...but seriously, would you really want to date someone who found this funny?

So here I have the August issue of Cosmopolitan. Please don't ask me why. Let's take a closer look, shall we? Possibly spanning multiple entries, unless I get bored of the whole concept.

On the from the editor page, the editrix, "Kate White," informs us that for this issue, she got the magazine's "hilariously funny male editors" to "pitch the titles of articles they wish readers were devouring this month." Ms. White further alleges that reading this feature will cause me to "seriously laugh [my] butt off."

And it's very difficult to argue with this claim. But since I fear that the readers of this webblog may be too stupid to understand the extremely sophisticated humor of Cosmopolitan's "funniest male writers," I thought I would help out by reproducing the headlines and painstakingly explaining what exactly it is about then that should cause you to dislodge your buttocks from laughing so hard.

Every Actress in Hollywood pictured topless (including Dame Judi Dench)
You see, Judi Dench is old and therefore presumably unattractive; however, men are so overwhelmingly concupiscent that they don't care whose boobs they're looking at. Actually, the author of this blurb seems not to have totally understood the purpose of the assignment, since said blurb would hypothetically be aimed at a male audience. But never mind that. It's funny, dammit!

"The Expensive French Place? No, Thanks. Let's Go for Wings."...and 11 More Sexy Phrases He's Dying to Hear You Utter
This is funny because it implies that guys are either very cheap, or have extremely plebeian tastes. Possibly both. Also, French people are probably gay.

Videogame Confidential: Your Guy's Defeat of the Zombie Hordes Deserves Celebratory Sex
It's funny because not only are guys horny, but they also like Resident Evil. Get it?

Nail That Promotion! (So He Can Quit His Job)!
Although you might want to be promoted for your own professional growth, in point of fact, "he" only wants you to be promoted so he can quit his job and sponge off of you, sitting on his ass all day playing Resident Evil and expecting to get laid for his efforts. Quite a catch, isn't he?

Cosmo Quiz: Are You Giving It Up to Your Man Enough?
It's funny because men like having sex and thus wish that women's magazines would instruct their audience to put out more often.

The Nasty Thing 40 Percent of Women Won't Do (but Should)
Um...pretty much the same as the last one.

5 New Sex Positions Perfect for the Backseat of Your Car
Because most men are itinerants with no other place to do it? I dunno, man.

Research Irrefutable: Cats Are Useless
Men, being ruthlessly pragmatic creatures in all respects, are enraged by the low utilitarian value of cats. Apparently.

Gilmore Girls Cancelled--Then Sentenced to Death!
Apparently, Gilmore Girls is a show that men dislike, to such an extent that they not only feel it should be cancelled, but also that capital punishment should be visited upon its stars. LOLZHORS.

How to Pay His Bills
This isn't much different from the "Nail That Promotion" one. Apparently, "he" really likes survival horror games.

55 Ways to Convince Yourself He's Worth Sleeping With
It's funny because, in spite of the fact that he is a deeply unpleasant, sleazy person, he wants you to sleep with him without him making any effort at personal improvement. Actually, "appalling" might be a better word.

Real-Life Read: "I Think I Have Enough Shoes Now!" One Woman Awakens from the Matrix
Women have many pairs of shoes. IT'S FUNNY BECAUSE IT'S TRUE! LOLOCAUST!!!!11one1

31 Ways to Disrobe More Quickly
Men want women to be nekkid as quickly as possible.

Why Sharing Him With a Friend Will Save Your Relationship
It's funny because it purports to be relationship advice while actually merely catering to a popular male fantasy.

Annual Football Issue: We Break Down the Rules, the Teams, and Why It's More Fun to Watch Than Grey's Anatomy
This is like the Gilmore Girls one, only with another show that men allegedly despise--albeit not enough to wish death upon the cast. Also: men like sports, whereas women do not. Am I right, fellas?

Bikinis! They're not just for Summer Anymore
This apparent fashion advice is in fact designed to help men ogle more scantily-clad women.

Spring-Break Diary of a Cheerleader Gone Wild
Men imagine that a "cheerleader gone wild" would be engaging in numerous pornographic exploits; little do they know that for this particular cheerleader, "going wild" rather entails staying up as late as nine o'clock reading scandalous gothic romances! Shocking!

Relationship Communication Breakthrough: Making Out Naked Is the New "Talking"
It's funny because men are such socially maladroit troglodytes that they are unable to conduct, and have no interest in conducting, an intelligent conversation with their significant others. Ha ha. Seriously, I almost DIED from CONVULSIVE LAUGHTER there. I'm sorry, is my genuine annoyance at the utter fucking fatuousness of this magazine seeping through the protective layer of detached irony? Sorry. I'll work on that.

ODSBODKINS

Seriously. This makes me deeply ashamed to have ever watched American Idol. Yeah, I'm sure they'd have tried to arrange a photo-op with whoever was in the White House, but STILL. And anyway, I like to imagine that President Kerry would have been sufficiently serious-minded to refuse the honor. Regardless: meh.

garfield: "i can't go on i'll go on"

Yeah, no go. There was some speculation (between me and my brother) that this might actually signal the end of Garfield, but nope. It appears to be back to its old blandiferousness this week. Makes you wonder why they bothered to have an actual plotline, since it just accentuates the crushing ennui surrounding the strip the rest of the time.

the kracin

by: GeoX
age: ~7

one day a vicing came home reporting to have sene a strang montstre that Had allmot swolod his ship the crechre was abawt 8 and a half mils long it Had a ovol shapd hede and 8 long tentocols it was—well showted the ledre wiy did didint You kill it I—Just then the iland was gone

(note how the misspellings almost make it look like Middle English)

Man, fuck that Santorum asshole. Not literally. God forbid.

Yeah, so you know I'm not too keen on Casey, but man alive. I heard a santorum ad earlier today about how Casey doesn't hate illegal immigrants sufficiently. In which ad the horrible, smarmy announcer kept referring to his opponent as "Bobby Casey." We're seriously in grade-school now, are we? I don't care about Casey; I just want to fucking punish Santorum. It's only tangentially about politics now. I want that asshole gone.

Such things shall never come to pass!

So, like, did Jim Davis die or something? And was surreptitiously replaced? I only ask because, inexplicably, the last week of Garfield has actually had...a plotline. With characters. It's actually kind of...intentionally amusing, which it hasn't been for lo these many years. It's pretty unbelievable. If he's not dead, mayhaps he just had a sudden spasm of guilt over the transcendental laziness with which he's been approaching the strip. Maybe he actually wants people to like it. And if he keeps this up--unlikely as that seems--it might just work. Damn, Jim, you're going to ruin the humor of Existentialist Garfield. What? You don't remember Existentialist Garfield? To wit:

Ah, yes...the oldest trick in the book.

A post for Venus, full of grace and pulchritude

Lesbia
live with me
& love me so
we'll laugh at all
the sour-faced strict-
ures of the wise.
This sun once set
will rise again,
when our sun sets
follows night &
an endless sleep.
Kiss me now a
thousand times &
now a hundred
more & then a
hundred & a
thousand more again
till with so many
hundred thousand
kisses you & I
shall both lose count
nor any can
from envy of
so much kissing
put his finger
on the number
of sweet kisses
you of me &
I of you,
darling, have had.

--Catullus

Britney Spears=non-genius

Low-hanging fruit? Gosh, ya think? But really now, this makes me question my own sanity.

Your neighbors lost their alarm-clock.

Hello!
My name is Erecti1e Dysfuncti0n.
I have a lot of friends such us: bad sex, awful m00d, dissatisfied wife, short erect1ons and spoiled condoms.
But I do have one enemy – its name is Soft Cialis Tabs.
When they appear, I disappear.

STOP THE PRESSES. NOT LITERALLY.

Bam! Okay, so I'll admit it: I haven't read Vineland or Mason & Dixon, so I'm not totally hardcore. NEANMOINS, this is extremely exciting news. So he HAS been doing more in recent years than appearing on sub-par Simpsons episodes! And dude. Nine hundred-ninety-two pages? His longest yet, by some margin. Tell me more tell me more!

An instructive parable

So this guy dies. He was shot let's say why not. In a gang war. Or maybe not. Who fucking knows. Or cares. It's really not important. The point is, he's dead. So he's in the office of the dispatcher, who, you know, arranges where people go. And the dispatcher—possibly Saint Peter—let's call him that, at any rate—says, okay, your turn. And there are two doors out of his office. Possibly one of bone and one of ivory. Yeah, that's the ticket. Very strong mythic resonance there. He gestures for the guy to take a seat. Okay, so that door leads to hell, and that one to heaven, he says. Some people have no choice, but honestly, most of you are kind of borderline, so you get to choose: Heaven or Hell. And the guy says, I choose Heaven. Shut up, says Peter. Let me describe them for you first. Okay. So: Hell. You go through here, and you get everything you could possibly want. Seriously. You name it.You wanna soar through the cosmos, learning the mysteries of space and time? Absolutely. Wanna be the world's biggest rock star? Undoubtedly. Or you just wanna spend eternity lounging around on the French Riviera drinking mai tais while being fellated by all the girls who turned you down in high school? No problem. And of course, if you later decide you want something else, you can have that, too. Wait a second! Says the guy, who has seen a few Twilight Zone episodes in his time. That doesn't sound like Heaven—that sounds like Hell! Peter sighs extravagently. A bit slow, aren't you? As I said, if you had only listented: this is indeed Hell. Please try to keep up; there are millions of people waiting their turns. Wait, don't tell me, says the guy. So if I choose to go there, I'll be happy for a while, but eventually I'll realize, hey, not having to do any work, always having everything I want with no effort—this isn't Heaven; it's Hell! You already know it's Hell, Peter points out. You just like saying that, don't you? But no, not really. If productivity is what you want, that can easily be arranged. Pleasure can be effortlessly interleaved with pain. You can have to work for it, no problem. It's perfectly calibrated to meet your needs. Okay, says the guy, so what's the catch? No catch, says Peter. WYSIWYG. Except that it's irrevocable. It's Hell. So you absolutely cannot change your mind and decide, no, actually, I want Heaven instead. Once you're there—you're there. And it absolutely never ends, guaranteed. One hundred percent. Okay, says the guy, I'll bite: what's Heaven like? That, I can't help you with, says Peter. God—or whoever—is a tight-lipped bastard. He (orshee) ain't talking. All I can tell you is that, inasmuch as Hell constitutes every conceivable human experience, I would surmise that Heaven is something completely different—something you cannot possibly imagine. So it'll be a surprise. I'm a Christian, says the guy. So I know Heaven is a perfect place. Transient physical pleasures can't compare with that. Well, they're not exactly transient, but fine, says Peter. Good for you. Heaven, right through there. He points to the door. But the guy hesitates. But I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong...I see what you're driving at with Hell, how it could make you go crazy in the end, but still, that would take an awful long time, and there are a hell (no pun intended) of a lot of really great things I'd have to get completely tired of. Then again...I can just imagine myself a billion years from now, clawing out my eyes just to feel something new. That would be awful. Beyond awful, actually. But I don't know, my faith isn't that strong; what if Heaven's like a Nirvana-type place? I don't want to not exist. The idea just freaks me out. What percentage of people choose one versus the other? If I may ask? Most people don't, says Peter. Huh? says the guy. No, most people get all indecisive, so I end up having to do this. And he pulls a Montgomery Burns-type lever, and the guy falls through the trapdoor. Existential problem solved, he says, to no one in particular. He pauses reflectively. You know, I always say that that door leads to “Heaven,” but a more accurate term might be “broom closet.” And I guess I kind of do know what's in there. Brooms, mostly. Pause. Why am I talking to myself? Must be encroaching senility. Ah well. Next!

...and that Hordak ain't half bad either!

So here we have this bit of sparkling wit from America's least-favorite cartoonist:



Oh, burn. But then we look at this strip from the day before:



...and we see that even a sympathetic artist (term used extremely loosely) is unable to make Ms Coulter look more than marginally human. So is this some sort of tacit admission that all the wingnuts who claim--bizarrely--to find her attractive are merely trying very, very hard to fool themselves? Or is it that Tinsley honestly believes that the height of feminine beauty is epitomized by the Skeletor look? Either way, it pretty well negates the subsequent cartoon.