WorldNetDaily is outraged at the modern culture of promiscuity that is exemplified by the number of female teachers seducing their young male science students.

Yes, the cockblockers in some newspaper are trying to make it harder for you to get laid. As if getting laid in high school isn’t already difficult enough they want to take teachers out of the dating pool.

Now, we can’t all be lucky enough to have Pamela Rogers as a teacher:

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I got hopped up on insurance recently, probably due to the fact that I changed companies about two years ago and recently discovered that, should I die in a horrific flaming car wreck surrounded by large-breasted women with Bonepony’s “Stomp Revival” in all 6 slots of my 6-slot CD changer, their insurance policy on me doesn’t pay squat.Why would family members cut the brakes to my car if there’s nothing to inherit? I can’t expect to be liked on personality alone so ‘inheritance’ is something I want my kin to be muttering when they think about me.

Insurance policies require blood tests and such and they sent a nice lady over to see me to handle all of that. Sweety asks me how it went.

“I guess it was fine,” I say.

“What was your blood pressure?”

“120/80.”

“That’s normal, right?”

“I am never sure. On charts it shows 120/80 and down is normal but 120-139 is pre-hypertension. Either way, I think I am okay.”

“What else do they do?”

“They take a blood sample and a urine sample.”

“Did it hurt?”

“The urine sample? No, she held it very gently.”

Silence. I know what is happening; she is giving me the look. You know what look I mean. The look that is supposed to tell me it is Valentine’s Day. Like I don’t know. I am the one who had to go to Target to buy her that $4 box of candy.

“24 hours. That’s all I ask.” She says. She means 24 hours without a reference to another woman’s vagina or sex acts with other women. Especially deviant sex acts involving urine. Even as a joke.

“But if I stop making those jokes today you’d just expect it again tomorrow.”

“You are not around that much. I just want to see if you can do it for one day.”

Thus I have decided that, in the spirit of romance, I will make the effort. So here you go, people. 24 hours of humor without reference to supermodels, vaginas or cocaine.

Sweety, I hope you are happy. I won’t make my $.05 on Google AdSense today because those jokes are the only reason people bother to read my blog.

If there’s one thing I know, it’s what God meant when he created the Easter Bunny. Somewhere in there the Easter Bunny became associated with religion and when you add religion to things, you get alcohol-and-sex-fueled holidays. The holiday we are talking about today is the really fun period in Catholicism right before you have to give up stuff until you get Easter eggs 6 weeks later. Let’s call the giving up stuff part “Lent” and the fun part before that “Brazil.”

Brazil is, technically, a Catholic nation. Like all Catholic nations, this means you should give away 25,000,000 condoms for a religious event though the Church doesn’t believe in birth control.

Now, I am all for two things; birth control and inconsistency. Just not at the same time. I always pick one or the other. One time Sweety asked me about this:

SHE: Let me see if I understand this. You won’t use birth control, we can’t live together before marriage and you never eat meat on Fridays but you’ll let me use birth control and we can have buckets of pre-marital sex.

ME: Check. And sodomy, if you’re making a list.

SHE: How is that possible again?

ME: Well, I figure you’re going to Hell anyway so I might as well let you use birth control. And I can’t take Communion because of the pre-marital sex thing. So I suffer too.

You can imagine that logic train never left her station. So back to Brazil. They are going to give away 1 billion free condoms in 2006 as part of their ‘acclaimed’ anti-AIDS program. Who acclaims it? The government giving away the condoms, of course. The Church is worried that if they give away a lot of condoms, people will have more sex.

Not me. You think they’re giving away Durex XXLs? I bet not.

You know when you get me, Detroit and brisk winter weather, weird scientific stuff will happen. Add in Tommy Lee and you get weird scientific stuff please a whole lot of strippers who love guys with tattoos.

Now, I was there for the football and without question my boys came through at the end. So not only did I predict that the Steelers are the greatest team in the NFL and why, I predicted they would beat the spread. And I would much rather have hung out with Hank Williams, Jr. and Kid Rock, but Tommy Lee turned out to be a pleasant surprise.

I was never a glam rock guy - I was in ROTC so they wouldn’t let me grow my hair while that sum’bitch Reagan was in The White House. And Heather Locklear was nowhere near as hot as my chick when Heather Locklear was young much less now, so I think I have Tommy Lee beat all the way around. Unless he’s one heck of a scientist. But we stumbled across him at The Flight Club in Detroit and he recognized us because he had been at The Landing Strip too. So he bought us a drink - and since he was paying, I ordered a Macallan 18-year old Scotch, neat with a water back. And drank precisely none of it. But I looked cool holding it. I was tempted to ask about his keen interest in Absinthe and hookers but it was pretty obvious from where we met him that he is a connoisseur of both. Some questions just don’t need to be asked.

So if you were face-to-face with Tommy Lee, what would you ask? About that video with Pamela Anderson? No way. I saw three seconds of that video and said, “These two are in love so that is just wrong to watch.” Because I like my porn to be amongst professionals. Or involving me. Otherwise, I don’t want it at all. Would you ask about the tattoos? I have none and he has a gazillion so that’s one topic I can’t converse about. Well, I wasn’t stumped like you are. I asked him about his canoodling with a transvestite in Toronto.

I says to Tommy, “Tommy, if there’s one thing I know it’s transvestite strippers. As your attorney I would strongly advise that you take me along - for your own protection - next time.”

“Cash, dude,” says Tommy, “You could not have known. That Nina dude was one convincing chick.” And then he thinks about it for a minute. “How the f*** did you hear about that anyway?”

Well, what can I do? Go to a PC and show him my blog? I did happen to have my Dell Axim X51 in my pocket and I could have shown him everything he ever wanted to know about Thai transvestite hookers but I just mumbled something about reading The New York Post. “Yeah, I hate that f***ing rag,” he says.

Suddenly, the phone rings. It’s Lady Scientist. I think I know what this is about. She is not happy about the blog from the bar in Japan. Knowing that, I fail to mention Tommy Lee or the strip club we are in. Oops, no, that is not it. I still leave out the strip club, just in case.

She’s angry about vaginas. Specifically, stories involving vaginas that are not hers.

ME: You didn’t think my remark about the ‘line of women willing to offer me their vaginas is so long it can be viewed from space’ was funny? What about vaginas exploding because I am so hot. Is that funny?

SHE: I don’t think you and vaginas in the same story is funny, no.

ME: Come on. That’s funny stuff.

SHE: It’s actually not that funny.

ME: You’re repressing me.

SHE: I’m informing you.

ME: What about third person jokes involving vaginas?

SHE: Still not funny.

So I tried to disract her with stories about fat French people and a James Bond Director getting busted in drag during a prostitution sting but she was having none of it. Since that didn’t work I offered to buy her a vibrator that plugs into the USB port of a computer. That seemed to settle her down. She’s such a sucker for romantic gifts. Tommy Lee offers to serenade her to smooth things over but given his penchant for creating porn stars out of normal women, I don’t take him up on it. If she’s going to be a porn star, it can only be with me.

First, Christina Aguilera got married and gave hope to ugly guys everywhere, and I was okay with that. But now Lost star Evangeline Lilly has gotten engaged to a Hobbit.

What’s the point of doing all this work to look like … well, me … when squeaky little British guys can get women who look like this:

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