Thursday, March 22, 2018

Eating the Booty Like Groceries is Apparently Fully Mainstream and I Am Shook

A long-standing feature of O.H.M. has been to shine a light where darkness would otherwise cast its pall.

To that end, I’m now going to shine my brightness in the darkest of holes—the classic cavern where the sun don’t shine: the human anus. More specifically, the increased level of mainstream and regular attention that the human anus appears to be receiving in the bedroom.

For background context, I’m 40 and grew up in an age and culture where every sexual encounter was described in terms of baseball: first base (kissing); second base (touching boobs); “sloppy second,” (kissing boobs); third base (touching front-facing junk); and home base (self-explanatory).

The booty-hole was always there, of course, as it has been since humans evolved. But it didn’t have its own publicly-designated role in the process, as far as I was aware.

In other words, “eating booty” was not then (to my knowledge) a standardized element of the heterosexual bedroom repertoire. Sure, maybe there’d be the occasional messing around in that “area.” But if my twitter feed is any indication (and perhaps it’s not?), “eating the booty like groceries” is now a plain vanilla, standard-issue hookup element.

I find this jarring.

Not because the particular bacterial implications of this activity kind of gross me out, although they do. But more because the older I get, the more moments I have where I find myself asking myself “when did this (any “this”) become a thing?”

Like what was I doing when booty-eating fully took off as a trend? 

My guess would be it happened sometime between 2006 and now, but cultural demographers might beg to differ. I could have been breastfeeding babies or picking wet Cheerios off the wall by then, in which case “booty-eating” would’ve been just about the furthest thing from my mind.

If my marriage ever ends due to death or divorce, will I be equipped to re-enter the “workforce?” Regardless, will I overhear my young adult children complaining to their friends that the person they are dating lacks skills in this department?

I must say, it’s all very destabilizing to my sense of order, which I guess is pretty much 2018 in a nutshell. Or a butthole, as the case may be.

6 Songs I Never Want My 10 Year-Old Daughter to Hear

He said he met this little girl by the name of Onika
Way my body shape, all the boys wanna freak her
Brag and I boast, they be doin the most
If I look at his friend, he'll be grippin the toaster
So I took him to the crib to kill him with it
Put my legs behind my head, I hit the ceiling with it
When I put it in his mouth I couldn't believe it
He looked me in my eyes and said he wanna breed it
Passa Passa, you ain't got no wins in mi casa
Big fat pussy; Mufasa

--Nicki Minaj, French Montana

My milk shake brings all the boys to the yard,
And they're like,
Its better than yours,
Damn right its better than yours,
I can teach you,
But I have to charge

--Milkshake, Kelis

Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy (Hey, what up girl?)
Grab my glasses, I'm out the door; I'm gonna hit this city (Let's go)
Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack
'Cause when I leave for the night, I ain't coming back
I'm talking pedicure on our toes, toes
Trying on all our clothes, clothes
Boys blowing up our phones, phones
Drop-topping, playing our favorite CD's
Rollin' up to the parties
Trying to get a little bit tipsy

--Tik Tok, Kesha

I eat my dinner in my bathtub

Then I go to sex clubs
Watching freaky people getting it on
It doesn't make me nervous if anything
I'm restless yeah, I've been around and I've seen it all
I get home, I got the munchies, binge on all my Twinkies, throw up in the tub and I go to sleep
And I drank up all my money, dazed and kinda lonely

--Habits, Tove Lo

There's a stranger in my bed
There's a pounding my head
Glitter all over the room
Pink flamingos in the pool
I smell like a minibar
DJ's passed out in the yard
Barbie's on the barbecue
This a hickey or a bruise?
Pictures of last night
Ended up online
I'm screwed
Oh well
It's a blacked out blur
But I'm pretty sure it ruled, damn

--Last Friday Night, Katy Perry

Just gonna stand there
And watch me burn
But that's alright
Because I like
The way it hurts
Just gonna stand there
And hear me cry
But that's alright
Because I love
The way you lie
I love the way you lie

--Love the Way You Lie, Eminim ft. Rihanna

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Ugh I Want to Control the Weather So Fucking Badly!

I've heard a lot of anti-Semitic conspiracy theories in my life, especially since leaving NYC. But this week was the first time I heard that Jews control the weather, and my first thought was:


More than the media, more than the global banking industry, more than Hollywood, more than anything—I wish I could control the weather, AND, in one fell swoop, every old Jewish person who complains about it.

Now let me just take a brief detour here to point out that there is almost nothing—NOTHING—I can control. Here’s a brief and non-exhaustive list of things I can’t control but wish I could:

1. My kids.
2. My feels.
3. My weight/thiccness.
4. The sagginess of my twice-destroyed-by-babies titties and imminent career switch to a job at Jewish Hooters (Jewters)
5. Asshole lawyers.
6. Lost socks.
7. A 747 landing smoothly.
8. My anxiety, low-level depression, and persistent sense of nihilism and “meh.”
9. Trolls.
10. The lack of fresh basil readily available for purchase in Juneau.

But I’d trade the ability to control all of these things if it meant I could control the weather. 

Washington DC councilman Trayon White said that a freak spring snowstorm was “climate manipulation . . . based off the Rothschilds controlling the climate to create natural disasters they can pay for to own the cities, man.”

Like honestly, how amazing would this be?!

I don't know if it's just the Rothschilds or if lowbrow plebe Jews like me get to do this too, but the first thing I’d do with my Super Human Jew Powers is actually end climate change, because it sucks very hard, I’ll have you know.

Far from trying to perpetuate global warming in order to create a problem in search of a solution, I’d use my Jewy Weather Magic to reverse what the Gentiles at Exxon Mobil and B.P. have done to the planet. (WHERE ARE THEY IN THIS CONSPIRACY, BTW?!)

Then, I’d restore four normal seasons to America, just like there used to be in the good old 1960s. (Weather MAGA!) 

There’d be snow and polar ice caps in winter, a normal as opposed to debilitating level of heat and wildfire conflagrations in summer, crocuses in March not January, and fewer devastating tornadoes and hurricanes. Also, glaciers. All of which would help the airplane turbulence factor that goes back to #7 on the non-exhaustive list of things I can’t control but wish I could.

I’d also wake up every morning and Jew-Abracadabra up the perfect temperature, barometric pressure, and precipitation for whatever I was doing: Skiing? 25 degrees and fresh pow! Beach day? 75 and sunny with low humidity! 

Boom, bam, done.

No one would need meteorologists on TV anymore. There’d just be a daily check-in of What Weather Did the Jews Order Today. 

Speaking for myself, the day that Jews control the weather is a very happy day for me indeed.

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

If Trump Has a Dick Pic, Dick Pics are Done.

That’s really all there is to it. 

Every trend, at a certain point, reaches its inevitable end. Sometimes things just fade out, like glam rock and airbrushed yearbook photos. One day they seem like they’ll be cool forever, and ten years later they look ridiculous.

But occasionally, there’s a sentinel event that basically kills a trend dead where it stands, and that’s what would happen to the medium of the dick pic were Trump to have a dick pic. 

Because at the point that Donald Trump’s dick exists on film or on a computer or smartphone for posterity, dick pics are over. Done. Finito. Stick a fork in it. No one can ever, EVER send a dick pic to anyone ever again.

Now women in 2018 are generally of two schools of thought on the dick pic. They’re either somewhere on the spectrum of revolted or indifferent, or they feel this is critical information they need to have in advance for some reason. 

But whichever category they fall into, nine out of ten will agree that the existence of a Trump dick pic will be the end of dick pics.

Trump, you understand, is categorically repulsive to women. Even the women who voted for him find him repulsive, I assume. And the only thing that could be more nauseating than Trump himself is Trump’s dick. Especially in a pic, which is statistically (and fortunately) the closest most of us would ever even theoretically get to Trump’s dick.

A friend suggested that perhaps the medium of the dick pic could be salvaged if the Trump dick pic was on oldschool film, which, given the timing of the Stormy Daniels situation, seems likely.

Regardless, I think it’s safe to say the dick pic will be done if Trump has one in any format; but even if it’s not, I still hope he does. 

Not because it matters. It doesn’t. 

There’s not a scandal in the world that can touch Teflon Don, least of all a scandal involving his dick. It’ll just be a super entertaining plot development for a week, and an opportunity to watch Sarah Huckabee Sanders squirm. 

And sadly, I think that’s really the most any of us can hope for right now.

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Trump Knock-Knock Jokes

Knock, knock!
Who's There?
Collusion who?

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Interrupting Mueller.
Interrupting Muell—

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
The Biggest.
The Biggest who?

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Orange who?
Orange ya glad I’m orange and you can focus on that instead of on the fact that I could murder you in your sleep at the touch of a button?

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Take a knee.
Take a knee who?

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Nazi who?
Naziing the problem
 with these Very Fine People.™

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Appreciate the congrats.
Appreciate the congrats who?
“Appreciate the congrats” is 
just something I like to tweet to my 40M followers to congratulate myself on being congratulated, which is totally normal.

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Thoughts and prayers.
Thoughts and prayers who?
Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of semi-automatic gunfire.

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Grabem who?
Grabem by the pussy, where else?

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Annie who?
Annie one left in this White House with a shred of intact dignity?

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Russian who?
Russian to cover up a bunch of shady financial transactions.

Knock, knock
Who's there?

Robin who?
Robin the country blind while screaming JOBS JOBS JOBS and MAGA every five seconds.

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Nita who?

Nita pretty good lawyer to keep you outta jail.

Friday, March 16, 2018

Someone Gotta Bring This One Home to Mama!

Ladies, all mah ladies, louder now, help me out. This is your lucky day, because I'm off the market and therefore Lester Allen Holt is ALL YOURS. 

If you can find him, that is. 

Not to be confused with TV personality Lester Holt of NBC Nightly News and Dateline NBC, THIS Lester Holt (or is it Hunt? The caption says Holt and the headline says Hunt) was charged with burglary in 2010 and is now wanted for skipping probation where else but here in end-of-the-road Juneau.

And we better find him quick, because this is a dude someone needs to bring home to mama STAT.

Now, I can't interpret ALL of the tattoos on his face, but the Swastika on his bald head makes me think a lot of them are a little bit Aryan-Nation-y, maybe? 

My own Jewish mom would perhaps be slightly put off by that, but I think the other ink makes up for it, like the random letters and numbers and stuff which I am confident roughly translate to Heil Hitler?

Anyhoo, some Lucky Young Woman better find Lester fast so she can bring him home to meet the parents. The convo would go something like this:

LYM: Hi Mom, I want you to meet the Man of My Dreams™
Mom: Oh that's nice dear! Why don't we have him to dinner tomorrow?
LYM: Sounds good, he likes steak. One tiny thing though . . . he's not really free tomorrow.
Mom: Oh no? Why's that?
LYM: Um, he jumped probation on a burglary charge and is a fugitive at the moment.
Mom: That's lovely dear!
LYM: But he should be easy to track down. He's very distinctive looking.
Mom: How so?
LYM: Well he has a giant Swastika on his head.
Mom: Is that right?
LYM: Yes, also a lot of other tattoos on his face.
Mom: Interesting! How inventive!
LYM: Also giant blue earplugs which are slightly unconventional perhaps but by no means disqualifying.
Mom: Not at all.
LYM: Can't wait for you to meet him.
Mom: Me too dear! I'll start calling the relatives and planning the wedding now.

If this isn't impetus for Lester to turn himself in, welp, I don't know what is.

Update: A friend of mine in the legal field with knowledge of Lester said that the chances of him murdering/Holocausting me for trying to set him up on a date was only a 3 on a 1-10 scale. This is a risk I’ll take for Yenta-facilitated love. Yenta is Yiddish for match-maker!

Update #2: I just learned Lester is taken! Noooooooooo sorry ladeez!

Thursday, March 15, 2018

Fucking Paw Patrol vs. the NRA? Girl, BYE.

Snowflake. It’s probably one of the top three words of 2018, rolling in somewhere between woke and bananas. 

According to Urban Dictionary (the Merriam Webster of Real Life) a snowflake is a “very sensitive person” who is “easily hurt or offended by the statements or actions of others.”

Now I want you to close your eyes for a minute—wait no, scratch that; keep them open so you can read—and imagine the biggest, fluffiest snowflake you can conjure up. 

This snowflake fluttered down somewhere above Santa’s workshop in the North Pole. It’s bigger than the paper snowflakes your kids make at Christmas, but it’s real, crystalline, icy white snow that melts into a tiny little invisible puddle the second it hits Santa’s bushy white mustache or the tongue of Cindy Lou Who in the Grinch Who Stole Christmas.

That’s the level of snowflake I present to you in the form of Twitter user “Raven Patriot,” whose handle “cheechablunt” at first made me think this is a troll account, because it suggests its owner is a snowflake who gets baked and so maybe is actually just trying to get libtards like me all riled up.

But then I dove into Raven Patriot Stoner's TL, and regardless of whether she rips tubes while listening to the Bob Marley box set, she appears to be your standard-issue, deep-state-conspiracy theory-peddling tinfoil hat-wearing stay at home mom. 

And today, she is RIPSHIT over Nickelodeon’s apparent endorsement of gun control via a 17 minute break in Paw Patrol and its impact on her three baby snowflakes, who were apparently WEEPING over this.

Fucking PAW PATROL, y’alllllllllllllll!

As a clever reader from Canada named Sarah Frey commented on the O.H.M. Facebook page, “then they came for paw patrol, and there was no one left.” I promised Sarah I would work with this, and so I shall:

First they came for Doc McStuffins, and I did
Not speak out—
Because I’m scared of amibtious Black girls.

Then they came for Sponge Bob, and I did
Not speak out—
Because the jokes went over my head.

Then they came for Clarissa Explains it All, and I did
Not speak out
Because Clarissa is a white blonde girl who Gets Me.

Then they came for Paw Patrol, and I tweeted 

My outrage
And the internet dragged me harder than Dora drags Swiper for swiping.

Because why don't I have OnDemand
And then they said to me BYE, FELICIA.