Tonight's opening act: Meghan Rowland & The I Told You So's

Wall Street Journal, "Long Arm of the Law Penalizes Texans [Like Chris' Redneck Relatives Who Are in No Way Better Than Meg Because Being All About Shoving Your Fist Down the Throat of a Catfish is in No Way an Accurate Measurement of How Well You'd Survive the Great Depression, You Horse's Ass] Who Nab Catfish by Hand"

Come on Maryland, get your shit together

I had to share. From a phone conversation I just had with my mom:

Me: I just read on Twitter that the Maryland House killed the same-sex marriage bill. That's some fucking bullshit right there!

Diane: That is too bad.

M: [Reading from the Post] 'The Maryland House of Delegates has voted to effectively kill for this year a bill that would have allowed same-sex marriage in the state. The House approved on voice vote a motion to send the bill back to the Judiciary Committee, an acknowledgment by supporters that it did not have sufficient votes to pass on the floor.'

D: I thought it was expected to go through?

M: Well, it says a few paragraphs down that 'The bill had significant momentum coming out of the Senate but ran into resistance in the Democratic-led House from African-American lawmakers from Prince George's County, who cited religious opposition in their districts, and conservative Democrats in Southern Maryland and the Baltimore suburbs.'

D: Aren't African American men the ones with that culture of low...low-down...?

M: Down-Low Brothers.

D: [Sighs] You can do it in the middle of a poker game, but you can't get married.

...Never has "Down-Low" homosexuality been so eloquently defined.

Diane: A++

My beloved Maryland: See me after class, young lady

UPDATES!

1.) You're a piece of shit.

2.) God damnit...No you're not. Not at all. I'm sorry.

3.) WHO CARES IF IT WAS A PIECE OF SHIT?! It was my piece of shit! I don't care if it was made of pick-up sticks, tinfoil, and packing tape, it wasn't yours to get rid of! That's like if I borrowed a shirt from you and then put it down the garbage disposal because I decided it was ugly. And then when you get mad at me (and rightfully so), I reverse get mad at you because I was just trying to "do you a favor".

4.) Oh I'M sorry, so what you're trying to say here is that if I should suddenly get the urge to go on a lovely Spring bike ride, I have to call and confirm that either you or Geoff are home, coordinate a good time to come if not, get on the metro, transfer lines, get off at Clarendon, take a bus to your neighborhood, and walk over to pick up the bike first? Uh huh. And how many times have I almost peed my pants in your car because I was too lazy to go in the restaurant?

5.) I only get motion sick going over cobblestones and don't you dare pretend like you don't know that.

And finally, this morning's email exchange with my dad:

To: Dad

From: Meg

Subject: Quick question!

Hey, what's that reclining chair in your Panamanian Relaxation Room called again?

To: Meg

From: Dad

Subject: RE: Quick question!

It is the “Library." Books, old prints, crystal decanters, Panamanian relaxing. A little bit of Regency England, right in the heart of MOCO. I go up there and read with Evie on my lap. We both sip some single malt and settle in. Right now we’re reading a history of the Crusades. Sometimes I read aloud to her. She seems very alert, but that just might be the scotch.

Love,

DAD

He didn't answer the question...but that is adorable.

Get a muppet involved and I'm DONE.

THINGS ARE GETTING RULL EMOTIONAL UP IN THIS PIECE...

Because I just had to weigh in...

Remember when you were a kid and you'd hit your sister on the arm really hard repeatedly until she hit you back and then you'd run to your mom hysterically crying all, "MOMMM!!!!! BECCA HIT MEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!"? That, in a nutshell, is Meghan McCain. And guess what? She's up to it again.

From Meg-Dawg's Twitter account (or so readers and Perez Hilton tell me, as we remember she blocked me months ago):

"...so I took a fun picture [see above] not thinking anything about what I was wearing but apparently anything other than a pantsuit I am a slut.."

Madam. Your tits look like they're being held up by fishing line and God is playing them like marionettes. Perhaps that, coupled with the fact that you look like you just got fucked six-ways-to-the-weekend, is the reason people think you look like a "slut." I don't think your lack of a pantsuit had anything to do with it.

"I am going to take some more time to think about it but seriously I was just trying to be funny with the book and that I'm a dork staying in."

And that's commendable. I mean, how many times have I stayed home in my jammies to watch a little NatGeo? Answer: too many. However, I probably wouldn't take a picture of myself in front of the TV wearing nothing but nipple clamps, parting my vagina lips and flashing a peace sign and post it to my Twitter account with the caption, "Jus stayin in 2nite n bein lame!!!" (...Probably being the key word here.)

"when I am alone in my apartment, I wear tank tops and sweat pants, I had no idea this makes me a "slut"..."

Yep. Just hangin' around her apartment. In full makeup. And hair. With a fresh manicure. And her boobs hiked up and her top pulled down. Just a candid moment in the life of an average girl poopin' around her apartment. And ~*WhAt A dOrK!!1*~

"I do want to apologize to anyone that was offended by my twitpic, I have clearly made a huge mistake and am sorry 2 those that are offended."

Hm. Well, at least she's in good company.



Look. Homegirl. I have DD/DDD boobs. I, of all people, understand that sometimes it's hard to round up the troops and keep 'em in line. But your dad's a Senator. You're vying to be the new face of the Republican party. You are not Tila Tequila. It's time to recognize that that's your cross to bear, invest is some extra yardage and Akrite.

Love,
Meghan C. McBlogger

Drinking Game Tuesday: because sometimes Drinking Game Friday can't come quickly enough

Don't forget! Tonight is the series finale of Starving for Affection More to Love! I recommend you get yourself a hearty vat of home style gravy, mix it two-parts vodka and one-part Bailey's and pour yourself a tall glass of "Luke Juice" while you play The More to Love Drinking Game!


(A big, fat, emotional thank you to readers Emah and Dawn for coming up with this one! For a second I thought I was going to have to watch this shit sober...)

THE MORE TO LOVE DRINKING GAME

(Tuesdays are the new Fridays...for fat people)

Rules:
Drink When:
- Luke's muffin top makes an appearance

- A "because I'm fat, I've never..." statement is made

- Anyone cries as a result of a "because I'm fat, I've never..." statement

- Binge eating

- Awkward fat people hugs

- Whenever you get a mental picture of what Luke will find when he goes up the dress for The Tranny's garter at their wedding

- Crying in general

- Man boobs

- Host(ess) Emme looks particularly manish

- Luke says something pervy

- Someone waddles

- Luke says some lame scripted line about loving large women

- Luke's parents talk about loving fat girls

- Awkward parent moment

- Shot gun a beer when the loser cries over the proposal

- Shut gun another beer when the winner cries over the proposal

"We Landed on the Moon!"

I just passed a bunch of newspapers commemorating Apollo 11th's 40 anniversary on my way to lunch and it took everything in my power not to reenact the following scene from Dumb and Dumber:

Oh and BTW:

I hereby award Tulane Chris 50 points for streaking through UPenn's Hill House on the Fourth of July. Here he is streaking through "The Fish Bowl" under Benjamin Franklin's watchful gaze:




Only a patriotic top hat separating your eyes and his manhood:


I call this one Hats Off to America! (Sorry it's so shaky. My hand was understandably fluttering):


And finally, The Thinker:



Well played, sir.

BONUS!

Just because the gang here at 2b1b loves you so much (and by you, I clearly mean drinking) we thought we'd give you a bonus DGF. In honor of this weekend being Pride, I give you Tulane Chris' Gay Pride Drinking Game!


You can bypass all the following rules and just sip when you see a shirtless man. This is a variation called "Suicide by Alcohol Poisoning."

Drink when:
- You ask yourself "Is this person a lesbian or a thirteen-year-old boy?"

- A gay parent brings their kid to Make A Statement about how Gay People Are Good Parents and then has to shepherd them away from booze and almost-naked leather daddies all day.

- Some company puts a rainbow and their logo on a banner/cup/keychain/little twinky guy to make you think that Budweiser/ Ikea / Chili's / Amalgamated Consolidated cares about gays.

(- Throw a Molotov cocktail for each company that does this in lieu of offering partner benefits.)

- You hear a couple bickering about if one of them is checking other people out.

- You catch yourself wondering about the logistics of being a tranny or drag queen - where do you find size 14 chartreuse heels, is it expensive to have wigs washed and styled, etc.

- The entertainment lineup goes like this:
Drag queen stand-up comic
Angry girl band
Drag queen stand-up comic
Angry girl band
Drag queen stand-up comic
Angry girl band
Loretta Swit
Drag queen stand-up comic
Angry girl band

- Every time you hear a fag hag say something about loving gay men.

- Drink twice if she's homely. (She will be.)

- Every time someone bitches about how some OTHER city's pride is SO much better / worse than the one here.

- Every time you notice that some guy shaved his whole body three days ago, so now he has chest stubble.

- Drink in honor of the little twinks who went on "Pride diets" and starved themselves for six days, started drinking at 7 am, and were asleep in their own vomit by 8:30.

- Drink for every reference to Proposition 8, twice if you don't even LIVE in California, and three times for every crappy pun like "Prop H8."

- DRINK BECAUSE LIZA WON A TONY

- Drink when there's a grudging reference to AIDS, which though a serious issue is a total buzzkill.

If you're living in a major American city, enjoy your incredibly fagalicious weekend!