Having trouble timing the waves these days? After you've leapt nimbly onto your board, does the big one slam you to the ocean floor every damn time? Chill out, surfer person. It isn't Alzheimer's. Or Lyme disease. Or AADD. You forgot to set your clock ahead in April. When the big hand's on the little hand, sing a Beach Boys song. Most of them couldn't surf either.
The book that inspired a website is available from Cedar Tree Books. Written by someone who was actually raised by pugs, Postcards is a welcome addition to any mailbox. Sample chapters:
Casey Anthony Jurors, Exclusive Sneak Preview and Personal Details
Oct 24, 2011, 10:13
"Does this hair style make my forehead look big?"
ORLANDO, Fla. - The identities of the jurors who found Casey Anthony not guilty of murdering her two-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Caylee, will be made public tomorrow amid fears that they will be targeted for retribution by internet cranks, the grossly unappealing, the morbidly obese, and other social rejects who want "Justice for Caylee."
After a thirty-three-day trial that had included testimony from nearly sixty law enforcement, medical, and character witnesses—and the introduction of dozens of pieces of evidence into the record—the sequestered jurors deliberated ten hours and forty minutes before reaching their decision: she didn't do it beyond a reasonable doubt.
Caylee huggers immediately went batshit and, apparently, are determined to continue coloring outside the lines of rational discourse. On October 9, Teenya Leverett shouted the following on the "Casey Anthony Is a Baby Killer" Facebook page: "Bitch! Bitch! Bitch! OOOOOHHHHH!!! SOMEONE KILL THAT BITCH PLEASE!!!!"
Ms. Leverett and her cage mates have been played like tools by media mountebanks such as Nancy Grace, whose agitated, spittle-flecked reports of the Casey Anthony "outrage" kept the faithful in a cellulite-shaking frenzy. So hideous was their aspect, that Chief Judge Belvin Perry, who presided over the Anthony trial, delayed the release of the jurors' names for three months in order to give the Caylee Commandos a chance to cool—or, perhaps, to die—off.
Nevertheless, the names of the twelve people good and true who acquitted Ms. Anthony will be put in the street tomorrow. Although Postcards from the Pug Bus cannot reveal the names of the jurors until then, we can present capsule descriptions of those jurors and let our readers decide whether said jurors ought to be allowed to continue their lives in peace or whether they should be Qaddafied in the village square.
Earnest protester showing off her tits and her tat.
Juror #1 . . . a seventy-something mother of three who lives with her elderly boyfriend and his collection of Hitler memorabilia
Juror #2. . . a sixty-ish African American woman who declared during jury selection that we should "judge not lest that we be judged ourselves"
Juror #3 . . . 20-year-old "actor" paralyzed from the waist down who "wants to play the recipient of a lap dance one day"
Juror #4 . . . a sixty-three-year-old, blind, retired 911 operator, who lists his hobbies as "watching" television, Braille cooking, and talking to his dead wife on his CB radio
Juror #5 . . . a twenty-two-year-old mother of five employed as a "chef" at Taco Bell who wants her children to be in "cho bidness"
Juror #6 . . . an unemployed, forty-two-year-old drag queen named Butterfield Ate, who is, pound for pound, the best Elizabeth Taylor impersonator in Orlando
Juror #7 . . . a forty-five-year-old magician who once made Al Gore's lead over George W. Bush in Florida disappear
Juror #8 . . . a thirty-eight-year-old woman who listed "lukrative [sic] book contract" as her main ambition in life
Juror #9 . . . a seventy-year-old retired librarian who writes erotic children's books "to keep me young"
Juror #10 . . . a twenty-one-year-old Alfred E. Neumann look alike majoring in Caucasian studies at the University of
The scarlet letter, twenty-first-century style.
South Florida
Juror #11 . . . a forty-six-year-old fortune teller who predicted four years ago that America isn't ready yet for a half-black president
Juror #12 . . . a fifty-year-old woman who trains ponies for children's birthday parties and the adult entertainment industry
Amused? Disgusted? Royally pissed off? Click the Twitter link to share with a friend. Go ahead. It's free.
Ten Things You Should Flip the Bird to Before You Die 1. Religion
2. Voting
3. Seat Belts
4. Facebook
5. Paying for Music and Movies
6. The Bucket List
7. Classical Music
8. Pissing Indoors All the Time
9. Hats
10. Going to Bed Early.
Having trouble timing the waves these days? After you've leapt nimbly onto your board, does the big one slam you to the ocean floor every damn time? Chill out, surfer person. It isn't Alzheimer's. Or Lyme disease. Or AADD. You forgot to set your clock ahead in April. When the big hand's on the little hand, sing a Beach Boys song. Most of them couldn't surf either.
Meaner than a powdery, old-hag English teacher, The Grammar Prick will split your head if you split an infinitive.
The book that inspired a website is available from Cedar Tree Books. Written by someone who was actually raised by pugs, Postcards is a welcome addition to any mailbox. Sample chapters:
Strike a blow for freedom.
