Osama: U.S. to Blame for...Darn Near Everything

Osama Bin Laden is blaming the United States alone for the Global Warming problem. Well, of course he is. According to him, the U.S. is to blame for everything that goes awry in the universe from body odor to sunspots. As a matter of fact, my chair cracked and fell out from underneath me the other day and no sooner had I realized what had happened and why I found myself flat on my butt with my feet in the air, did I receive a mysterious phone call from what sounded like a man speaking through excessive facial hair and a crackly microphone.

"The United States is to blame for your unfortunate chair-cracking incident," the mysterious voice informed me. I swore I heard a reverb, as though this voice was speaking to me from like a tunnel or a bathroom or a CAVE.

"Bin Laden, is this you again?" I queried, rubbing my sore backside. "Look freak, the only reason I cracked my chair and fell out of it is because I ate too many Ho-Ho's last week. I fail to believe that the mean ol’ United States came to my house when I wasn't looking and loosened the screws. Why must everything be a damn conspiracy to you? Also, I'm tracing this call, and maybe THIS TIME, we'll actually hone in on you and take you into custody like we should have nine freaking years ago. Yeah. What do you think about that, sucker?"

"The United States chose to dismiss my comments and to not confirm that it is my voice on this call." Bin Laden mused. "They shall be breaking down your door any minute because of your correspondence with me, as they would rather punish an American for talking to a terrorist than punish a terrorist for being a terrorist. Ya dig?"

Then, as if Bin Laden could somehow see into our intelligence system (NOTE: he actually probably can), there was a click on the other end of the line, followed immediately by the deafening crunch of my door being broken down. The last thing I remember, I saw a cannister of some kind come tinkling in by my feet and then I woke up in an interrogation room.

It’s now five hours later and I forgot everything I was trying to talk about here. I thought that “Men in Black” stuff was only in the movies.

Ambz the Ripper

Only the Huge Die Young

Bruce Snowden recently passed away at the age of 63, marking the end of the Fat Man Sideshow attraction. Billed as "Howard Huge" (*giggle*), Snowden had been fatting it up since 1977 until his death on November 9, 2009, the news of which was only recently released.

Since I seem to have a knack for always being at the right place at the right time, after reading the news, I realized that I’d been fortunate enough to have scored an interview with Howard Huge a mere week before his not-so-surprising passing.

Ambz the Ripper: “So, "Mr. Huge, I see that you're um...fat. Like really fat. Are those floorboards going to hold throughout this interview or should I reinforce them with titanium steel beams?"

Howard Huge: “ME WAAANT COOOOOKIE!”

Ambz the Ripper: “Oh. Oh my. Well, I would just like to ask you a few questions before you run out of breath. What I really want to know is what makes you so GD special and unique since there are like a billionty obese people in America these days? I mean, these days all one has to do in order to gawk at an obese person is go down to the local all-you-can-eat buffet or any Wal-Mart. I know, because I do this often."

Howard Huge: “YOU LOOK LIKE BEANPOLE. ME WANT TO EAT BEANPOLE!”

Ambz the Ripper: “Look, Huge Howard. If you don't stop looking at me as though I am a piece of lean, premium tenderloin I'm going to have to cut this interview short because, frankly, I would like to walk out of here without gnaw marks on my calves."

Howard Huge: “YOU SAID TENDERLOIN! I WANT TO...”

Ambz the Ripper: “Yeah, yeah, yeah. YOU WANT TO EAT! This interview is over.”

Defeated, I rose from my chair, thanked Howard Huge's hoser-offers, and turned to walk away.

Howard Huge: “I SEE RUMP ROAST! I WANT TO EAT RUMP ROAST!”

This USDA-approved premium cut ran from Howard Huge's fat barn flailing my arms and screaming like a little bitch. At least I knew he’d never be able to catch me.

Ambz the Ripper

Apple iPad - REALLY?

I can’t be the only one whose mind, upon registering the name of Apple’s recently announced electronic gadget, conjured up images of a music-playing, app-ready sanitary napkin, right? iPad? Are you kidding me? Was this a joint venture between Apple and Stayfree or were the branding geniuses simply asleep at the click wheel on this one?

Forget that critics are already dismissing the device as “a giant iPhone” and compiling lists documenting the functionality the apparatus is lacking (e.g., no camera, no built-in USB, no HDMI, no multi-tasking capability, etc.) - the first question that came to my mind is whether the thing comes with an adhesive strip to hold it in place.

Whether the Apple branding staff is lacking in the female representation which could have pointed out this obvious miscue or this is a huge inside joke the team is playing on the world (akin to the Disney artists inserting, so to speak, penile images into their cartoon artwork), it’s bad branding.

Look for more from me when iPad 2.0 is released. Word on the street is that it will incorporate “wings” and be made available in both “fresh scent” and “scent free”.

Candy Parker

I Tink I Saw an Overdose

According to her buffoon husband, Simon Monjack, Hollywood killed Brittany Murphy when she wasn’t asked to reprise her role in Happy Feet. So now Monjack is filing a wrongful death suit against...um…Warner Brothers. That's right, Warner Brothers. Like him against the entire Bugs Bunny/Roadrunner Show cast of characters – and then some. In an interview with The Daily Beast Sherlock Bloat says:

“They killed her."

Although the Los Angeles County Coroner’s Office hasn’t released a final cause of death, Monjack and Brittany’s mother, Sharon, are convinced that the once-promising star died of a heart attack resulting from the stress associated with Warner Brothers canceling her contract just two weeks before she died. Murphy was excited to have begun production on the sequel to the animated hit Happy Feet, but when she was fired by Warner Brothers, Monjack says, “She was devastated.”

Well, finally some answers! It's been keeping me up at night for weeks wondering how in the world a healthy 32 year-old Hollywood actress could just keel over from cardiac arrest. (NOTE: Usually it’s because of drugs.) And now, thanks to her bloated husband who seems to sport upper lip sweat even during the winter, this mystery has finally been solved. (NOTE: It was totally drugs.) Happy Feet would have totally gotten away with it if it wasn't for her grieving husband’s bravery in coming forward. (And the DRUGS.)

I’m relieved because I now know that respectable news sources and official coroner reports can be SO cruel and full of lies. (Brittany Murphy died because she took too many DRUGS.) Like when they said Brittany Murphy was found dead she was surrounded by a Giza-pyramid of prescription bottles. (Which many of you may recognize as typically containing DRUGS.) Yeah right!

“Hogwash,” I say, to the fact that every time you saw her on the red carpet or during any interview her pupils were the size of dinner saucers. (On account of she was probably on DRUGS.) “Bah,” I say to the fact that it actually came out of her own mouth that Brittany Murphy just really, really liked penguins. (DRUGS.)

Ambz the Ripper

Too Many Kids and Counting

Now I know that the birth of a baby is supposed to be a miraculous and heart-warming event, but Jim Bob Duggar and his super-ovaried wife Michelle just welcomed their 19th child. That's 19 more children than I ever wanted and yet somehow, after reading the article about their latest arrival, I started to hear the creak and groan of my biological clock trying its GD best to tick.

At first I didn't realize what the heck was going on, because anytime you get me near a child, the only sounds I hear are those of my eyes rolling and the ringing associated with the blood pressure rising in my ears. But one night recently, having found myself bored and drunk, I decided to watch "19 Kids and Counting" on TLC. After taking in the show, I must admit that...my tune didn't change. Not one bit.

Every time the parents were trying to talk to the camera, all I could hear in the background were screaming and wailing kids causing a ruckus. As I sat there drinking my 19th beer and counting, I was perplexed to see how well Jim Bob keeps himself composed as his house seems to be rumbling around him with his offspring's activity.

Understand – these people have to take a bus everywhere they go. The little girls wear hand-stitched compound dresses that I assume have pantaloons underneath. I couldn't stop my sinful and drunken mind from wondering just when in the heck these two have time to pork. But apparently they do - a lot - leading TLC to recently give up and change the title of the show to "The Fantastic Sex Lives of Jim Bob Billy and Fertile Myrtle."

Ambz the Ripper

Jessica Simpson's "Sweetest" Sin

In case you were wondering what the always-classy Jessica Simpson has been up to lately (which if you’re like everyone else on the planet, you probably weren’t) well, she's been having high-profile meetings to ensure that her wildly successful acting and music career keeps careening full speed ahead and, oh, who am I kidding? I can’t even keep a straight face. Turns out she's busting ass in front of important people. US Magazine has the stinky exclusive.

A source tells Us Weekly that Jessica Simpson had a, ahem, windy moment during a business meeting for her denim line in late January. "While one of the executives was speaking in a room full of five people, Jessica let out a very loud fart," says the insider. Her mother [Tina Simpson] was there, and it prompted her to turn around and yell, 'Jessica!' The tension was extreme. No one knew what to say."

Well, I would have known what to say and that is "P…U! Jessica totally farted." And then I'd have clipped a clothes pin on my nose and asked her if this was her pitch to demonstrate the sturdiness of the denim used for her line.

"Miss Simpson, am I to understand that you believe you have discovered a state-of-the-art denim technology that allows you to blow butt in your jeans and not have it reek to high heaven of bacon-wrapped donuts? Because everyone's eyes still seem to be watering. Although I am pleased to see that the backside of your jeans are no longer radiating a cloud of denim dust, which means either you cut back on your intake of deep-fried chimichangas (*chuckle* yeah right), or you figured out a plan to sturdy the denim, for which you are to be commended. However, the fact that there is a pesky green cloud lingering in your general vicinity can only mean that we haven't yet solved the filtration problem. Back to the drawing board with the plans - and back to your cage with you."

Ambz the Ripper

Elizabeth Edwards Finally Grows a Pair and Ditches a Pair

I've never wanted to screech at my computer screen, “YOU GO, GIRL!,” until I crumpled daintily on my fainting couch as much as I did today when I read that Elizabeth Edwards has finally told John Edwards to cram it. A man who cheats on his wife after 32 years of marriage is indeed a cad, but as we all know, this class act waited until Elizabeth's metastatic cancer had reached stage four. Repeat: Stage FOUR.

I think the most enraging part of it all was that when Mr. Edwards was asked about his rotten-to-the core timing in diddling the campaign videographer behind his dying wife's back, he bleated, "Her cancer was in remission when I had the affair," to which the person who was conducting the interview responded, "Shut your butt, your teeth are showing."

I don't care who you are, that is whack and I couldn't be more proud of Elizabeth Edwards for her decision to leave that waste of taint. As a mater of fact, I heard it from a reliable source* that when news reached Kim Jong-Il in North Korea, he pumped his tiny fists in the air and high-fived his Pol Pot poster.

*my imagination

Ambz the Ripper

Lt. Governor Andre Bauer - Don't Feed the Strays

Remember Governor Mark Sanford? You know, the grimy politician who went AWOL to go see his hot piece of ass on the side in Argentina? Well, apparently the reason Sanford wasn't impeached immediately after his disappearing act was because the guy in line for his job, Lt. Govenor Andre Bauer, already had a reputation of being a complete asshole. Proving once an asshole, always a major douche, Bauer recently opened the stink hole in his face about exactly what his views are on government aid, specifically welfare:

"My grandmother was not a highly educated woman, but she told me as a small child to quit feeding stray animals. You know why? Because they breed! You're facilitating the problem if you give an animal or a person ample food supply. They will reproduce, especially ones that don't think too much further than that."

I was fortunate enough to be in the vicinity as Bauer released this statement. I happened to be sifting through a burning barrel near the town hall and made an auspicious find amidst the rubbish, a state-of-the-art tape recorder with a built-in bullshit translator. When I returned home to the cardboard box I call home and opened my can of beans with my lone tooth, I played the translated interview back and, no joke, this is what I heard:

"My grandmother was a big ol' honky, and the day she actually spoke to me directly and not through a nanny, she told me that poor people are like stray dogs with mange that have nothing but hedonistic sex on the brain. Oh yeah, and they stink. These wastes of flesh will only make more babies if you give them food and allow them to live, and who the hell wants that? All tainting up the human race and shit."

As I gummed my beans and lit a fart for warmth, I couldn't help but be a little angry - at the voters. It's like we take the most evil and ignorant and silver-spooned idiot and say, "That's the one. That's the guy I want making my decisions for me! Woo-wee things are gonna get better now!"

Can’t we just STOP IT?!

Ambz the Ripper

John Travolta Tries to Help - Ends up Capitalizing on a National Disaster

I am a natural humanitarian as I think all, um, humans should be. But it was made blatantly clear to me today that every time a celebrity tries to help after a huge disaster like Haiti, they always end up eff'ing it up.

Disclaimer: I find nothing funny about the disaster in Haiti. I find everything disgusting about stinking rich celebrities with their own personal whack-job agendas.

John Travolta stepped up to the plate recently by flying his own jet to Haiti, filled with relief supplies (OK, good so far), doctors (Wow, what a guy!), and (wait for it) Scientology ministers (foghorn blast).

Because the most important thing to the hundreds of thousands of victims of one of the most devastating earthquakes we'll see in our lifetime is for Danny Zuko and his strange and off-putting butt chin to whisk in and warn Haitians about the dangers of psychiatry.

You almost had it, John Travolta. You were so close to appearing to be a normal and concerned human being by sharing your ridiculous wealth with a suffering people. Now if you could just keep your religion in your pants and stop viewing horrifying circumstances as an open door for your belief in a religion that has as much credibility as the Bat Boy story, well, that would do just fine, thanks. I'd like to tell John Travolta the same thing I tell my call girls:

"Just leave the money on the table. Nobody cares what you think."

Ambz the Ripper