People often ask me how I spend my evenings, and my response is usually, "I want my lawyer." But the truth is that I am obsessed with the Bio network on cable. I'll stop whatever I'm doing to watch almost any of the biography episodes they show, especially since they show a lot of mafia stuff, but mainly because they make anything seem interesting. So I thought it would be fun and informative to put together my own Bios to change things up on Fridays. And because when I develop ideas, your girlfriend becomes moist.

My Bio subject for this Friday, August 22, is the Puerto Rican Diva, Mrs. Jennifer Lopez.



(Jennifer Lopez and her husband, Skeletor.)

Jennifer Maria Carlita Rosa Lopez was born on March 14, 1967, in Puerto Rico's capital, Puerto Rico City. Her parents, Juan and Maribel, were poor merchants, who helped turn the country's crippling overabundance of flags into extra clothes for its citizens as they journeyed to the new hopes that existed beyond the waters of the Atlantic and the shores of America. Among those citizens was little Jenny, whose parents sent her to live in the Bronx, New York.

Dressed in a sequined tank top and a pair of denim shorts crammed up her toddler crack, a three-year old Jenny began dancing on street corners for money, as she developed her own unique style and attitude that critics would later call a cross between whore and cunt. By the age of 18, she took a job as a "Fly Girl" on the hit comedy show "In Living Color." It was on this show that Jennifer was first noticed by famed blind talent scout Archibald Steinstein, who was world renowned for using his sense of smell to locate the fattest asses.

Lopez went on to become a multi-platinum recording artists, with hits like "Jenny From the Block," which detailed her down-to-Earth attitude and her devotion to keeping it real, as well as "Fuck You, I Don't Owe You Shit," which celebrates independence spawned from success. She also appeared in Oscar-caliber films like The Cell and Gigli, further cementing her in the annals of the greatest women to have ever lived in this world or any other.

But all was not well for our Baroness of Boricua. After her and husband Marc Anthony welcomed twins into their humble world in February 2008, Lopez was eager to get back out there and continue to show the world how important and relevant she is. Only six months after crapping out matching arm accessories, Lopez trained vigorously to run in a mini-triathlon, which is like a regular triathlon, except ridiculously shorter. Essentially, it's like a fart compared to a long dump. But it was J-Lo's fart and the world should know about her courage. Sadly, the country and media were more transfixed on an unknown swimmer in the O-something. Lopez wondered aloud why she wasn't the top story. After all, she was the one competing in a mini triathlon only six months after giving birth to twins, not that selfish Phelps prick.

As she always does, though, Lopez stole the media's focus. However, it wasn't in the glorious way she normally had. Sadly, on the final leg of the mini triathlon, as she swam toward the finish line, J-Lo was eaten by a fucking shark. It was odd, because the swimming portion took place in a lake, but who are we to question nature?

As the Olympics are coming to a close, the focus is less on which country has won the most medals (U-S-A! U-S-A!) or which country has cheated to win the most golds (cough, China, cough) and more on which athletes are laying pipe in the Olympic Village.



("TIME TO BONE!")

According to Matthew Syed, a former Olympic athlete who earned a gold medal in me never hearing of him, once all of the major sports wrap up, the town turns into a freakfest. It's a lot like when I finish my rough 20-minute routine of walking around the gym, looking at machines and then going home to eat leftover pizza.

I played my first Games in Barcelona in 1992 and got laid more often in those two and a half weeks than in the rest of my life up to that point. That is to say twice, which may not sound a lot, but for a 21-year-old undergraduate with crooked teeth, it was a minor miracle.

A minor miracle might be a world class athlete getting some poon on top of his medals, but a major miracle is getting the USA basketball team out without rape charges. I'm looking at you, Sue Bird.

They say that shocking celebrity deaths come in threes, and as we watched Bernie Mac and Isaac Hayes pass away, we wondered collectively who the third would be. Some people had the audacity to say it was some dude from Dave Matthews Band, but people who take part in releasing the same CD seven different times and then die from ATV crash complications don't count as shocking.

No, friends. The third shocking celebrity death is that of Julius Carry, a 53-year old character actor whose first acting role was in Disco Godfather. He was also a regular on Hill Street Blues and Moesha. But we'll always remember him for his most important role, perhaps one of the most important movie roles EVER...



Rest in peace, Sho Nuff.

One of the best things about being really good at my job is that I have plenty of time to scour the Interwebs for the cutting edge in hilarity. And, of course, there's nothing I love more than some quality biting political satire. So allow me to introduce you to the Republicrats.

Responding to Republican claims that Barack Obama is an elitist, Democrats are firing back at John McCain, pointing out his lavish lifestyle as he apparently owns a bunch of houses. The only problem is that nobody — including McCain — knows how many houses he owns. McCain's camp says John and Cindy own four properties, but Democrats say that total is more like seven.

In related news, I don't own any properties because the economy is in the shitter.



(McCain's prime piece of real estate.)

I'll be the first to admit this is the kind of story that makes me yawn and turn to the sports section. Then again, that's what I get for reading a story on Politico before I've even had my morning coffee. Politico is the online version of that relative you have who sends out anti-McCain emails all day, calling him Bush's lapdog. What's that, Politico? McCain was once in the same room as Bush, therefore he obviously supports all of his views? That's it, I'm voting for Obama.

As a person who works in politics, I appreciate media bias like this:

McCain’s comments came four days after he initially told Pastor Rick Warren during a faith forum on Sunday his threshold for considering someone rich is $5 million — a careless comment he quickly corrected.

These people make my job so freaking easy. They also make me drink a lot, because there is no hope for the media in this country.

Hurricane Tropical Storm Fay has residents of my home state of Florida in a tizzy today. Since last night I've already heard 11 references to Hurricane Katrina and how prepared we should be. For a tropical storm. That's already hit land. And won't get stronger. Unless it goes back out into the Gulf and sits in one place for a few days.

Yeah, I'm frightened.



(FACT: Adding strings to any classic 80s hair metal song makes it one billion times cooler.)

Seeing as we're a non-profit humor blog, we don't have to answer to anyone about anything (so says our lawyer, the honorable John Q. Fuckyourmom) and we can pretty much make up anything we want. Like, for instance, we could say that John McCain's cougar wife Cindy's recent arm boo-boo was the result of her love for Tijuana back alley knife fights. Obviously that's not true, but if that's what we decide to run with then so be it. After all, we do have 10 times more credibility than FOX News.



(Sean Hannity is impotent because of his fetish for slamming his dick in car doors. Actually, that one is true.)

But we found this idea pretty interesting, and it might actually merit more than just a hearty laugh or a raised eyebrow. While both parties are known to keep very tight lips about who the frontrunners are for vice presidents, you can sometimes get an idea of who might be in the lead based on web site domains. Like, for instance, if you go to www.obamaedwards.com, you can probably rule out the currently embattled John Edwards. Or, if you go to www.obamaclinton.com, you'd likely guess that Hilldawg ain't in the running except in the minds of some idiot with a Cafe Press account.

And let's just pick one more random name out of the air as a possible running mate for Barack Obama... how about Florida's Bill Nelson? Yeah, that sounds like a reach. So let's just click on www.obamanelson.com and see there's nothing to it... oh, well I'll be a Democrat's running mate.

(Special thanks to our DC insider, Shallow Throat)

The town of Mount Isa in Australia's outback has a little problem — there aren't enough women for all of the men. So mayor John Moloney did what any good wingmayor would do. He invited the country's ugly women to move in.



(In Australia, Linda Kozlowski is the definition of perfection.)

Moloney's remarks have outraged people, not because he's trying to attract ugly women to move to Mount Isa, but because the town's men don't like him advertising their desperation nor his assumption that they'll settle for anything. In fact, the men are so upset they've stopped humping wallabies long enough to voice their opinions. However, the mayor defends his remarks, saying that he's not calling for ugly women so much as he's asking for chicks who are doable.

"Well I said beauty disadvantaged," he told national radio. "Now beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Beauty can be a good set of teeth, beauty is nice wavy hair. Beauty can be blue eyes or green eyes.

"There is such a thing as disposition, temperament, manners, general attractiveness, attitude and demeanour, all those things tend to make a person attractive."

Wrong! Beauty is a nice set of jugs and breath that doesn't smell like a moose fart. I'm all for sacrificing the quality of women if it means saving the men from resorting to romancing the bone. Then again, New Jersey brought in all of New York's ugly women and the men still spend their days greasing each other up, so I guess it's a crap shoot.

I saw this video over at my beloved FilmDrunk.com and I realized that I had to share it to help express my original point about 90210:



And I also can't make mention of the Heights without asking the most important question ever... just how do you talk to an angel?



Now go enjoy that weekend of yours, you've earned it.

"These chicks know we're ugly and gay, right?"



Israeli soldier: "Stop it."
Palestinian: "Stop what? I'm not touching you."
Israeli soldier: "Real mature, dude."
Palestinian: "I am mature. You're the one who will rot in hell."



"Whatever will we do now that our house has flooded? I know, plug in the TV."



Reporter: "Mrs. McCain, what happened to your arm?"
Cindy McCain: "I... I fell down."



"Mmmmm, mmmmm! Watermelon!"



"Stay still, bitch. It's last call and I ain't goin' home alone."

Happy Friday, everybody!