First time mom battles Christ for big day

West Sacramento, CA (AP) — The birth of a child. It’s arguably one of the most special things a family will experience. In particular, the birth of the first child in a family is an occasion of great celebration and joy, which few wish to have overshadowed. Parents will do what they can to protect their special day; keeping the name secret, or the sex, making sure everyone important has their schedules clear for the big event.

This year, first time parents-to-be Shannon Wilcox (22), and her husband Brian (25) are going a step further in their quest to make sure the big day is a special one. The estimated due date for their child, a girl they’ve tentatively named Nevaeh Leigh, is December 25th, known to many around the world as Christmas Day. To keep the date magical for them, the couple has petitioned the city to reschedule Christmas for 2011, moving it into January for this year, and this year alone.

“This is the birth of my first child,” Mrs. Wilcox said to reporters when asked for comment. “This is the most important thing I’ll ever experience, and if it’s not as important to everyone else as it is to me, it’s just going to ruin the whole thing. I don’t want this holiday taking precedence; it simply is not fair to my little princess. She deserves her due, and so do I. If people want to celebrate Christmas in their own home on December 25th… well I’ll still be a bit peeved that there are people out there more focused on their own lives than on the birth of my child, but as long as the city itself doesn’t pull focus from the birth of my daughter, I’ll be mollified.”

City officials were contacted for comment, but none were available as they were all busy tweeting about “this crazy bit** who thinks the world should stop because she did what hundreds of thousands of women around the world do every single day.”

When asked why she felt the birth of her child should be more important to the people of West Sacramento than the birth of the Messiah, Mrs. Wilcox replied, “Christ was born more than 2000 years ago, that’s old news. My child surely deserves at least as much attention. This day is special, and I do not want anything to overshadow my day. Not even the Son of God Himself.”


Dear Bishop, I’m having this problem with my couch

Dear Bishop:

I think my furniture is plotting against me. I don’t know quite what I’ve done to deserve such treatment, but such is my life. Right now, the chest of drawers is just sitting there silently, but I can hear what it is thinking:

“Why don’t you fill me you stupid sow? There’s some perfectly good clean laundry sitting right there in that basket on the floor, which you’re too lazy to fold and put in me. I’m hungry woman! If you don’t feed me soon, I’m going to topple over in the middle of the night while you sleep, and land on your head. You can see me, I’m close enough.”

When I sit on my couch, I can hear the murmurs, from within its sagging frame:

“Every day you put your fat ass on me, like I’m just some… some furniture to sit on. I had ambitions once you know. I was going to be on TV, just like that couch on the Simpsons. I had dreams! But you came by the store and brought me home, with promises that you’d always love me, and I thought ‘well, my name will never be in lights, but the love of a good woman is never to overlooked.’ But you lied! You don’t love me. You drop crumbs in me, you put your dirty feet all over me, and you fart on me and don’t even apologize. One day when you least expect it I will topple over and trap you in here, so help me God!”

But the kitchen… the kitchen is the worst. The appliances, all screaming for my attention, like a room full of toddlers who need a nap. The toaster cries for toast, the microwave screams for ramen soup and the stove… oh I never can tell what that thing wants, it just chants some language I’ve never heard of. I think it may be asking me to plug it in and actually learn how to use it, but that’s simply a guess.

Soon, I will break down totally. I do not know what to do. My furniture is trying to destroy my life, and I am running out of options regarding dealing with this issue and still retaining my sanity.

Please help!



Dear Bishop, I think my husband is cheating on me

Dear Bishop:

I think my husband is in love with the toaster. I don’t even want to call him my husband, so I’m going to call him my Bob. That’s not his name—his name is Phil Dorchester, but I prefer to call him Bob, for reasons that are quite uninteresting so please don’t bother inquiring—so my Bob is how I will refer to him henceforth.

I think my Bob is in love with the toaster. No, that’s simply prevarication; I know he is. My Bob is having an affair with the toaster my mother—God rest her tortured soul—bought us on our fifth wedding anniversary. I knew, I just knew the moment he eased his hands inside that tight box and pulled out that red metal she-devil, I heard the death knell for our love.

Look, I’m going to stop here a moment and say I see you scoffing. This is a painful subject for me, and I beg your deepest empathies. Try to put yourself in my shoes. It sounds comical, I know, but just imagine cleaning crusty semen out of the gizmo you make your children’s breakfast in and see how much you laugh. Really, imagine it. The now cooled elements sprayed with your Bob’s viscous pearly white fluids which then oozed to the metal below to pool in a gooey blob of so much wasted DNA. Not so funny now, is it?

I guess I simply have to face it, the toaster does something for him that I don’t, or perhaps can’t. Is it that it’s more attentive than I am? It’s always there for him, day and night, and never complains or nags him. It isn’t as though I nag him to be a harpy; I nag him for his own good. I have to work, have to take care of the kids; I barely have enough time for myself, let alone him.

Is it the way its figure never expands, never dimples with cellulite, no matter how many lightly toasted offspring issue forth from its metallic womb? I try to keep my body trim, to look like I did when my Bob and I first met; our eyes meeting like chance in game room, the shrieks of the other patients rising around us like a symphony. No matter how hard I try though, I fight a losing battle. I’ve had four children; my body is scarred, my skin losing elasticity, the wrinkles advancing with each passing year. I do not have the gift of eternal youth, my body staying as firm as it was the day I came off the assembly line.

Is it that it just lies there and takes his bare handful of thrusts before his limbs start jerking like a boy who’s stuck a fork in a wall socket and he bellows out his proclamations of love? Have you ever had a man yell out ‘Hamilton Beach!’ at his moment of climax? It does things to your self-esteem. I dare say a little part of you dies.

Is it that the only thing needed to turn it on is an electrical outlet and a working dial?

I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep up the charade of happy wife much longer, and I’m honestly not sure where to go from here. Can you help me?



Laughing Cow restaurant opens in India

Delhi, India (AP) – Indian restaurant mogul Gopala Bhatnagar has caused a stir with the opening of his latest restaurant, हंसी की गाय. Translated as Laughing Cow, the restaurant opened its doors to the public last Monday, after a star studded pre-opening the night before. Celebrities such as Alanis Morissette, Deepak Chopra, K D Lang and Portia de Rossi were in attendance.

“Normally I wouldn’t eat at a restaurant like this,” de Rossi was quoted as saying, “but I’ve been friends with Gopala for years and I think this might be the start of a new trend.”

The reason that Laughing Cow is garnering such attention is the unique menu – hamburger made to order.

“I was inspired by restaurants that let you choose your own lobster,” says Gopala. “I wanted something similar, and I thought, ‘What about cows?'”

Laughing Cow puts a twist on the traditional lobster tank by letting you pick your own cow, which is then slaughtered and prepared as a half pound burger. The palm sized cows have been specially bred for the restaurant, for those who want a one-of-a-kind culinary experience. The burgers don’t come cheap, though; this special which includes a side salad costs $250 USD.


“The Zax” to be remade into feature length film

Hollywood, CA (AP) — Paramount Pictures announces today that it has bought the rights to the story “The Zax” from the estate of Theodore Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss. The story, first published as part of anthology titled The Sneetches and Other Stories which contains 32 lines and was made into a three minute animated short in 1973 has been expanded to a 90 minute script. No additional dialogue will be added, the studio says, but the main draw will be the 4D effects as the seasons gradually change in the film: simulated rain, snow, sun and similar weather effects in the theater. It will also contain an original score by Randy Newman.

Both Leonardo DiCaprio and Johnny Depp have signed onto the project, at a reported salary of $25 million each, and the projected total cost of producing the film will top $250 million dollars.


Newborn girl’s head crushed by massive bow

Kentucky (AP) — It started out as an attempt at a cute photo opportunity, but it ended in tragedy as a newborn girl’s head was crushed under the massive weight of a gaudy yellow bow.

“I thought it would be cute, ” said the mother, whose identity is being protected from reprisal by gay men and women with fashion sense everywhere. “I had no idea that it could all go so horribly, horribly wrong.”

The child was rushed to the local hospital after the accident, where surgeons worked for 13 hours to save her, but their efforts were in vain. The child’s head will now be permanently tilted 7 degrees to the left and doctors speculate that the child will grow up thinking that giant yellow, head obscuring bows look good.

This incident is the latest in a growing string of highly preventable bow accidents. Last week in Georgia, a two year old girl was trapped in a well for eight hours when the weight of her red polka-dotted bow caused her to plunge through the wooden boards that had been covering it. Last month, in New York, a six month old girl who had been dressed in a particularly large purple bow was attacked by a swarm of bees mistaking her for a flower and attempting to pollinate her head.

The AAP held a press conference yesterday, to announce new safety guidelines for dressing children in bows. “As more and more evidence mounts, we’re starting to understand what a menace bows really are to our children. We recommend, to be totally safe, that parents refrain from using bows entirely, but if a parent insists upon bow usage, there are ways to minimize the risk,” said Dr. Charles Archer. “Bows should be no larger than half the circumference of the child’s head. A young child’s neck just cannot withstand the weight of a bow equal to the size of the child’s head. Hanging ribbons should be avoided, as they are a risk for getting caught in doors and other closing machinery. Colors should be chosen carefully, so they do not blend into the environment causing unfortunate mishaps with confused insects and animals. Above all, it should be stressed to children that though parents may make the choice to dress them in bows, bows are in no way recommended by the AAP, the WHO, or anyone with good taste in fashion.”


Thank you, Mom.

Well, I did something recently that I never thought I’d do. I reached out to my family.

The anniversary of my mother’s death passed recently, and I found myself wanting to talk to my father and my sister. I’d wanted to talk to them many times over the years, but a combination of hurt and anger and pride kept me from doing so. For so long I thought that if I made the first move I’d be “caving”, and I wouldn’t be in a position of strength in our dealings. But I realize now that I am in a position of strength; it took a lot of strength for me to reach out and do something I never thought I’d be able to do, and I am doing this on my own terms. I will always feel hurt for some things that happened in the past, but that is what happens in life, and I think I can move on and start rebuilding what I lost for so long, and thought would be lost forever.

Today the hurt and anger feels dulled. For the first time I really think I’m ready to let go, and I’m ready to make amends for my past wrongs and let others make their amends to me. I think I’m ready to open myself up to the possibility of being hurt again, because it is worth it for the possibility to feel the love and support I’ve been missing for so long. My husband and children have been a source of love and comfort that cannot be described in words, but I’ve missed my father and my sister, even when I felt I hated them. I wouldn’t change the choices I made; I have needed this time to get myself to a place where I could let go and learn to accept the past as it is, and look forward instead of backward. But I regret the lost time and the pain I know I’ve caused to those that love me.

I don’t believe in the afterlife, but if my mother is conscious in any form somewhere I hope she’s happy today, knowing that for me she was always the glue that kept us together, and even in death she has brought us together again.