There may be no more polarizing issue in American politics than whether the state should have the power to force a woman to carry her pregnancy to term.

Why this ought to be “polarizing” is frankly beyond me, but suffice it to say that there seems to be a lot of people in this country who would like to see women give birth while chained to a hospital bed.

If you follow this issue at all, then you know that the forced-birth movement is planning on making “personhood” the focus of its next big legislative push.

That cumbath scene? Not integral.

Here’s something you probably didn’t know about me: my heritage (or at least the part that makes up the majority of my DNA) hails from Denmark.  I don’t know if this helps explain my taste for Scandinavian acts, but it certainly does help explain my pale white skin and my obsessive attitude towards beard growing.

Today’s song is definitely more listener friendly than the last one, but it’s still a tad bit weird for some tastes I’d imagine. 

A number of years ago the American Beef Council or some purveyor of fine meats used the saying “Give the Gift of Meat” as a  holiday sales campaign slogan.   Those of us with somewhat juvenile senses of humor thought that was incredibly funny.

Today there are still some businesses that use the slogan without trying to be intentionally comedic.  Many of these ad campaigns come from Australia, where it is well-known that the inhabitants are generally free of the affliction of irony.

I’ve got a feelin’ about today’s song.  None of ya’ll’s will like it.  But that’s okay.  It’s okay, really.  I love it.  And if you don’t, that’s fine.  This particular genre of music isn’t for everyone.  But if the combination of metal, southern rock and hardcore sounds appealing and you love brilliant lyrics you can barely understand at times, then hey, you just might dig this.

It’s that time when we honor those who have made significant improvements to the world at large with their wit, insight, and compassion.  But this is also when we’re supposed to announce the Smokies, so let’s get that out of the way first, shall we?

Speaking of time, you’ve probably noticed that for highly technical reasons that you couldn’t possibly understand even if you read my new book, Smokies for Dummies, the awards are not published at precisely the same time each week.  But rest assured that your valuable contributions, though housed “on a server the size of housefly teardrops,” are more precious to us than all the cubic zirconia on Long Island.

ChillBearLatrigue and I have a precise, patented algorithm worked out to ensure that not a single utterance on this website is ever overlooked for consideration.  Our timing, based on the atomic clock in Boulder, Colorado, puts relay racers and synchronized swimmers to shame.  It’s a beautiful thing to watch, really. But you can’t watch, because you’re not cleared at that level. Nobody is. Not even CBL or myself.  So we can’t even discuss it between ourselves for fear of violating some obscure provision of the Patriot Act, which he is sworn to uphold.

The following Smokies are presented for wonderfulness through Saturday at 23:59:59.000 EDT:

1) In high school, I used to clip pictures of female celebrities out of my grandmother’s Star, National Enquirer, and other celebrity rags, and tape them to the wall next to my bed. The most clipped? Valerie Bertinelli. Second: Brooke Shields. Third: Jaclyn Smith.

2) Despite growing up in Vermont, I have never been skiing (downhill/cross country).

The G-20 economic summit is taking place in Pittsburgh.

Sarcastro lives there.

He hears things.

Do you love gambling? Even better— do you like gambling to lose? Wall Street sure as hell does! Obviously we all know this, because the system, as it is set up, is doomed to fail. This is old news, even to the laymen. Everybody, whether on the right or left, ran around all over the place holding signs high in the air and screaming loudly for no reason at all. At least we thought we had a reason though, as that is all that matters to our generally dim-witted way of life. No matter what we all believed to be true, the system didn’t change— and it deserves a little overview. Let’s explore, one and all! Make sure you break out the bourbon. This is a depressing picture.

Because I watch a number of shows on a variety of different channels, I discover which advertisers are spending cash to blanket multiple audiences with their message. Of course, they also may just be trying to appeal to me by targeting everything that I watch. Although I find the latter commercial-stalking scenario unlikely, because of my importance as a consumer, it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility. However, the television gods are beginning to piss me off in a way that I haven’t felt since the cancellation of Highlander.

California has been nothing but Fat City for the last 6 years. It was in 2003, when the State (Karl Rove) installed a robot-human into the Governor’s Mansion who was supposed to lead us out of the so-called “despair” that a Democrat had caused. We were pissed about budget delays and “too much Government,” which is a nice segue into the clusterfuck caused by a burly Austrian. This Austrian has broken many proud records, such as the Record for Longest Delay in Securing a Budget (3 times), and the coveted Record for Simultaneously Breaking the Record of Greatest Deficit While Still Being Able to Cut Most State Services.

Most of you can probably guess as to how I feel about this, so I decided to just post it. I’ll save my piece for the comments.

Today’s song is poppy, catchy, upbeat and will put a smile on your face.  It also, in less than three and a half minutes, pretty well sums up how bleak and stupid this existence is.  It’s the most uplifting pessimistic song you’ll hear.  Wrought with despair and very tongue in cheek, it’ll take you to the depths of your frustration with the world and make you feel okay about it.  To quote Dr. Zoidberg, my favorite doctor and favorite crustacean, “It’s toe-tappingly tragic!”

Plz to enjoy: “Hate Everyone” by Say Anything.

Hello. Just like me, you’re going to die. Everything around you, one day, will be gone. One day you’ll cease to exist. You’ll stop. You’ll stop catching the bus. You’ll stop being in your car. Your home. You’ll be somewhere else. Your death will be final. You will be remembered by others, by animals who sniffed you on the street while you were alive, by guys who wanted to kiss you while you bought coffee remember that guy? No, you don’t. Well, he’ll miss you, that guy. As will the dogs.

The image you see to the right left of this text is floating about the web today. As horrific as it is, and as good a story I wish it was, it’s obviously fake. Cage was involved in Superman way before Superman Returns, and we all know of his fascination with the Meerkat Man Of Steel, what with him naming his poor children “Kryptonite” or whatever the hell he did. That doesn’t make this visual horror real, though.