New Rules: Polite Musings from a Timid Observer (4 page)
Read New Rules: Polite Musings from a Timid Observer Online
Authors: Bill Maher
The Catholic Church needs to change its name to Tollhouse Cookies. A new study reveals the tally of Catholic priests who’ve been accused of molestation in the United States is approaching 5,000, which means it’s time to change the name and start over. That’s what Phillip Morris did when their name became synonymous with lung cancer—they became the good people at the Altria company. Kentucky Fried Chicken wanted you to forget the “fried” part and became KFC. So how ‘bout it, Roman Catholic Church—or should I say “RCC”?
Anchors AwayStop calling the media “elite” and “liberal” and start calling it what it really is—lazy. It came out recently that the Bush administration has been producing its own “news” segments, complete with their own “correspondents,” and sending them off to local news outlets who aired them untouched. No wonder Hunter Thompson blew his brains out. I’m sorry, but the local news is not the place for government propaganda; it’s the place for car chases, kittens caught in trees, and a “meteorologist” whose previous job was at Hooters.
Aromatic TransmissionNo, we don’t need a Hummer cologne. Yes, Hummer is now also a men’s fragrance. They say the scent is a masculine combination of leather, sandalwood, and a bald man’s tiny cock. It’s also great cologne for gay guys: You put it on and, before you know it, you’re rolling over.
Ash Hole
Mount St. Helens has to either blow up or shut up. We get it—you’re America’s celebrity volcano. I say we kill two divas with one stone, and the next time Mount St. Helens starts to blow, we throw Paris Hilton in it.
To Surrogate with LoveT
o all the conservative women out there: If you’re so sure the embryos needed for stem cell research are precious human life that can’t be destroyed, then implant one in your uterus and bring it to term. That’s right, put your cervix where your mouth is.
o all the conservative women out there: If you’re so sure the embryos needed for stem cell research are precious human life that can’t be destroyed, then implant one in your uterus and bring it to term. That’s right, put your cervix where your mouth is.
Right now in America, there are thousands of stem cells sitting in fertility clinics that are not allowed to be used for research,
will be
destroyed after a year or two, and could be right now implanted in a lady’s hoo-hoo to make a screaming, mewling infant that would ironically make you sorry
you
were ever born.
will be
destroyed after a year or two, and could be right now implanted in a lady’s hoo-hoo to make a screaming, mewling infant that would ironically make you sorry
you
were ever born.
Here’s how far back along the chain of life stem cells are: They’re called stem cells because they haven’t even decided what kind of cells they’re going to be, so it’s very close to declaring that life begins when you’re just thinking about fucking somebody. Which is just about how most right-wing prudes like George Bush would like it. This is, after all, an administration that absolutely hates Planned Parenthood—but then again, judging by Iraq, they hate planned anything.
Did you know that our president spent the entire month before 9/11 on his ranch, working on the stem cell issue, trying, as he said, to bridge the worlds of ethics and science? Seriously, could there be anything George Bush knows less about than ethics and science?
Here’s something that may be life: a tiny speck of subatomic goo. Here’s something that is life: Michael J. Fox. One is invisible to the naked eye, the other was in
Back to the Future.
Back to the Future.
With stem cell research properly funded, scientists believe we could do everything from curing Parkinson’s to regenerating spinal cord tissue in Democrats.
So, ladies of the right, what do you say? There are thousands of extra embryos sitting around in fertility clinic freezers all over America right now, just waiting for a good home. So if you’re not gonna finish those eggs, come on, go ahead, knock yourself up.
BILL MAHER
B
B
NEW RULES
You can’t call it a treat if everyone hates it. We toppled Saddam Hussein—why can’t we get rid of candy corn? Anyone who hands this stuff out on Halloween hates your children and wants them to die; they just don’t have the guts to stick a razor blade in an apple.
Bargain Bins
No, it’s not okay if you buy my coffin at Costco. That’s right, Costco is now selling reasonably priced caskets—aisle seven, between the Metamucil and the adult diapers. But in doing so, they’re depriving us of one of the most critical stages of the grieving process—getting screwed out of four grand by a sleazy funeral home director. Plus, making your kids pay through the nose when you die is often the only payback for that “tuition” money they spent on beer.
Bawl GameStop wallowing. Several years after 9/11, ballparks still insist on a giant seventh inning buzzkill with a somber rendition of “God Bless America.” There’s a thin line between loving America and stalking it. Please, we’ve already sung the national anthem. Now let me honor America the right way: by getting drunk on overpriced beer and yelling obscenities at millionaires on steroids.
Call things what they are. If your morning coffee contains crushed ice, whipped cream, and caramel, it’s a milk shake. Same as if you cook your cocaine on a spoon and smoke it, you’re not freebasing; you’re a crackhead. And if you go down on your husband after he gives you a new fur coat, you’re not celebrating your anniversary; you’re a—oh, never mind.
Bear Ass
Don’t try to get pandas to mate by showing them porn. Yes, the Chinese government is really doing that. But it’s not working because after watching all that porn, the male pandas keep pulling out and coming on her teats.
Cheering for Lance Armstrong doesn’t make you an international cycling aficionado. Unless you can name one other rider in the Tour de France in the last 100 years, you’re not a fan. You’re just someone who likes it when America beats foreigners. And by the way ...
... you’re also not a tennis expert if you like watching Russian teenagers bounce up and down. You’re just a perv.
Blow Hard III: Blow Harder!
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