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Gentle Reader, my cup overfloweth. For those of you who have in times of trouble doubted the existence of a merciful God, I give you proof. We share the world with not one, but two Dwarf Britney Spears impersonators.

We Jews would say if there had been but one Dwarf Brittney Spears impersonator, ‘dayeinu’, ‘It would have been enough’.

Tera Joel, the original “Mini-Brittney”, (and you cannot image the chill running down my spine just typing that phrase) no longer performs her act at Beacher’s Madhouse, Las Vegas. She has moved on and can now be found as part of the “Little Legends” show at the Harmon Theater in Krave, in what appears to be, forgive me here, a step down. What else can be said of moving to a venue where she will have to share the spotlight with a diminutive Sony Bono?

Apparently, there was some sort of rift with her manager, who has now retained the talents of a little woman known only as ‘New Mini-Britney’.

“We wish the old mini-Britney the best. I have nothing but love and respect for her. But unfortunately show business is show business.  We have a new mini Britney that blows her away, that can sing and dance a thousand times better than her at Beacher’s Madhouse, which is a sold out show.”

I have so many questions. Will one of the Mini-Britneys shave her head and attack a Li’l Kevin Federline’s Mini Cooper on stage? Are their web sites where I can see Thumb nails of a mini-Britney’s tiny privates? And when the Tera Joel, the Original Mini-Britney performs “Oops, I did it again” will the irony become so powerful, it crushes the life out of her audience at “Little Legends”?

Do you love meat? No, I mean really love meat? Well, if you’re in Tokyo and have some discretionary Yen burning a hole in your pocket, there’s a specialty restaurant which can help you express that love in ways you never dreamed possible:

[Tokyo’s] bestiality restaurant is being regarded by its nouveau riche patronage … as a decadent practice only possible among the wealthy. [One patron] says she visited the restaurant after being invited there by a well-heeled lawyer… Once the customer feels prepared, they will be presented with the beast of their choice. In the lawyer’s case, it was a sow. “I’d been told what to expect, but when I actually saw what was happening, it was as shocking as you’d imagine it to be,” she said. Once the lawyer had finished porking the pig, the couple returned to the first floor and sat at a table to dine… she was totally shocked when staff members carried in roast pork–made of the same sow the lawyer had earlier been with.

I have several competing reactions to this story:

• It’s a logical progression, really, from eating raw fish (which is now a mainstream American favorite) to the Russian roulette-like deadly Fugu (which made it all the way to The Simpsons), to live octopus (which fights back on its way down), to this current horrific perversion. And it’s only fitting, I suppose, that it comes from the nation that brought us such kinky innovations as panty vending-machines, tentacle porn, and the Bataan Death March.

• Despite the shock value, this is really very similar to American theme restaurants such as Medieval Times or Chuck E. Cheese—only instead of playing skeeball with Chuck E. Cheese, you have sex with him, and then eat him.

• I’ll bet that the quality of the experience varies widely depending on which animal you choose to “bond” with. For example, cows and pigs: Probably a pretty safe bet. Fish: Might have to get creative. Lobster: Better hope the rubber bands don’t come off. Sea urchin: Thanks for the nightmares.

• Maybe it’s not that bad. After all, the animals were going to die anyway, and it’s not like the restaurant is doing this with humans.*

*Slip 500,000 yen to Keiko at the front desk and we’ll talk.

So you’re sitting there in your uncomfortable swivel chair under the harsh fluorescent lights in your cubicle. Your chatty coworker is blabbing on the phone, your styrofoam cup of bitter coffee has undissolved bits of non-dairy creamer floating in it, and you’re thinking to yourself, “Wow… my life really sucks.” Maybe you don’t work in an office - maybe you’re sitting at home, unemployed, crippled by ennui (and whiskey), thinking “Wow… my life really sucks.” Maybe you’re somewhere else. Who knows? All that matters is that you’re looking at a computer and your life stinks.

You’ve probably heard the term “things could always be worse” before, haven’t you? You know why people say that? Because it’s true.

You could live in Salt Lake City, where high school students can go to jail for streaking. Or if you live in Salt Lake City already (god forbid), you could live in South Africa, where a gang of 350 baboons is terrorizing a small town. Take solace in the fact that you don’t live in a senior center in upstate New York, where a ban on donuts has prompted octogenarians to take to the streets.

You may have seen some homeless people today, and that may have bummed you out a little, but at least none of them stabbed you in the ear with a pen. And hey - remember that smoker you picked up at that auction? Remember when you got it home, opened it up, and it DIDN’T have a severed human leg inside? Well it could have. The world is a different place than it used to be. Times are rough - even the tame ducks can’t catch a break.

The global penis assault continues unabated, of course.

Feeling better yet? No? Maybe a trip to a wildlife refuge would cheer you up. Just be careful around the orangutans - they might steal your pants.

Apparently not satisfied with the effect on his staggering unpopularity of promising to veto a child health insurance bill, George W. Bush ventured to the U.N. today, where he embraced the street protests of Buddhist Monks in Myanmar as part of his wider global march to freedom.

This should come as little surprise to scholars of comparitive religion who already know that ‘Shock’ and ‘Awe’ are two of the Ten Great Pillars of Buddhism, standing as they do directly between the pillars ‘Let Kids Pay for Their Own Damn Health Care’ and ‘Ignoring Negroes’.

Bush was aided in the difficult task of speaking to and about foreigners by a speech in which many of the more difficult words and names were rendered phonetically. Pronunciations included Sarkozy “[sar-KOzee]”, the Mugabe “[moo-GAHbee] regime”, “Kyrgyzstan [KEYRgeez-stan]” and Democracy [U-ni-fide Ex-EK-u-tiv PRIK-a-stok-ra-see].

The slip up that allowed people to see W’s phonetically enhanced text proves a theory I’ve long held, that the appearance of presidential idiocy is carefully tailored. Not that George isn’t an authentic idiot, but that a bevy of groomers carefully select and approve which bits of idiocy might in some odd way be used beneficially.

Surely if W’s handlers can render ‘Krygzstan’ in easily mouthable bite size sound chunks, they could do the same for the word ‘Nuclear’ if they chose to.

President Bush suffered some embarrassment at the UN recently. No, he didn’t get caught buying a bag of blow from the South American delegates again. Instead, a White House staffer accidentally released a draft version of the President’s speech to the UN, and, wouldn’t you know it, Dubya doesn’t read so well or know so much about places not called “America.” The speech was peppered with phonetic pronunciations of foreign countries and leaders:

[T]he White House released a draft version of the President’s speech to the annual United Nations General Assembly, [and] a glimpse of how the President sees his speeches was accidentally placed on the UN website. . . .

Pronunciations for President Bush’s friend French President Sarkozy “[sar-KOzee]” appeared in draft #20 on the UN website. Other pronunciations included the Mugabe “[moo-GAHbee] regime” and pronunciations for countries “Kyrgyzstan [KEYRgeez-stan]” and “Mauritania [moor-EH-tain-ee-a].”

Man, that’s embarrassing. Not as bad as releasing Dick Cheney’s draft recipe for delicious cooked baby stew —the early version before the Vice President added extra teaspoons of bile and fear-induced tears—- but still pretty awkward.

White House Press Secretary Dana Perino—a woman who speaks so poorly it seems her only qualification is NOT dying of cancer— refused to answer questions about President Bush’s pronunciation difficulties, saying the inquiries were “offensive.”

Not as offensive as having the most powerful man in the world, making decisions about who lives and dies in far off lands without any grounding in geography or words, but still, y’know, rude.

All things considered, I think Bush is relieved no one released the draft of his last State of the Union address. The one where “Iraq” was spelled [“quagmire,”] and Hussein was spelled [“NOT Bin Laden.”]

Well if the season premiere of Heroes was any indication, the big mysteries of the second season are going to revolve around events that happened in the past. Whereas the first season had the characters moving towards a pre-determined conclusion (an exploding man that manages to explode somehow), the second season looks like it will be more about the characters investigating their predecessors, and the conspiracies surrounding them.

The most interesting plot thread from this episode was Kaito Nakamura (Hiro’s dad) revelation that he, along with the Patrellis and Linderman, was part of a group that tracked down and, if the mood suited them, killed people with powers. A revelation he made shortly before being killed himself, by one of the same group. Which sort of reminds me of that old saying, “if you lie down with murderers, don’t be surprised if you wake up covered in murder.”

Meanwhile, Mohinder and Mr. Bennet have some sort of scheme underway to infiltrate The Company. Although they don’t seem to see any problem with discussing their plans over fucking cell phones. The Company, you’ll recall, is the technologically sophisticated and superpower enhanced organization known for being secretive, paranoid, and when the mood suits them, killing people. In other words, if any organization on earth is capable of intercepting a cell phone call, it’s these guys. They’re the fucking Cadillac of intercepting phone calls. Can Mr. Bennet be that stupid? Actually, that’s stupid enough that I almost wonder if it was deliberate. But that gets into a whole “he knows that we know that he knows, but what he doesn’t know is that we don’t know that he knows…,” which could make your head explode if you think about it after a heavy meal.

And continuing on the Mysteries Of The Past theme, we have Hiro, who is way, way, way in the past, almost comically so. As I sort of predicted earlier, it looks like Hiro is either going to nurse Kensei through all of his adventures, or do everything himself and let Kensei take the credit. A powerful lesson in Learning To Be Assertive is brewing here, I can smell it.

Other thoughts:

Best Part: This episode contained absolutely no Jessica/Niki. That alone probably qualifies this episode for an Emmy.
Worst Part: Matt Parkman and Molly living together. Not only is it weird, their dialog is appalling.
Also, suddenly Matt’s a good cop? How long will that last? Last season I had a running bet with my girlfriend that he’d drop his gun on his foot at some point.

Best line. Hiro: “Oh no! I broke history.”

Best facial hair: I really dig the Commander Riker that Nathan is sporting in the second season. That is a great way to attract Star Trek fans, and certain types of gay males.

Scientists may be socially awkward and disturbingly virginal, but they really know how to have a good time. Case in point — the recent discovery that the three foot tall Homo floresiensis is more akin to African apes than modern humans as indicated by its wrist.

Normally, that would be a pretty boring story, but through their scientific imagination —strengthened by years of visualizing Yeoman Rand engaged in steamy back door space action— the scientists thought up a wacky way to report their findings to the press: Wrists Bones Show Hobbit Wasn’t Modern Human!

Why admit that you spend all day digging in the dirt and getting off on monkey bones when you can pretend you seek adventure and glory in Middle Earth? Also, when you give phone interviews like Matthew W. Tocheri of the Smithsonian’s National Museum of Natural History, you can impress the ladies by saying cool things like:

‘Basically, the wrist evidence tells us that modern humans and Neanderthals share an evolutionary grandparent that the hobbits do not, but all three share an evolutionary great-grandparent. If you think of modern humans and Neanderthals as being first cousins, then the hobbit is more like a second cousin to both.’

I’m thinking Tocheri’s wordplay doesn’t end there. Here are some other things Professor Science has likely renamed in his life:

• Flashlight = Light Saber

• Blow-Up Suzy = 7 of 9

• Erectile Dysfunction = The Curse of Voldemort

• Metal twist tie wrapped around index finger since 8th grade = One Ring To Rule Them All!

Since most CRACKED readers are obsessive-compulsive basement dwellers with an unhealthy fixation on arcane Soviet-era space programs, I’ll assume that most of you already know that the 50th anniversary of the first Sputnik launch is right around the corner. The Sputnik program paved the way for manned missions at a time when people (even scientists) were scared to send human beings into outer space. It’s easy to laugh at such naiveté today, but remember that hindsight is 20/20. Even though everybody now knows that space travel is simple, affordable and not even that big of a deal (kind of boring, really), back then the cosmos seemed a whole lot scarier. What happens when you go into space? Does your head blow up? Are there monsters up there, and if so, what do they eat? Is there food around, or should I bring a sack lunch? They had no idea! To find out, mankind had to do a few practice runs. Unfortunately, there were no astronauts yet back then, so the USA and Soviet Union were forced to use the two next best things: monkeys and dogs.

We may have completely mastered space travel a long time ago, but that’s no reason not to pay homage to those brave monkeys and dogs who risked (or lost) their lives in pursuit of the greater good, those furry fellows who wanted nothing more than to see their captors colonize the moon, or possibly Mars. Maybe that would mean no more pulling levers when the light bulb turned on. Maybe the electric shocks would stop, and they could finally sleep. Yes, sleep… Precious, precious sleep…

But I digress. In homage to those great monkeys and dogs, I’d like to take a moment to remember them in a way befitting their greatness: in a no-holds-barred cage match. Monkeys vs. Dogs, winner takes the much-coveted title of “Better Astronaut.” The games begin after the jump!

(more…)

Despite my best efforts, I wasn’t able to sneak in to yesterday’s super-duper controversial debate between stylish Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and the considerably less stylish Columbia University President Lee Bollinger. Instead, I hung around outside with the protesters, which is just as well, since a couple of dozen journalists were doing the same thing, and if there’s one thing a journalist doesn’t know - and, in fact, there are quite a few things - it’s how to cover a protest.

Given such a situation, a journalist will almost inevitably go around “interviewing” people. This is the worst mistake a journalist can make. First of all, who gives a shit? Second of all, seriously, who gives a shit? Third, journalism is stupid and pays almost nothing. The money’s in real estate, man. Fourth, these people carry signs for a reason. The guy with the “Ahmadinejad = Hitler” sign, for instance, probably thinks that Ahmadinejad is kind of like Hitler. The guy with the “We like Ike” sign, meanwhile, is probably just being ironic. God bless him.

Luckily, I was on hand to cover the real story, which was, of course, fashion. Take Ahmadinejad, for instance. He’s a fashionable guy. Sports jacket, no tie, sensible haircut, relatively well-trimmed beard (relative to that part of the world, anyway). A lot of buzz about Ahmadinejad these days. But overexposure is a dangerous thing. Give him three years, and he’ll be starring in Gigli 2. Or nuking something. Maybe both. But probably neither.

So to hell with him. Outside, the protesters were lining Broadway. A gaggle of gangly blond fellows stood outside playing - I swear to Allah - bagpipes, while one of them held up a big elegant banner listing “Tradition, Family, Property,” presumably because he was in favor of such things. But he was also handing out anti-Ahmadinejad leaflets. I can’t imagine why. Ahmadinejad is big on family and tradition, too, and certainly digs property, at least when that property is uranium, and so this was somewhat akin to protesting a Michael Jackson concert with a banner proclaiming, “I’m sexually attracted to Macaulay Culkin, or rather, the young Macaulay Culkin, back when he was in Uncle Buck. Whatever happened to him, anyway? Is he still doing movies or what?” Meanwhile, the bagpipe enthusiasts were all dressed like they’d just gotten out of Sunday school, which is to say nice, but not particularly stylish or even dignified. And I’m pretty sure they were Nazis or something.

Ah, but then there was the sweet little redhead holding one end of an orange banner. “Ahmadinejad is bad, Bush is worse,” the banner said, but her sensible little outfit - orange t-shirt to match the banner, well-cut jeans to set off the shirt, and spare little sandals with which to show off cute, painted toes - it all said, “Ask me out, handsome.” I agreed with the outfit, and decided I would talk to her, but she was busy arguing with some kindly old counter-protester who kept calling her “naive,” no doubt correctly. And though I do indeed like naive chicks, I eventually decided against making my move, it having occurred to me that this particular chick probably spends most of her time holding up banners.

Need I say that the Secret Service agents were wearing terrible suits? No? Good. That’ll save some space. And I probably need not note that the reporter from Univision was muy caliente and dressed to the nines. So I won’t mention that, either.

Eventually, the growing crowds started to wear on me, so I wandered off, and as I did, I happened to pass an elderly Chinese man holding his own sign. But instead of words, the sign depicted a cute yellow cat with two tails. I didn’t catch how he was dressed, though, as I was too busy agreeing with him. A yellow cat with two tails would be fucking awesome. And, dare I say… presidential?

Microsoft’s lumbering hulk of a failure, Windows Vista, is no longer your only option when purchasing a new PC. Microsoft, finally smelling the technological wet one they’ve dealt, agreed to let PC manufacturers offer XP as a “downgraded OS” to buyers.

Personally, I’ve had nothing but IT problems since I switched my home candle-making business to Vista machines, so this news comes as a real relief. No longer must I fear accidental wick reorders or tallow shortages when my vast network of computers, all dedicated to the making and documenting of candles, goes tits up.

The bad news is that this may be a limited-time-only deal. Still trying to push their aborted fetus of an OS as hard as they can, and citing a “Window’s Life-Cycle Policy,” Microsoft have said they’re going to force manufacturers to stop offering the XP option after January 31^st.

The worse news? It turns out if you paid for the Microsoft software bundle designed to downgrade your machine to XP, you totally got ripped off, since all Windows Vista user agreements entitle the buyer to a free downgrade anyway. It’s actually a brilliant marketing strategy: sell us solid waste, then after we’ve eaten it offer to turn it back into a sandwich for forty bucks.

It’s kind of like the whole New Coke fiasco, except that New Coke actually beat Coke Classic in blind taste tests, whereas if Windows Vista were a food, it would probably have a good amount of pig scrotum in it.