The Mad Mom

Vajazzle Dazzle 'Em

By Mad Mom on March 3, 2010 11:05 AM | No Comments | No TrackBacks

Holla Bitches!

Long time no smooch! Who needs niceties when there's nitty grit to get to?

She'll Smack A Bitch

(AP Photo/Dominic Lipinski)

Duck! Miz Campbell's at it again!

Last night, her driver for the day cruised by an NYC police station to file a harassment report against the aging supermodel. Apparently she lunged forth from the backseat of his Escalade and smacked him silly into the steering wheel, giving him a big-ass shiner. She likely won't do any time for her antics but he's got grounds to pursue some $damages$.

First off, has she learned nothing from that orange jumpsuit incident? And isn't she like, 40? I think this shit past cute straight into ugly after the age of 18. I don't know a soul alive who wouldn't like to dope slap those who offend us at will, but that's what makes us evolved beyond the chimps, yo. Like they say in preschool, you MUST learn to use your words Naomi!

And I'd like to say godspeed to my former employer, who used to have to slap band-aids on the boo-boos she left in her wake.

Stupid Item Of The Week

Is your vagina bored? Does it miss all the glitz and glamour of its nubile years? My girls at momlogic have done us the immeasurable honor of pointing our privates toward the perfect solution. You too can wax the shit out of your nether region and make pretty designs with an amalgam of glue and fake crystals. Talk about keying in on the human attraction to shiny objects. If this complex practice doesn't invite an erection from every penis in the immediate vicinity, I don't know what will. So razzle dazzle it, Bitches! Vajazzling for all!

Ground Control To Minor Tom

We parents all have those shiteous maximus kinda days where we've got to get to work and no childcare can be found. But whether or not the kid should come to work with you depends on what it is you do for a living. For example, if I were an open heart surgeon, I wouldn't exactly deem it fit to scrub in my minion and hand them a beating heart whilst I rearranged some poor bastard's innards.

That said, when I came across this story about a kid who took to the mic at an air traffic control tower, my response quickly flipped from funny ha-ha to funny/kinda/not. I mean, with all the crazies making our friendly skies not so friendly these days, why risk um...lives...and add more restrictions to the mix?

Mmmm...St. Paddy's Ball Pie

Great Moments in Irish History with Denis Leary - watch more funny videos

Makes one ponder what's REALLY in "boiled dinnah."

Mad Pimpin'

So check it Homies, my Bars Banning Babies momlogic post caught fire to the point that Good Morning America was looking for folks who'd been booted from a bar for bringing a baby. Anyone care to chip at five of your allotted fifteen minutes of fame? Leave a comment right quick!

Alright Compadres, peace the fuck out.

The Mad Mom

Rotten Apples

By Mad Mom on February 16, 2010 9:23 AM | 1 Comment | No TrackBacks

Yo!

Coming at you from the trenches of "winter break," which comes hot on the heels of "holiday break" and precludes the extra long "spring break." It's sadly becoming too expensive to work and send your kid to public school. And on that note...

Some Teachers Are Rotten Apples

Right before break started, my kid's teacher was presenting her dissertation so his class got a sub. This guy was a jackass of Grade A proportions. And since this blog is aptly entitled THE MAD MOM, I reserve the full editorial right to vent about his revoting display of high-douchery in graphic detail:

What kind of "teacher" brings in TOYS -- to only be given to maybe five students mind you -- to bring order to his class? To add salt, when my kid voiced how upset he was about this unfair practice, he got yelled at for showing how he felt in front of everyone. When I confronted said douchebag about his downright mean tactics, he had the sac to respond with, "You gotta give me something! How else was I supposed to get the class under control?"

How about actually communicating with them, Jackass? I thought bringing toys into the class was against school policy?

It gets better. Apparently, he also told the class at one juncture that, if they fell out of line, he didn't want to hear about it "unless someone's head was smashed against the wall and they were bleeding." He's talking to six-year olds, people.

Word is, he used this vivid brand of descriptor with the kids all day, in between yelling at them continuously. Some of the kids were so traumatized they cried before bed that night and the next day.

So soothing to know my six-year old was left in his tender loving care! Who's next in line to sub? John Mayer?

And speaking of The Duke of irresponsible commentary...

The New & Improved John Mayer

This lovely tidbit was posted on Facebook by my old pal, Coulonious Monk. Sick, twisted, hilarious.

Blogger "Wunderkind" Steals Fashion Week

Photo: Racked.com

Seriously, there's something a bit disturbing about this Katie chick. Perhaps it's rooted in how the adults around her imposed that maniacal smile and frozen mien that causes her to closely resemble a coin-operated Dresden doll.

How well can a five year old type, anyway? And how are legit journos like myself supposed to compete with some child scribe who'll churn out a post for an American Girl Doll outfit and three blow-pops? Where is the justice?

"I'll Have The Octopus!"

This "generous" man scored some tentacle-cooch for a number of reasons:

A) He likely thinned the octo-herd by deep frying Aalyiah, Jebadaiah and whatever-the-fuck-another-one-of-those-kids-are-called at this dinner, dipping them in soy sauce and inhaling them with a dash of kosher salt.

B) The sweet-nothings he whispered over their romantic meal probably comprised of rehearsing that retort on an endless loop, to which she responded with a grateful aw-shucks giggle each time.

c) I'm going to hell, aren't I? You provide the handbasket, I'll provide the brimstone...

See you there!

The Mad Mom

Manscaping Made Easy

By Mad Mom on January 20, 2010 11:51 AM | No Comments | No TrackBacks

What up?

In light of the tragic events in Haiti, all this craptastic nonsense seems mighty minute, don't it? They say the best medicine for pain is laughter, so here's hoping a little healing is promoted from the inane stupidity that's about to transpire on this very page.

Guh-Guh-GLOBES!

Because I appreciate the fact that you're too fucking BUSY, here's my abbreviated recap of the Globes in a few words or less:

Freshly Fucked In The Pantry Of The Beverly Hilton

Miss Golden Globes

Tragic Project Runway Runner-Up

Too Rich To Give A Shit

Photos: Hollywood Life

From B to DDD (Dumb, Dumb, Douche)

Photo: People

After months of anonymity due to a worldwide media ban, Heidi Montag went and scored herself a mag cover by rearranging her face and embarking on a miraculous transformation that took her from dumb to dumber this week.

What I find very funny is, titties and blow out aside, I couldn't see a fuck bit of difference in this pic, but when I recently wrote about it for MomLogic and saw the Extra video -- WHOA. Behold Lady Plasticine -- the next drag star!

All I know is, for $30k, I better look like fucking Salma Hayek by the time I check my ass out of the recovery wing of The Four Seasons or I'm disemboweling the surgeon with a butter knife. SERIOUS.

And now for THE BEST thing I've seen in a while...

Sleep Talkin' Man

If you can only click on one thing in the entirety of this entry, you MUST see this. A saintly woman records her husbands nocturnal emissions of the verbal variety, and records them for us all to enjoy. Some choice quotes include:

"Snail fiddling is not an occupation I'd be proud of. You dirty fucker."

"Just look at yourself. Yeah, now look at me. You don't stand a chance. It must suck to be you, I'm sure."

"I want to be a cowboy. I don't want to be a panda. Pandas are boring, stupid and boring. Bad panda!"

"I am awe-some. Deal with it fucker!"

The Rad Dad and I spent a strong hour buckled over in tears after reading this crazy fuck's rants.

Enjoy!

Momma Love On The Four Train

Now that's some momma love for you right there.

Personally, I'm sure her mother envisions a more sanitary mast and ass-ectomy. Many thanks to my boy at Fart On Tits for this priceless gem!

Stupid Items Of The Week

Is Your Man Unruly?

Or just plain out of the closet? Please join me in homage to The Mangroomer, an easy-to-use manscaper that will prevent those errant man hairs from shedding onto your smooth parts! They even make a backshaver!

Many thanks to @Angelsauce for bringing this handy little item to my attention!

But wait! There's MORE! A little something for us gals. This one comes courtesy of Ms. Candice, who I can always rely on for such small trinkets of joy.

Because Girls Should Wear Pink

Have your girl parts turned you into a lover of another color? Well, fear no more! My New Pink Button is a patent pending formula was designed by a female certified Paramedical Esthetician (whatever the fuck that is -- a beaver weaver perhaps?) to end all undue suffering due to genital color loss. Now there is a solution! Available now in "Marilyn," "Ginger," and "Audry!"

Sounds like a genius feminist blog name to me! Can't you see it now?

Anywho, if this dye job holds your interest even in the wee-weeist bit, be sure and read the side effects warning will you?

Speaking of blogs....

Thanks for voting!

I was informed last week that this here blog, The Mad Mom, was nominated as one of the unknowns on Babble's Best Mommy Blog list. I started out strong at number three, but am now getting my ass handed to me by people who go by "Mrs. Flinger," "Uppercase Woman," and "Dear Baby." This doesn't sit well with me.

Whatevs. I've some lovely news to report...

MomLogic and I -- we put a ring on it. I'm very proud to announce that I'm now the East Coast Editor of said website and am having myself a grand old time. Just last week, I got to interview Scout & Bill, Tori Spelling's Guncs from Home Sweet Hollywood. LURVE! Also got to interview Bethenny Frankel from Real Housewives of New York. Let the good times ROLL!

Signing off! MUAH!

The Mad Mom

Continue reading Manscaping Made Easy.

Breeders Gone Wild!

By Mad Mom on December 28, 2009 11:11 AM | No Comments | No TrackBacks

Happy Holidays Kids!

Welcome to the Breeders Gone Wild year-end edition of The Mad Mom. If you all are anything like me, you've spent the last month eating your face off and are prone to deranged and depraved acts of insanity fueled by copious amounts of sugar and alcohol.

So I hereby provide you with some last, sinful tasty morsels before we ring in a brand new decade. Here's hoping it's less of a collective shit storm than 2009, where it seems the Grim Reaper took a big dump all over our biznazz. Basta already.

And now for some things remotely amusing...

Ivana "Choke A Bitch" Trump

If you get on a plane with your kids and pass Ivana Trump in First Class, you better dose 'em with Bloodies and Benedryl or risk a swift ass-whoopin' from the Big I herself!

The Orlando Sentinel reported that Ivana lost her shit and had to be removed from a LaGuardia bound Delta flight from Palm Beach because the "little fuckers" around her wouldn't "shut up." She then told the sheriffs taking her off the flight to "fuck off" as well.

Gotta give it to her - the ol' bird's got chutzpah! Ivana's 'bout ready to choke a little bitch in the name of peace and quiet!

Hmn. Perhaps all that Studio 54 Seconal succeeded in wiping her own children's formative years from her memory. But as a parent who has recently been through the hell of trying to contain a pissed off two year old on a flight (as told here in my piece for MomLogic, Air Wars), I can confidently explain that no one wanted those kids to shut up more than their parents. As utterly painful and annoying as errant children can be, there's absolutely no need to cunt out. Just relax, pop a Xanax, and pop on some of those Bose headphones or some shit. And by all means, leave the miserable parent of those kids the fuck alone. I promise you, they are having a worse time than you are. Cunting out like that only hurts the cunt-er - not the cunt-ee.

And now for more hardy tales of Breeders Gone Wild!

A Rare Documented Case of Drunka Mis-Fortuna

File this under demented and sad, but social.

A few entries ago, I educated you readers about Drunka Fortuna, a common condition unique to New Englanders. Also known as Luck Of The Irish, it bestows them with an equal ratio of death-defying luck to the alcohol levels in their bloodstream.

But, as with all conditions, symptoms vary greatly from person to person and Drunka Fortuna can quickly turn into something less fun, the mighty Drunka Mis-Fortuna. No, it's not a drag queen in heels the shape of martini glasses. Here's a hearty example: This 37 year old Manchester NH mother passed out drunk in a snowbank outside her children's daycare -- after she'd picked her kids up and left them in her car...engine still running. After she was discovered by a maintenance worker, the woman was charged with an aggravated DWI.

Alright. You've tsked. You can laugh now.

Tiny Tranny Thief Does a B&E

Poor little four year old Hayden Wright. On a late night quest to locate his jailbird daddy, he went to his granddaddy's cooler out back, popped the top on an ice cold Bud and opened a bunch of presents in his unsuspecting neighbor's house, including a cute little brown number he just had to put on.

As seen in this interview, his poor mother was real cool about cross-dressing, and the fact that he performed a seamless B&E that'd no doubt make his daddy proud. She just couldn't believe how he got the beer open in the first place. "How he got it open, I don't understand," she says. "It's one of those tab beers."

Stupid Item Of The Week

Pretty sure I first saw this goodie on MomLogic, but it's been so damn long I can't find the link. Still, isn't it a beauty to behold? What a convenient way of treating your infant like less than an animal! Perhaps those Ivana Trump offenders should consider this handy little device when next crossing her path. Toting your child has never been easier! Simply pack, hermetically seal, and go!

Happy New Year Bitches!

The Mad Mom

December Will Be Magic

By Mad Mom on December 2, 2009 11:05 AM | 4 Comments | No TrackBacks

The holiday season is officially upon us and we find ourselves festooned with garland, our cheeks stuffed with rugelach and social obligations up the wazoo. Get down!

So who can we laugh at today?

Lambert Cracks Whip, Inserts Tongue

Im'a do a lil' Hag Supreme crossover this week, because this Adam Lambert-infused ridiculousity needs to be addressed. I saw his flamboyant performance on the AMA's and you know what? Who cares. By canceling his appearance, GMA did nothing but raise Lambert's YouTube Q rating, along with his penis.

US Mag gives us this righteous snippet from Lambert's interview on Ellen yesterday:

"People aren't used to seeing a gay man like that on TV. The gay male in the media tends to be very cliche and safe."

WORD, my sista/brotha. What kind of gay/straight double standard allows Madonna to cop a squat on the faces of endless sinewy backup dancers and you're barely allowed to let your tongue accidentally graze the mic?

So you made the performance your "coming out" to compensate for all those subdued gender neutral stylings you felt compelled to serve us on American Idol. So the only thing gayer would have been to employ the use of a feather boa, jazz hands and a rousing rendition of "Everything's Coming Up Roses." SO WHAT.

"My dad was like, 'Maybe you should apologize, Adam,' he says. I was like, 'You know, dad, I don't feel like I did anything wrong. It just wasn't maybe the right judgment call. It's a taste thing more than an obscenity thing. I think it's just a taste level.' "

Yeah, kinda like that backup dancer got to taste the level of the zipper on your pants!

A tip of the penii to you, Sir Lamberto. You hit notes I only dream of and I love it when you are rawer than sushi. Let 'em say what they'll say. This Hag Supreme's got your back.

Yo Gabba Gabba!

In matters of a more parental advisory nature, I spent a saw buck I didn't have to take my sweet Go-Go Girl to Yo Gabba Gabba Live at the Beacon Theatre. And let me tell you, it was well worth the saw buck and more to see the look on her lil' face when The Roots took the stage to give us some "Lovely, Love." And thanks to Biz Markie, she's got a promising career in beatboxing ahead of her.

If they tour again and you have chitlins in the age range, or your simply stoned off your ass, you must go. It's a spectacle to behold.

Idiot Of The Week

Seeing as the Sarah Palin/Oprah fiasco was last week (McCain lost the election because he told me what to eat, how to dress and how to do my hair! Wasn't me! That's why I've gone rogue! Look, my hairs as big as a regular soccer moms now! And I'm wearing my best Joyce Leslie!), a new, and believe it or not even better, fuck up has occurred that deserves your attention, courtesy of my MomLogic people.

Just covered a piece for them about an asshole from rural PA who saw fit to take his ten year old girl hunting (to kick off the season) and they both got shot because she dropped the rifle off of a treestand.

So not only was this kid expected to trade in her Holly Hobby for a Ruger Model 44 bigger than she is, she was expected to be proficient enough to manage the kickback of it whilst balancing herself at high altitude.

The kicker? The Game Commission deems this as LEGAL. Apparently in hunting circles, it's perfectly legal for children under the age of 12 to fire a rifle if accompanied by a licensed hunter over the age of 21.

I'm not into hunting myself, but adults are going to do what they will. But this kid should be painting Cotton Candy pink on her fingernails for fun, not to detract from the numerous stitches across her hand she gleaned from her first bullet wound courtesy of dear ol' Dad's flaming idiocy.

Loser. Literally.

Loser: Literal Video Version - watch more funny videos

If you haven't gotten a load of these literal videos, please do so. They're cute.

Stupid Situation Of The Week

Oh the horror! Maclaren strollers issued a recall on over 1 million strollers because 12, count 'em 12 toddlers lost their fingers to the side hinges.

Now I'm not poo-pooing the recall itself. I'm simply wondering about people who feel compelled to fold up this stroller in such close proximity to a toddler in the first fucking place.

After all, closing a Maclaren is somewhat of a violent act in and of itself. You have to kick down a handle, kick up the hinge in the back then bend the damn thing over using your entire body. Isn't there as great a risk for bashing your kid upside the head with a wheel during this complex endeavor? Seriously, who thinks it's cool to let little Rylee or Baylee reach into the basket for their sippy cup while this rather large contraption of aluminum and cloth is flailing about?

That's it for now sexsi people!

Drunka Fortuna & Disintercourse

By Mad Mom on November 13, 2009 9:35 AM | 2 Comments | No TrackBacks

Yo. Happy Friday!

Disintercourse

Love me some 30 Rock. Aside from the pithy dialogue, I really get off on the Lemon/Donaghy dynamic because it's one of the rare instances on network TV where a straight man and woman enjoy a true platonic friendship. Y'know, like the kind you have in real life?

What I like about their relationship is that fucking is off the table all together. As far as he's concerned, she is beholden of a penis and thus, she's the only woman in his world he's able to forge a true connection with. As far as she's concerned, she gets how his wheels turn and thus wouldn't spread for him if he were the last cock on earth.

This in and of itself is far more interesting than the "sexual tension" tons of show runners think we give a shit about. If they fucked, it might be hot but they'd have nothing left to say to each other. Besides, Lemon provides a decent example for young brainy, yet delinquent four-eyed chicks of questionable ethnic origin everywhere. Let her show 'em they way to the top certainly ain't on the bottom.

Stupidity Of The Week

Kid Charges Parents $15 To Talk To Him

My people at MomLogic learned of a story in the China Daily where a twenty-something live-at-home slacker shithead has the sac to charge his parents fifteen bucks (well, the equivalent yuan) every time they want to talk to them.

The parents say the kid's cell phone is always off and he dodges them every time he comes home or goes out. So once the father left the cash with a note for him to call and whadda ya know? He did. And now it's the only way they can talk to him.

What is wrong with these people? What is he, TEN? Apparently this young buck as no clue where his bread is buttered. And these parents haven't a clue that in holding the purse strings, they hold HAND.

Want your smarmy shit kid to talk to you? Stop paying his cell phone bill and kick his spoiled ass out on the street, right quick. That'll teach him to speak when he's spoken to.

Exhibit A: Drunka Fortuna

There are a certain breed of Massholes in possession of a superpower -- the ability to exalt themselves and summon the divine to do their bidding through alcohol abuse. I call it "Drunka Fortuna." Behold how this lucky chick was somehow just wasted enough to avoid a grisly fate of the T face on. This goes way beyond the drunka fortuna of bowling eight strikes in a row or hitting the bullseye on the daht boahd at Fahthus.

And if any of you homies dare get pissy at me for calling the majorus populus from the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts a bunch of flaming drunks, please kiss my ass. I've got the liver and the birth certificate to back it up, TRUST.

Ridicicrunkulous!

As you devout readers know, we here at The Mad Mom are established purveyors and connoisseurs of all things douche. It seems someone at Funny Or Die also put their fingers on this pulse because they've created this compelling display of douche pride....

We Are Douchebags - watch more funny videos

Alrighty, you pristine, lacy undergarments. I'm out.

The Mad Mom

Strange Little Snacks

By Mad Mom on October 26, 2009 9:30 AM | 3 Comments | No TrackBacks

Happy Almost Halloween! The air is crisp, my feet are cold. My brain is crisp, I'm getting old.

So let's get to it, do it:

The "No Shit, Sherlock" Of The Week

Just wrote this for MomLogic:

Are you sitting down? Prepare for a shocker.

Baby Einstein was brought to task in front of The Federal Trade Commission by for what The Campaign For A Commercial-Free Childhood describes as "engaging in deceptive acts and practices."

The result? You can get a refund on up to four DVD's by sending them back, or a coupon for some other Baby Einstein product. Here's a slice of the claim:

"The American Academy of Pediatrics ("AAP") recommends "no screen time" for children under age two, including television or videos promoted for that age group. Despite this recommendation, companies have aggressively marketed videos for children under two, making over one billion dollars from the sales of these videos. Companies such as Baby Einstein and Brainy Baby have capitalized on parents' desires to give their very young children a leg up on learning and development by deceptively and falsely marketing their videos as educational and beneficial for infant development. For example, Baby Einstein claims that with its Baby da Vinci video, 'your child will learn to identify her different body parts, and also discover her five senses... in Spanish, English, and French!' The claims are deceptive because no research or evidence exists to support Baby Einstein and Brainy Baby's claims that their videos are educational or beneficial for very young children. In fact, preliminary research suggests that television is a poor tool for educating very young children. They are false because research indicates that television viewing by children under three negatively affects cognitive development.'

So THAT'S why my kid stands there drooling each time these DVD's are on! They halt all active brain waves! See, with Einstein himself endorsing the product, I believed it was required to make the synapses in my baby's brain fire faster and thus get him/her into a first rate, Ivy League university. And all I'd have to do to achieve this outcome is press "play" on the DVD remote.

I mean, really. The balls of these people! How dare they offer us a product that doesn't literally do what it claims? I guess I'm the real idiot. Here I was, thinking the subliminal crack in these DVD's gave my kid a leg up while I took a shower in peace.

Feeling jypped out of a free ride to Harvard? Look on the bright side. Your refund of $13-$15 per DVD (with a limit of 4) is nothing compared how much you'll save when your kid only gets into a second-tier community college.

A Hymn For TJ's

This is exactly how I feel each time I walk into Trader Joe's:

Many thanks to @kayhanley, who shared this sweet lil' nugget on Facebook.

And many thanks to my old pal and editor Joe Bonni (Twitter ID unknown), who shared this delicious moment of surrealism that is sure to brighten your day...

Toking on Lawrence Welk? Sweet Jebus!

Fat Dead Guy In A Little Coat

Last but not least on this round of wrongs, have you gotten a load of these ads for Direct TV where a live actor communes with an actor who's passed onto the next dimension? They didn't phase me until the playoffs last night, when this one featuring a seance between David Spade and Chris Farley came on.

WHOA. Weren't they BFF? What would drive someone to capitalize on a friendship posthumously? Just sayin'...*cough* WHOR! *cough*

Until next time someone does something really stupid...

The Mad Mom

Amuse Douche

By Mad Mom on September 29, 2009 9:18 AM | 4 Comments | No TrackBacks

Just returned from a quick n' dirty trip back to my hometown of Boston to finally meet my girl Candle's gorge baby boy and check in with my old cronies at the WBCN Reunion at the Paradise in Boston. I felt honored to be included, not just because my bud Gina was part of the team that put this shizz together, but because the place wasn't exactly crawling with former interns - just a handful of us who'd been there for a bunch of years and somehow wound up on the payroll.

Mind you, I did my time there exactly half my life ago and plenty much has transpired over the last twenty years. When I worked there, my admired superiors were closing in on my current age. You do the math.

I was too busy gabbing to do much snapping, but the marquee summed it up: Private Party (How does it feel to want?)

Photo: Larry Bruce/Boston Herald

And yes, I was that asshole who walked around flashing pix of my kids on my BBerry. So incredibly trite, I know. But what kind of bitch would I be if I didn't? They're my two greatest accomplishments, so long as they see fit to refit my dentures now and again. Of course, there were the few that knew me back then who needed a second to wrap their minds around the fact that a former stoner-go-lightly like me was actually responsible for the feeding and watering of two cute living, breathing creatures. I forgave this, because I occasionally need a few seconds to reabsorb that juicy little factoid myself.

A Little Amuse Douche?

Some of you were inquiring about an addendum to Douche Redux, my post that pondered the douche slang revival and examines the correct use of the term. There indeed has been a significant resurgence of douchetastic behavior as of late, and thus the Douche List warrants a revisit.

Kanye West

Unless you're residing at the bottom of the East River, you're fully schooled on the whole Kanye jumping on stage and raping Taylor Swift's winning moment by now.

This ultimate act of high-douchery catapults him beyond the realm of douche into DINK territory. Because we all know a teeny weeny peenie is far worse than a clean vadge.

Photo: Chris Polk/ Getty Images

Khloe Kardashian - My sweet Armo sister, I kinda dig your outspoken style. You do seem to be the most conscious of the Kardashian family at any given time. And your man is a cutie pie.

But to marry a dude after a month of dating is quite the fi-douchiary maneuver. Haskadzah.

Photo: Kevin Winter/ Getty Images

The Hills Cast

Now, grab a seat because this douchetastic nugget will cause your cooch to close and bacteria-laced vinegar and water to flow from your ears. Check out just how much these ne'er-do-nothings cash in per episode (courtesy of DListed) while we squirrels scrounge for a nut:

Lauren Conrad - $125,000

Kristen Cavalleri - $90,000

Heidi Montag - $100,000 and a record contract!

Audrina Partridge - $100,000

and our own Summer's Eve special Spencer Pratt - rakes in $65,000 per episode. Now if you'll excuse me, I must gargle bile.

Photo: DListed

Sarah Palin

Hey all you Joe six-packs out there! Guess what? I've got a new book comin' out for ya' that'll tell ya' how it feels to go rogue. And it's called "Goin' Rogue: An American Life!"

My editor said that putting a "g" at the end of "going" would make more of those smarty-pants liberals buy it, but I told her all those Joe six-packs out there don't say, goin"gh" they say "goin'."

Besides it's more rogue if you do it different. But who cares, right? It's a book. I wrote a book. And I did it in four months, triple-spaced. Take that you innelectuals. So buy it, will ya? I tell 'ya it'll split the Massengils from the Summer's Eves.

Photo: Somewhere

Mad Pimpin'

Don't let your daughter get all douchey just because her friends are. If she's acting all "mean girl," check out my latest feature for MomLogic for the expert take on how to check her right quick.

Stupid Item Of The Week

If looking like a refugee from a monastery for retired porn stars isn't enough for just YOU, you can score your DOG a Snuggie! It's "just too cute for words!" NOT!

Last week it was the "Snuggie Sauna," now this bullshit. I beg of you, opportunistic marketers from the fifth circle of hell, CEASE AND DESIST. Before I come up with a better idea.

Later!

The Mad Mom

The Un-Back-To-School Issue

By Mad Mom on September 9, 2009 12:49 PM | 1 Comment | No TrackBacks

Hey Y'all!

My issue with back-to-school is that with so many back-to-school issues clogging my in/mail/fun box these days, I feel brain-raped on the subject. Not that my brain isn't prone to use and abuse. Clearly, I'm not the only parent simultaneously exhilarated and bewildered by the noise-free dead spot in my immediate perimeter. So there's just no need to go there.

I'm also a New Yorker with the heart and soul of a Miami retiree. Give me a 85 degree day, a pool and a shuffleboard court and I'm in Valhalla. So for me, this time is bittersweet. As thrilled as I am to see my big kid resume his intellectual and social stimulation, I'm preternaturally mourning the stench of pit stains and free feet. To clear the proverbial decks, I hereby decree this arena free of further mention of back-to anything.

Note I didn't say anything about being on one's back.

The Snuggie Sutra

I first learned of this website from my peeps over at MomLogic, who share my penchant for what's silly and sillier.

This is a merciless move also known as The Horse Blanket: "The woman wears the Snuggie on her front and covers her partner with the bottom. Perfect for showing off your moves and when you can't stand to look your partner in the eye."

I just call it the smotherfucker.

Stupid Item of the Week

Have your eyelashes been crippled with "hypotricosis?" Tired of random strangers whispering "chrome balls" behind your back?

Thanks to Latisse, the new Brooke Shields-endorsed Miracle-Gro for eyelashes, you shall suffer no more. Brave the risk of eye pruritus (burning and itching), iris discoloration, conjunctival hyperemia (contagious eye-goo) and skin hyperpigmentation and you are SET.

Since when did lack of eyelash hair become an urgent matter that requires medical attention?

Tsk, tsk, tsk. That pesky Brooke. Granted, she was born to shill, but there's a threshold that surpasses good taste. Cars, Tupperware, toothpaste, now this Latisse shit. I feel like I'm lurking over her midlife crisis, watching her bank account fatten, but her integrity as an actress swirl the bowl.

Whatever it takes, Sweetheart. Hey - cut me a six figure check and watch me flash you my mighty morphin mama-tatas with a wink and a big fat smile. I'll even send you a complimentary barf bowl. Just include a self-addressed stamped envelope.

And now for the educational portion of our broadcast...Dr. Phil is moonlighting! Whatever it takes in this recession...

Open box. Remove applicator. Damn, this is as hard as Jon Gosselin's peen for Ed Hardy.

I love how 1:42 of this is absorbed with this idiot trying to open the fucking box. Apparently, she could give two shits about flashing her year-old mani on camera. And judging by my post-viewing vertigo, the camera man did multiple shots of this shit before pressing "record."

Best of all is the script. "Most people have two eyes." I'm supposed to put my trust in a product developed by the fucking genius who crafted this compelling commentary?

And what does this say about their erstwhile spokesperson, Brooke?

I'll leave you to ponder that for now... it's a real chin-stroker.

Until next time...

Your ever faithful,

Mad Mom

All Good Things Must Pass

By Mad Mom on August 13, 2009 9:00 AM | No Comments | No TrackBacks

Howdy Bitches!

It seems the past few weeks have brought on lots of crazy ass changes for folks in and out of my realm -- some fortunate, and some downright heartbreaking.

There's one that occurred this week that touched me and a lot of my Beantown homies a hell of a lot more than we thought it would. My old alma mater, The Rock Of Boston, a.k.a WBCN, went off the air after 41 years of revolutionizing rock radio. For many a Boston music lover, Tuesday marked the day the music died.

Feel free to file your nails while I wax nostalgic: 'BCN came on the air just two weeks before I was born and nurtured my passion for music since I could snap on a radio. Those jocks read the liner notes. They knew who produced what, who sang back up on what and who was doing who, all the while paying proper reverence to album-making as the true art form it once was.

I worked there for three of my formative years. To say I was depressed when domestic events forced me to preternaturally drop out of Parsons to toil over receipts in a suburban office park is a vast understatement. But while driving home from my rung in purgatory one day, I heard an ad scouting for interns for my favorite radio station, I answered it, and my life changed forever.

During my tenure, I learned the ins and outs of radio -- how to produce a show, how to program an airshift, how to find something redeeming in a song I might loathe and how to wax poetic about it with gusto -- from the very best in radio. Peter Wolf was a DJ there before forming J. Geils. Its Pied Piper, program director Oedipus. Charles Laquidara and The Big Mattress. Mentors and buds like Ken Shelton, Carter Alan, Steve Strick, Bradley Jay and Tami Heide. Marc Parenteau. Albert O. Bill Abbate. Those renegades were MAD in the way I aspire to be. And thanks to them, you have bands like U2. The Clash. The Sugarcubes. You have comedians like Lenny Clarke and Denis Leary.

Back then, there were no degrees that qualified you to work in radio. You kept your head down and your eyes peeled. The shit that went down within the confines of those walls could fuel a dozen pithy cable comidramas. Among the rich, complex conflama, I realized I liked to flex my big mouth, and not necessarily in the Lubriderm and skin-like-vinyl kind of way.

I'd finally found a place where I was encouraged to run amok. I'm sure many of my Facebook buddies from the intern stable share the same fond memories of us rolling off the conference table choking on laughter and tears, interacting with the very artists we'd once worshipped from afar and inhaling spliffs as big as my head in the garage.

Eventually, I moved to LA and moved on. And years later, the station fell victim to corporate takeover, as many great things do -- as many of us do when we have to pay the mortgage. I think my Masshole contemporaries are feeling the void because it's a gong that marks the inevitable death knell of radio. 'BCN, you've been running on fumes for a few years now, but your call letters raised a generation of kindred spirits who could give a flying fuck about the status quo.

Today, riffs on the zeitgeist are largely devoid of human voice, confined to the silently anonymous clickety-click of the blogosphere. Depending on why you do it, it can be a pure form of communication devoid of big-brother stipulations and regulations. Seriously - who gonna check me, Boo?

And so I conclude my eulogy with 'BCN's final song, spun by the man with crazy eyes who taught me how to produce a show, Bradley Jay. Shine On.

Stupid Item of the Week

Guess what? You too can shave the baby!

And a flame haired baby at that! Holy firecrotch!

It's bad enough some fearful soul walks the earth with the perception that babies are born with a full bush, and that it might be glorious fun to take a mini-machete to a plastic recreation and right the wrong. As if the pit bush and wooly pubes on an infant aren't sufficient enough to churn one's belly, but are the furry ankles necessary? What living creature produces this hair pattern?

That's Not Tomato Juice!

Soak it up, Bitches!

'Til next time...

The Mad Mom

The Mad Mom

The Bitchin' in My Kitchen

Vajazzle Dazzle 'Em

Rotten Apples

Manscaping Made Easy

Breeders Gone Wild!

December Will Be Magic

Drunka Fortuna & Disintercourse

Strange Little Snacks

Amuse Douche

The Un-Back-To-School Issue

All Good Things Must Pass

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