I Can't Stand It Anymore?

Here's an idea that can't lose: create a chemical that can be aerosolized and dispersed across the entire nation and once it hits people renders them unable to phrase EACH AND EVERY FUCKING SENTENCE in the form of an interrogative. Something as simple as giving directions becomes an adventure in the misplaced question mark.

Now: So, you head north on Main Street?
Post Chemical Dispersal: You head north on Main Street.

Now: And then you make a right on Elm?
Post Chemical Dispersal: And then you make a right on Elm.

Now: It should take about 10 minutes on foot?
Post Chemical Dispersal: It should take about 10 minutes on foot.

When and fucking where was it decided that every moron in the country needed to sound like a retarded Valley Girl 24 hours a day? I hear it everywhere! At work, on the radio, on the TV and its driving me INSANE!! There is no verbal communication immune from this idiotic affectation. To wit:

I'm trying to take a shit? It's looking like I'm going to run out of toilet paper? I'll head over to the linen closet and take out a new roll? That way when I sit down to take that shit I mentioned I'll have sufficient toilet paper to clean up after said shit? Cause it's a drag? To run out? Of toilet paper? When you really need it?

Haven't we suffered enough? (That's an actual question, by the way.) Isn't it about time we regained our national, minimal IQ and stopped insisting that we all have to sound like high school mean girls? To these valid questions I say: YES! Not, Yes? So, ladies and gentlemen. Put down the question marks and slowly back away. It's for your own good, trust me on this. But of far greater importance: it's for MY OWN good! Break the insidious habit of the question mark, I beg you.

You'll be glad you did. I guarantee it?

Phaedra Parks: Woman on the Verge...of Overacting

Aaaight, Imma make this one brief: Phaedra Parks is now officially the WORST ho that's ever been on any Real Housewives series and that includes Danielle Staub. I mean, I LOVE me some Real Housewives of Atlanta, I actually want to hang out with Nene like 24/7, but this year's dumbass award has got to go, hands-down, to Phaedra "I AM A Lawyer" Parks. This week Phaedra's in the hospital having her gigantic baby, being induced at 7 months because it's just too big already. Huh? Well, finally tonight the doc weighs in (see how I did that?) and calls it true: this baby is TERM, motherfucker! We're talking 40 weeks! So Phaedra is, as Kim Zolciak would say: "a lying sack of shit." Apparently Mommy Parks who is some kind of...uh...clergyperson...doesn't approve of pregnancy out of wedlock. Uh...OK. Yo! Ma! Welcome to 2010, babe! Guess Phaedra was too busy eating her Lady Fingers with "Barbarian" Cream to clue you in to her...condition. Whatevs.

Anyway to get to the point, this week Ms. Thang had her baby taken out of her by way of tasteful (low incision, you'll still be able to wear a bikini) C-section. Now I've had an actual C-section and I'm here to tell you that you are numb brothers and sisters, numb as in, DO I STILL HAVE ANYTHING BELOW MY ELBOWS THAT IS ATTACHED TO MY BODY? But Ms. Phaedra, once drugged and on the table, commences to whining and crying and gets all: "Ow...Ow! Ooooch! Gasp!"

Phaedra, can we tawk? Time to focus girl. You got the chiseled ex-con husband. You got the borderline "celebrity" law practice (if you count Bobbie Brown and some chick who got kicked out of Destiny's Child before they became Destiny's Child), you've even had the Twilight Zone baby shower replete with ballerinas and...a bizzaro-world courtly dance with Dwight "The Man With No Face" and your gigantic pregnant belly. Time to invest in some acting classes. Heck, hook up with Sheree; she's all about the "work" this year, all about the "craft". Do whatever you have to do bitch, because when you start whining in "pain" during a C-fucking-section, you're poised to become the most ridiculous joke in a veritable SEA of ridiculous jokes. Shit, you're making Kim look normal. And BTW, who knew that Kim was a NURSE? Working a pole in a nurse's costume, by all means, YES, but a real, actual nurse!? Wow....OK, then, nuff said. I'll leave it at that, but stay tuned to this channel which may very well become a weekly comment on the wacky, wonderful, jiggly world that is The Real Housewives of Atlanta!

Does The ABIB Have to Go There?

Yes, The ABIB has to go there. And frankly it's probably overdue. So I'm reading about this whole "don't ask don't tell" issue that's got everyone's shorts up their crack and I gotta say: Ya'll are FUCKED UP!! Jeez O Man what is wrong with people? Isn't it enough that gay folks can't marry the person that they love in a ceremony of their choosing, in a place of their choosing and have that sanctified union recognized in EVERY FUCKING STATE IN OUR NATION?! And, oh, by the way? Have the same civil rights AS EVERY OTHER TAX PAYING CITIZEN WHO JUST HAPPENS TO FUCK A MEMBER OF THE OPPOSITE SEX! What is wrong with us? As a people? As a culture? Are we really that frightened and narrow and just plain bigoted? Really? Makes a bitch sad I gotta tell you.

So back to the military thingie. I think that every fucking asshole who thinks that gay people should have to serve in silence regarding their true selves, in, oh I don't know....Afghanistan, Iraq, anywhere our military serves on the whole globe, I think that those bigoted, messed-up and just plain confused assholes should have to personally take the fucking place of a hidden gay person serving in the sand of wherever those brave folks are serving. Just to shut them the fuck up. For real.

I keep waiting for us as a culture to do the minimally right thing and recognize folks' rights to live their lives as they choose. Within the law. ALL THE LAWS. To marry openly and be afforded ALL OF THE SAME RIGHTS as tax paying citizens that their heterosexual neighbors are afforded. To not have to hide who they are and who they love for fear of being passed over for a promotion or not being able to adopt a child who needs two loving parents. Regardless of their genders. LOVE IS LOVE, PEOPLE! This is the irony that the haters never seem to grasp: its all about being able to love and love openly and make choices that are right for you. No matter what.

The current rash of suicides among young gay people is the part of this awful story that is the worst. Our cultural inability to reign in bigoted hatred is poisoning the structure of our society at such an elemental level that young gay people are choosing death rather than going forward into a world that should be open to their bright youth, their hopeful enthusiasm and the fresh vibrancy that their souls are ready to bring into our world. This is the most painful outcome of all and I'll leave it at that.

Enough is enough.

I know The ABIB is normally all about the crazy shit but this stuff is serious and it is heartbreaking to me. So, please, do a bitch a favor and STOP IT. Open your hearts and open your minds and I promise you...if you do...you'll see that its right and that it makes you feel better. More connected. More human. And isn't that what's going to make or break us? Give a bitch a break and try acceptance for a change. I promise you it'll be bitchin'.

Who's Got Parking Issues? The ABIB, That's Who!

What up? ABIB here with today's Gripe Du Jour: people who employ handicapped parking hang tags when their fat asses are more than capable of walking from a regular parking space. I mean, first of all, where the fuck are all of these handicapped hang tags coming from? Is there some vendor stand somewhere in Baltimore that sells these suckers to anyone with cash to spend? Don't you think that the whatever-the-fuck-agency that oversees such things would wonder: "hmmmm....there is an alarming increase in handicapped people in Baltimore based on the number of parking hang tags we're unloading here. Perhaps a study of the air and/or water is in order." Oh, but wait, I'm talking about your average John or Jane Q. Municipal Worker. No such analysis going on there, probably barely the basics of cognition are going on there. Or worse, they're printing the fucking things in their basement.

Anyway, it never fails, there I am at work, shopping, anywhere there's a parking lot and invariably some gigantic-ass SUV (they seem to especially proliferate among SUV drivers, another SUPER PET PEEVE of the ABIB as regular readers know) rolls into the right-next-to-the-fucking-door handicapped parking space and BINGO! there's the little blue and white hang tag. The door opens and out steps some gigantic-assed PERSON, however, and don't wring me out here over this its strictly observational: NORMALLY A FAT ASSED WOMAN or womyn, or woomin or whatever the newest gender-normative spelling is. Yes, I'm here to say it out loud: mostly I see big, fat women lumbering out of their giant, gas guzzling SUVs and parking a mere few steps from the door of whatever retail or office emporium they have chosen to visit. A MERE FEW STEPS. Shit, most of these big berthas could REALLY use the fucking exercise it takes to WALK the normally relatively short distance from any other parking space to the front door.

They lumber their big asses out the door and shuffle on in to...wherever. I'm seething, of course, because, let's face it, I AM the ABIB, after all and just about anything makes me seethe. And when I seethe I seem to amost always imagine...imagine...imagine what could happen...

"Ma'am! Excuse me: MA'AM?!"
"Huh?"
"Ma'am I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the vehicle."
"Wha?"
"Step your ass away from your vehicle, is what I'm asking."
"Who are you?"
"I'm someone who has been appointed to verify the validity of your handicapped parking hang tag and, if deemed invalid, to CONFISCATE IT AND MAKE YOU PARK OUT IN THE LOT WITH THE REST OF US NON-SCOFFLAWS and...oh, I don't know...WALK?!"

I can see her startled, slightly annoyed expression and of course, being The ABIB, it fills me with unbridled glee, but I press on with the bust making her prove WHO she has to haul around that is ACTUALLY HANDICAPPED. Is it your Grandmother, your Mother, your Father, your Auntie Ruth? Who is the actually crippled person whose inabilty to WALK has afforded you that golden parking pass?
Of course I would expect that answer to be in the negatory and then I would get to CONFISCATE IT! Bwhaahahahahahahahahahaha!

Plus I could offer some healthy eating suggestions (lay off the Doritos and lace up the sneaks, sister) to go with her newfound WALKING REGIMEN! HAH! Now, don't get all whackjob on me here, I know that there have to be SOME GIANT GAS GUZZLING SUVs that haul handicapped Gramma to the mall but I'm guessing that that number is somewhere right around three...out of the whole lot of them. But ABIB you ask, how can you just pull a random number like that out of your ass? To that I say, and it's strictly anecdotal observation here, I admit it, but of all the GIANT SUVs sporting handicapped hang tags I've seen in how many cases have I watched an actual handicapped person emerge from the vehicle? Um....exactly ZERO! So my estimation of three is pretty darned generous.

So there you have it, ABIB's Gripe Du Jour and tiny little revenge fantasy all in one post. Can it be that this will be the new format? That I bitch about some asshole doing something moronic and then I get to picture the inevitable ABIB-delivered course correction? Me likey the sound of that! Stay tuned, folks, I'm already mentally plotting the denouement of hapless suckers everywhere.

This Just In...

Rolling Stone reports that singer Phil Collins said in an interview that he has contemplated suicide. Hmmmmm...well Phil, I'm pretty sure many others did too after having to listen to your shitty music.

Asshole told his wife he wanted a divorce via fax. What a wanker.