Rejected Names from the National Zoo contest...

Stew, I share your zealous, mock outrage over the National Zoo's (U.S.) complete ripoff of the contest you started on this web site.

Having recently been to the National Zoo, I am especially troubled that they did not consult me in the design of the contest, although to be fair, I was there before you came up with the idea. Nonetheless, that's why these zoo people get the big bucks, to forsee the kind of zany ideas that people like us will derive from thinking about people like them.

I intend to write the National Zoo to set them straight (and also garner a meager amount of publicity for this blog.)

In the meantime, since this is nominally a comedy blog, here are some names I'm certain were rejected in the U.S. National Zoo's "Name the Baby Panda Contest."

• Zoom Zoom
• Wang Chung (an oldie but a goodie)
• Wo Fat
• Teddy Ruxspin
• Wang Wang
• Wayne Wang
• Fu Manchu
• Panda-monium
• Ding Ding
• Herbie
• Pootie Tang
• Ka-Ching Ka-Ching
• Gilbert
• Kung Pow (or Kung Pao)
• Flipper

Another stolen idea, and not by us this time.

Once again, you saw it here first folks. Now, the National Zoo is stealing our idea and have started a national contest to name their new panda offspring. Some of the names so far...

Hua Sheng, which means "China Washington" and "magnificent."
Sheng Hua, which means "Washington China" and "magnificent."
Tai Shan, which means "peaceful mountain."
Long Shan, which means "dragon mountain." (are they sure about that?)
Qiang Qiang, which means "strong, powerful."

Sorry National Zooers, Bling Bling is NOT amused.

"I'm ready for my closeup Mr. Colmes!"

Press Release - Rainbow Coalition/PUSH - Jesse Jackson's official response to Pat Robertson's "Apology"

August 24, 2005 - 9:35 a.m. (Rev. Jackson can be booked for television appearances through the William Morris Agency, Beverly Hills, CA - Signed head shots available - $25 apiece)

I have heard Pat Robertson's meager apology, and I consider it a major television travesty.
We cannot be blithely recommending assassination, if we are supposed to be a fair and democratic nation.
We have already invaded Iraq to make a political point, does W. really want to shake up El Presidente's joint?
Sure, Hugo Chavez is a cranky despot with delusions of grandeur. He rules with an iron fist and very little candor.
Yes, he is friends with Castro, that murdering, baseball-loving bastard, the guy who tried to get nukes stashed away in America's backyard.
Still, we must avoid this talk of violence and dog excrement. Such talk is counter-productive and even, in some circles, prurient.
We must embrace Chavez the way Sonny once embraced Cher, sang "I Got You Babe" and combed her long black hair.
We must show Chavez the right way is not total political power, but traveling the TV circuit to get paid thousands by the hour.
We must choose peaceful means to implement a diplomatic coup, We cannot speak of killing, kidnapping, or giving him the croup.
Pat Robertson should be ashamed to plan to circumvent, Hugo Chavez's internationally legal, if suspect government.
How can this TV minister expatiate such wanton death? Has this old cracker gone senile, or is he inhaling meth?
I will travel to Venezuela to examine that society, talk to El Presidente (and pocket some real oil money.)
I will do my best to speak diplomatically, not erratically, to not behave too peripatetically, nor semi-aquatically.
I will not "inmmanetize the eschaton", or "denigrate egalitarianism", nor will I practice antidisestablishmentarianism.
So be sure to send a camera crew or three, for soon this amazing story will be me.

(Co-Written by Theodore Giesel, deceased)

Watch for Reverend Jackson on CSI: Miami, this fall

"I'd be sorrier about it, if I could only stop grinning!"

Press Release Draft - CBN/700 Club Headquarters - Pat Robertson Apology

August 24, 2005, 9:30 a.m. - just after morning workout

I, Pat Robertson, founder of the Christian Broadcasting Network and the 700 Club, would like to offer my sincerest apologies to anyone who was offended by my comments, made on Monday night. That night, in reference to dictatorial Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez, I said that since he believes the United States is trying to assassinate him, that we should accomodate him and take him out.

It is clear to me that my remarks were taken out of context. When I said the U.S. should "assassinate" Chavez, I meant that figuratively, meaning that we should go down there, kidnap El Presidente Chavez, beat him with pole arms, smear him with dog excrement, and hang him from a palm tree by his heels until vultures eat his heart out.

I did not mean to imply that the U.S. government should, or in fact would actually kill Chavez themselves, as this is clearly against U.S. law. Rather, I felt the U.S. should in fact take every action that would ensure that this Castro-loving, commie despot would die a horribly premature and unnatural death in the jungle like a craven animal.

It is clear to me that the U.S. Government is not even willing to take this relatively easy step. Therefore, I have decided to travel to Venezuela myself, where, with only my bare hands, and a private army of over 10,000 battle-hardened former college football players, I will personally seek out El Presidente, rip out his lungs with a plastic spoon and then feed them to my pet chihuahua Ernie. Afterwards, I will fly to Cuba and stuff Fidel Castro into a blender set to "liquify".

Again, my sincerest apologies if I was in any way misunderstood and anyone was offended as a result of that.

Zombie designer drugs????

News is spreading like the clap amongst Motley Crue groupies about a new drug that is set to make zombies out of blue-collar and white-collar workers alike. CX717 (or as it will soon be known: greenies) releases small goblins in the bloodstream which scurry to the brain and then play loud grunge metal music keeping you awake. I'm sorry I had to do that, but it's much easier than trying to explain neurotransmitters or other neurological what-nots and cell-to-cell communication in the brain. The drug is aimed at those working long hours and late nights, but is there a more sinister purpose to this zombie making concoction, or am I just padding the story with a few lame jokes.

Immediately upon hearing the news my spider sense began to tingle like it hasn't since the "New Coke" fiasco in 1985. Was this new drug just a sad attempt by the pharmaceutical industry to turn us into mindnumbed robots towing the company line? I took the question to a local vendor known as Tony Baducci's Bodega.

Stew: Tony, what can you tell us about CX717?

Tony: Wha'? Listen are you's gonna pay for that hooch or not?

Stew: What's the word on the street Tony?

Tony: The word's you're a %^$&^%$ lunatic, get out of here!!!

Undaunted by Tony's ambiguity I struck out once more to find the answers that would shed the light of truth in the murky world of designer drugs. Next, I went to the local chicken guttery to see if some of the line workers could expound on the drug. I was lucky enough to catch them during a shift change and talked to Lou Tutty, Mariella Hernandez, and Frangelica DuBuois.

Stew: Tell me, have any of you taken performance enhancing drugs?

Lou: (shaking finger at me) I have never used them. Period. I don't know how to say it any more clearly than that. Never.

Stew: What if I told you I have documented evidence of your use of them?

Lou: Look, I'll do anything to stay on the line. I love my job. I don't want any trouble, ok mister.

Stew: Well, I was going to say I would be lying if I told you that.

Lou: I claim the fifth, you ain't gettin' anyting outta me. (Leaves the room)

Frangelica: Oooo, you is cute. (to Mariella) Let's go girlfriend.

Mariella: ¡Usted me disgusta, cerdo! (You disgust me, pig!)

So there you have it folks, unassailable evidence that the drug companies are out to poison our minds with their unctions and questionable practices. As for me, I'll just stay awake the old fashion way, with methadone-laced Red Bull poured over Starbuck's Doubleshot ice cubes.

What's next, Pete Rose saying, "Oh yeah, I bet on the Reds every stinkin' day"?

Diego Maradona has admitted that he cheated. Good Diego, now tell us something we don't know.

In the 1986 World Cup Finals match between England and Argentina, the former Argentine international and legendary talent went up for a header against English Goalkeeper Peter Shilton (who was, at the time I believe, 68 years old). A second later, the ball was in the back of the English net, like someone else's rocky bogey slammed into the depths of the nose.

Maradona had scored...with his hand.

Certain American sportswriters (the ones who respond to the word "soccer" with drool and a vacant expression) may not be aware of this but, in soccer, the use of the hands is forbidden for all players except the keeper. Maradona, in punching the ball into the goal, had committed an offense that should have had him sent him off. Instead, later in the game, he took the ball just inside his half of the pitch, and set off on a memorable run, scoring one of the most famous goals in World Cup history.

He should have been sitting in the locker room, trying to figure out whether he would drive his Mazerati or Porsche home from the game, depending on how much cocaine the gloveboxes of each would hold and how many girls would fit in the back seats.

Some might suggest that I am bitter. Of course I'm bitter. I'm as bitter as a lemon grown hydropnically in Guinness. I'm as bitter as Sean Penn after a George W. Bush news conference. England had one of their finest teams in '86, including Shilton, Terry Butcher, Gary Lineker, and Bryan Robson, among others. They would have outmatched Germany in the final as surely as Argentina did. Instead, back to summering at Brighton and Calais, while Argentina lift their second cup.

At least Diego is man enough to finally admit what he did, now that the coke has worn off. Although describing it as "a bit of mischief" is sugar-coating it. I bet Fidel told him to say that, the hairy, cigar-chomping, totalitarian bastard.

Whazzya Mean Cloooozzz Earllllliaaaaa?

Britain is reconsidering ending laws that close pubs at 11 p.m. The law change was proposed in 2001 by Wycham and Barrow-in-Furness MP "Paralytic Pete" Rotherham, who stated, "We must hafff the rigght ta imbooob liquuuur at any tiiimmme we chooozzz... gin and tonic please!"

Other, slightly more sober MPs stated that the cultured nations of the continent allowed drinking at all hours, and thus was a good model for Britain. All this change when a recent government study was released which indicated:

1) Britons would continue to drink in even more massive quantities if able to at all hours. - This disproved the idea forwarded by some MPs that British drinkers would "pace themselves" if given all evening to drink. In a controlled study, 20 young British adults were placed in a simulated pub and told that the pub would not close at 11 p.m. 90% of the participants, to use the text of the study, "drank until their heads exploded." The other 10% merely died of liver failure.

2) Crime will increase as more individuals are able to drink through the evening. - This was demonstrated by what is now called the "bloody obvious" principle of reasoning. Also, in the aforementioned test, the participants, before their heads exploded or they succumbed to liver disease, set fire to the mock pub after looting the cash register and repeatedly shooting the robotic bartender with a tennis cannon someone had mistakenly left on the premises.

3) The "Cultured Nations" of the continent are in fact a bunch of sodden deliquents. - This was established by a poll of 2,000,000 Britains in a recent issue of Punch.

The government have two choices before the House of Commons: Repeal the law and hold the status quo, or adjourn at the end of the month and hit the taverns like a cricketer for six.

Adjournment was moved up to the 23 of August.