz meets dynamic dance numbers in this medley of theater, choreography, comedy and eroticism that perfectly embodies the polished and intimate neo-burlesque experience. Doors open at 8:30 p.m. and tickets are $15, plus a two drink minimum.