Honey, should we watch the Olympics or some soft core? Why not both?

The scariest part about this video is that I'm pretty sure her pants split because I really wanted her pants to split. Like, I caused it somehow. And I owe her, her family, and every friend she told, "Don't miss it! It's live at 8pm and you should DVR it," well, I owe them all one big, fat, crack of an apology.

I don't know about you guys, but if I was a young, up and coming female bobsleigher with the hopes of one day being in the Olympics, I'd take one look at this video and switch to luge.

I'd like to imagine that the moment before it happened, her dad leaned over to her mom and with a tear in his eye said, "That's my girl."

And why hasn't anyone added a phony fart sound effect to this video yet? Get on it. It'll sound hilarious in slow-mo.

Hey, Is That 3 Condoms in Your Pocket or Are You Just Really Into Freaky Balloon Animals?

According to this, a woman carrying 3 or more condoms in Washington D.C. can be arrested for prostitution.

I don’t know about you guys, but I am totally for this new legislation!

Be honest, ladies, when’s the last time you had 3 condoms in your wallet? 3 condoms! That means you’d have to foresee not 1, not 2, but 3 possibilities of sex you can’t imagine turning down before you can make it home, of course, to stock up on more condoms, you slut.

I can’t think of an occasion when I’ve carried more than 3 tampons in my purse, and trust me, I’m a bleeder. Why would a lady need 3 condoms? The only time I had even one condom in my wallet was when I was a 14-year-old boy trying to impress my friends. (It worked.)

99 times out of a hundred you’re going to have sex at home, so keep your condoms in your nightstand like a human being. Totin’ 3 condoms around like you’re some kinda animal leads me to believe you ‘re either into sex on the go (weird), you like to have the safest sex possible (weirder), or you’re a prostitute (not weird).

Let’s face facts – it’s hard for police to spot prostitutes these days. Plenty of respectable ladies wear fishnet stockings with the vagina parts cut out with fake eyelashes to highlight (his or) her black eyes and lean into passenger windows to ask what you're into. Now that officers can enforce the 3-condoms or you’re out rule, they can weed out the school teachers from the street walkers.

Not to mention, who uses condoms anyway (besides, hopefully, prostitutes)?

Hey, Hey, You, You, I Don't Like My Husband!

Form a line, dudes who never grew out of chain wallets and mass produced AFI hoodies. Avril Lavigne is single again! You know there’s gotta be some pussy out there who wants swap eyeliner and genital fluids with this bitch so that his Dad won’t find out he’s gay. Newsflash: Your dad knows your gay. And, nice pants. I can see your camel toe.

Don’t get me wrong – we’ve all made some terrible fashion mistakes in our time. But it’s been 10 years and Avril is still wearing the same socks. Avril, you’re almost 30. Maybe it’s time to wear socks that don’t make you look like The Hamburgler's slutty sister.

This One Goes Out to You, Uncle Joey

I love me some scorned white women music. And I’d be hard pressed to think of a better song than, “You Oughta Know” or a more appropriate bitch to cover it than Britney. Sista represented in Greensboro, NC last night.

Two of my favorite things, together at last! Like dipping Wendy’s fries in a frosty. You wouldn’t think to combine the two at first, but once you do it becomes sinful that Wendy’s doesn’t offer frosty packets in lieu of ketchup. Britney knows what I’m talkin’ about. She probably asks for the melted cheese on the side too. (It’s an extra 50 cents and if the cashier doesn’t know which button to hit, you can tell him “miscellaneous food.” Don’t judge me.)

All I know is that if there is a God, Dave Coulier can feel Alanis scratching her nails down someone else’s back right now.

John Mayer's Pigment Issues Are Getting Me Off

Either someone dug up an old mugshot of John Mayer busted for speeding (NO!!! SPEEDING?!?) or one of the Growing Up Gotti boys is trying to seduce the shit out of me. Oh no, it’s totally working. I never knew how attracted I was to sunspots before. His forehead is so splotchy this could be an ad for sunscreen. But like the Coppertone Sport manly kind.

Is it just me or do you feel like Mayer’s going to ask you out for a cup of coffee and arrange a threesome with the barista? This photo’s got a real Wanna-Hear-The-Poem-I-Wrote-And-Finger-Each-Other-After-It vibe. Again, I’m into it. And yes, I do want to hear your poem. I’ll give you my interpretation of it after we do facial peels.

The Kardashian I Will Not Be Keeping Up With

Kourtney Kardashian forgot to take her birth control and got pregnant. That’s not a premise for an upcoming episode of her reality show; that’s her life. You know Khloe is so excited she might not be "the fat one" next season.

Which producer on Keeping Up With the Kuntashians suggested this storyline? Sure, I’ll tune in for Kourtney's mood swings and cravings for pickles and ice cream attention, but you can’t write a baby off a reality show! She better have some Mary-Kate/Ashley talent crawl out of her Virginia Slim if she doesn't want late night re-shoots compliments of her dumb kid screwing up his lines.

This time cry like you’re not really a millionaire. C'mon, just think about that time your mom's nude photo almost leaked before her Maxim spread came out. That's sad, right?

The biggest problem I have with this story is that Kourtney admits that her fetus is an accident – like it’s no big deal she forgot to take her pill. Like she forgot to set her DVR. (Except she probably never forgets to do that.) If you can’t remember to take a pill once a day to prevent another living human from feasting on your insides, you’re going to be one hell of a responsible mother.

Kourtney finally released the identity of the father.

Drum roll, please....






It’s Shorty! The homeless guy the sisters took care of until he didn’t go with their outfits anymore. Congrats to the new couple.

Enterprise Rent-a-Lemon Round 2

I got my car back today. The civic was in the body shop (not that kind of body shop) after getting blasted from behind (yes, that kind of blasted) by a woman with 13 consonants in her name. In a row. I could probably find her name scribbled on a super important piece of scratch paper that I threw somewhere, but right now I can only remember there are 3 x’s in it and you wouldn’t believe me if I posted it anyway. Yes, she was Asian and yes, I do have enough pride not to make a joke about her driving.

But seriously, women drivers! C’mon, ladies. If you’re not going to watch the road, get back in the kitchen and make some meatloaf. Or in this case, orange chicken. Whatever you’re good at, really. Just don’t try to get fancy with risotto and F it up is all I’m sayin’. That was a disgrace to Italy, Jeffrey! (It's a Next Food Star thing, you wouldn't understand.)

I should mention that I took back the busted car Enterprise rented me last week to tell my favorite employee that the check engine light, check tire pressure alarm, service airbag alarm, and some light that I think was trying to warn me that I could be struck by a lightning bolt at any given moment – well, all of those were on and making dinging noises. When I told the Enterprise sales guy all he said was, “Don’t worry, you won’t be charged for that,” in between bites of his five-dollar foot long. He could not replace my rental for a more functional one, as Enterprise didn’t have any cars. He mumbled something about a car draught and I left.

I finally returned my excuse for a car to Enterprise this morning, so it was a joy to see all the old friends I’d made last week down at the office. They charged everything to Orange Chicken’s insurance company, which was nice, but I was taken aback when the associate asked me to rate my experience with them.

“Were you completely satisfied?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I said, because I'm a pussy.

“You’re going to get a call asking you to rate our service, and we only pass if you say you were completely satisfied.”

Pass what? Is this some kind of test Enterprise office that I could shut down if I complain? I doubt it. I’m willing to bet the douchebag who calls me later for my service rating works for Enterprise, so by default he will suck too. I’d imagine it will go something like this…

“Oh, you were unsatisfied? That’s cool. So let me get this straight – the car it took you four hours to rent had mud on the seats and a flat tire? Bummer. Next time try Avis. So, seriously, from 1-5 how would you rate your Enterprise experience?”

“I’d probably give it a 3, I guess.” (Remember, I'm a pussy so giving them a 3 is really giving it to 'em good.)

On my way out the door, a sales associate was arguing with (can you believe it?) another unsatisfied customer over the phone. “Ma’am, you probably don’t need to sue Enterprise for this, but you’re more than welcome to try,” she said rolling her empty eyes at a coworker. I laughed out loud as I left the establishment, vowing to never return again.