My poor laurels! (and/or Whore-sing Around Alternatives.)

Listen. A lot's been going on in the news lately. What else is new? Just when I think I can rest on my laurels (you’re welcome for that adorable image, by the way) and enjoy a nice glass of the finest of flavored liqueurs, shit hits the fan again, and I’ve got to get back on the beat. I know – my poor laurels! Motherfuckers. 

 

Unlike most breaking-news reporters – who just inform their viewers of the daily goings-on in their communities, I like to offer a solution to whatever problems grace the front pages of our hometown papers each morning. (Yes, I still subscribe to my daily paper – I like to give back, and also – its good for starting fires – in my fireplace, suckers.) Anyway, back to the beat. I’m sure you’ve all heard about the tom-foolery and horseplay that’s been going on up at Penn State. Jesus Christ. I mean really. Sodomy? And of adolescent boys! Ghastly. Moral issues, aside, isn’t sodomy like outlawed in the Bible? God knows the people of Pennsylvania are a God-fearing folk (I here am referencing Ben Franklin, the Quakers . . and the Amish and their amazing baked goods) and the last person they want to piss off is the Big Guy. Triflin’! 

 

And that motherfucking phone interview! What on earth would possess the alleged rapist to phone it in with Bob Costas! ( . . . of all people, I know, he’s top par and a class-act by any standards.) His lawyer? His therapist? (That’s a shout out to SNL’s “Jeopardy” by the way – get it? remember it? “The Rapist” . . . ? Hats off to you Sean Connery/Daryl Hamond, hats off.) But did you catch the ‘view? Silly! Mother of God. I’m going to take your word that you, in fact, do watch Brian William’s new show which aired the call. If not, well, I mean, I don’t know. Get the fuck with it. 

 

Jerry Sandusky, shockingly, basically just laughed the whole thing off – a short chuckle and in one or two mumbled sentences, denied forced-ass play (also lovingly called “rape”) with anyone! Bitch, please! I’ve told a lie or three in my day, and that is not the denial of someone who’s innocent – or even someone who’s putting the whole thing on her little sister! He’s just calling the whole thing horseplay! (“whores”-play; I’m on fire today!) All of it is just silly. 

 

So it’s obvi that homeboy “enjoys kids” – and I’m pretty sure he used those exact words (not that I’m going to verify or anything, but alas). I totally get it, well, sort of! I love kids, too! I nannied five of the cutest motherfucking kids ever – and for half a decade! Keep in mind, I don’t give out compliments about being adorable to just anyone, naturally. So, Jerry and I have that in common, I guess. We don’t have anything else in common, but I wanted to offer some of my favorite activities with children – just in case he needs some suggestions to fill his time. I’ll pick out a few of the very best things I’ve taught both the children I nannied, and my little sister – all of whom are better people for it.

 

So, instead of “whore”-sing around in the shower with the future leaders of America, why don’t you:

 

1. Teach them how to get out of a moving car at speeds approaching 20 miles an hour?

My sister learned this lesson after the Elizabeth Smart kidnapping scare – for her own protection. See? Its totes a win-win! Also – if anyone ever slides back into their disgusting ways, you’ve totally provided an escape route as soon as you remove your hand from his leg and slow yo’ whip.

 

2. Show them the fine art of making your favorite drink?

 Whether its a glass of chilled Franzia, a pint of America’s Beer in a perfectly chilled glass, or a cocktail of Crystal Light and Rum – this is something all of the little ones learned. Don’t even say I’m fostering alcoholism, don’t you start! Mainly because soon after they’ve mastered the art of the perfect alcohol to sugar-free liquid ratio (which is 4 parts to 1), you can then . . . 

 

3. Instruct them on the fickle art of nursing a hangover!

I first experienced a bitching hangover at the young age of 19, after a night of 40-40’s, and homemade screwdrivers (Everclear always screws you, please trust.) – and Jesus Christ I was nearly dead. And so shocked, too! I’d been drinking for years at that point, and had never been inflicted. My body’s rebound abil was lauded by my friends as I would show up bright and early the next morning with the Orange Sunrise (tequila added in-car) from Juice it Up! (Goddamn it, I love a good smoothie.) Anyway – at 19, I assumed my life was over. Until, of course, I lured my little sister to my room with the following: a box of Saltines broken up into small, bite-sized squares, a copy of the classic book “Miss Nelson Is Missing” and an English accent. She was holding my hair back in no time, and I was back and better than ever!

 

Okay little ones. I could go on forevs. I am like the Anne Sullivan to the Helen Keller youth of today (and yesterday) – except for I’m not blind, nor do I know if I’d have been able to understand Braille when drunk or while driving (although, I have been known to drive blind – so to speak, figuratively, of course). Or, if Mother Theresa was a teacher, I’ll be her – and she was so slender, and tan! too. 

 

We can debate my merits later, but for now, it seems like some people need to sharpen their pencils, because Mama just took you to school. 

 

Oh snap!