CEREBRAL ITCH INVESTIGATION EXCLUSIVE: Super-Villain Magneto runs for President!

Who knew it was this easy to tighten your vagina

Look, it's Saturday night and I've been hitting the rosé - You click on one trashy banner ad you click on them all.

Well, there was this one that said "unleash your true sexual being". I'm thinking "what the hell - The wife's got a cold, it's Saturday night, I'll double down on that" and bingo! I hit the comedy jackpot.

Apparently there's this product that every sexually active male should be buying by the stone and keeping handy in the nightstand. Thanks to the Nobel Laureates over at St. Botanica, the loose vagina is no longer destined to be the butt of jokes (do I really need to point out that I combined "butt" and "vagina" in the same sentence?). Yes, according to their claims, they have concocted a tincture that will "help in Tighten and Restore the grip of Vagina" (I personally love that they elevate the vagina to a proper noun).

Rejoice Ladies, for there is an elixir that will do so much more than tighten and it is available for only $150 (12 tubes). The webpage for this product is a paper towel roll-long litany of claims that if true, I see St. Botanica banging out an AIDS and cancer cure in the next couple of weeks.

Personally, I think this kind of witchcraft is detestable. And girls, if truth be told, men think of vaginas like landings. Any one you can walk away from is a good one. Actually, if you can't walk away from the former, even better.

Worst Selling Campaign Shirt EVER

It's all about the inches baby

So a poll in the U.K. recently discovered that nearly half of British men surveyed would forgo six months of sex in exchange for a 50-inch flatscreen. I think it's safe to assume that their American brethren would find that a fair trade as well.

Cerebral Itch exhaustively scoured the results and applied it's unassailable experience with sex and flatscreens to find out how 1000 men came to trade in their wankers for wide-screen. We came to the following conclusions:

• The men were considerably ugly and probably weren't going to get laid anytime soon, so a big TV could help them pass the time
• The men were involved in a relationship with someone physically repulsive as them, so a big TV could be a fine reprieve
• Looking at smoking-hot porn in life-size high resolution was far superior to their actual sex lives
• A TV comes with a mute button

However, the results plummeted dramatically when the word "sex" was replaced with "masturbation" (okay, we made up that last part; but you know it's true)

The CNN Democratic Debates with Me, Veejay and Ugly Betty

Only an idiot would not realize that last night's Democratic debate was going to be the hottest ticket in Hollywood. I say only an idiot, because our intern Silvio once again screwed the pooch and forgot to get us on the list. This led to me having to call in some marks with an old girlfriend over at CNN (and let me tell you, that blond kitten can hold a grudge). After my crow-eating, Veejay and I were soon northbound on the 5 fwy to see the Brutha and the Mutha smack each other around east of Hollywood Blvd.

Well, you know how it all went down: "kiss, kiss, punch you flat for friends, hee-hee, Republicans suck and are evil, kiss, kiss some more". Don't get me wrong, there were some choice one-liners from Barack, but the whole thing looked like they both got the email from Dean to get off the pissy train before Super Tuesday, suck up to Edwards, go after the Republicans and put Bill in the same suspended acrylic cage they put Magneto in from X-Men 2.

But the real news was whose asses were filling the seats watching the debate and how those asses were kissed afterwards. Sure, we went to cover it for the blog but mostly we went to unload most of our inventory of Dick Cheney/Do Not Resuscitate t-shirts. We felt that we couldn't be throwing redder meat into the den of Hollywood liberals than having those t-shirts sold out of the back of my Porsche for $150 a pop. Apparently word got out what we were selling, because within 20 minutes of the debate ending we were flush with about five grand cash and had a special order from Rob Reiner for 32 more shirts all in XXL. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

The pre-debate reception was surreal. You will not find another time in Hollywood where there has been such a clash of A-list and D-list. Some schlock actor's stock went up just by breathing the same air as Spielberg, Diane Keaton, Warren Beatty. And then there were some people who pretty much changed their political affiliation because they got to see who else was on their team. Case in point, when you belong to the same political party as Fisher Stevens (Michelle Pfeiffer's dating mistake) and Topher Grace (that 70's Show residual check recipient and friend of Brad Pitt) you have got some serious soul searching to do to see whether you want to vote the same ticket. Stevie Wonder was downright pissed off when someone told him he was in the same room with out-of-work homophobe, Isaiah Washington. I had an Obama staffer tell me security was going to be dispatched immediately to get Jason Alexander the hell out of the place because everyone knows that any project he's touched post-Seinfeld has taken up residence in the shitter; they didn't want to take any chances. It was just sad though to see L.A. mayor Antonio Villaraigosa and S.F. mayor Gavin Newsom trying to get Chelsea Clinton to do jell-o shots with them. She politely declined and resumed chatting with the Spielbergs.

As I tried to work the room, Veejay had already charmed America Ferrera by commenting that he too was a supporter of Hillary (when in fact he's a Ron Paul nutjob). After Cameron Diaz, Ugly Betty comes in a close second who Veejay would like to shower with. Although, I can tell he was crushed to learn the she really doesn't wear braces and top out near 250 lbs (Veejay likes his girls to be of some size and slightly less aesthetically appealing than him so he can feel good about himself) he still soldiered on hoping for a love connection. Apparently he was successful or broke several laws because I still haven't heard from him and her agent just called me looking for her - ah, young love (I gotta call my lawyer again).

Oh, you know we weren't going to let this one go quietly

What newscasters across America should've really said:

"So the affable boy-woman lesbian comedienne and corporate spokesperson, Ellen Degeneres was reduced to tears at the outset of her television show today under the enormous weight of grief she carries daily surrounding the loss of both civilian and military life in Iraq. What? no, that's not it? Then okay, Ellen Degeneres was reduced to tears yesterday by our bellicose and moronic president as well as the impotent congress who is playing political chess to suit their interests for the '08 election. What? wait - okay, I think I got the right copy now; let me try that again. Ellen Degeneres was reduced to tears yesterday by the death of her recently adopted pet dog that...Huh? No?! Then what the f&ck are we reporting on here?! What? You're kidding me? Seriously?!

Ellen Degeneres was reduced to tears yesterday by a dog adoption snafu that resulted in her complete loss of professionalism and using her show as a bully pulpit, scratch that, a place to beg to a national audience so pressure would be applied to a fly-by-night pet adoption service. Sources close to Ellen agree that any respectability and clout she had amassed since coming out as a lesbian went down the crapper. Several lesbians we spoke to feel that if Ellen is going to dress like Gilligan then she shouldn't cry like Mrs. Howell.

Good night."

This is where we've been - so get off our ass

So many people have been asking "where the hell have you jagoffs been the past week?" And to that inquiry I really have no defense. We have been dodging our responsibilities as well as the law and we're finally back to pay the bill of life we cannot afford. If that all seems a bit maudlin, allow us to give you a daily breakdown of our exploits and then perhaps we can gain back the loyalty some of you were dumb enough to give us in the first place.

Monday, September 24th
San Diego, CA - We knew we had to cover Ahmadinejad speaking at Columbia University. The only problem is that we put our new intern Silvio in charge of making travel arrangements. Instead of getting us tickets to New York, he got us tickets to Colombia and reservations at a hotel in Bogota that was reviewed by some guy from New York on TripAdvisor. Suitably marinated from an extended stay in the Airport lounge, we didn't realize this error until we landed.

Tuesday. September 25th
Bogota, Colombia - Veejay, Silvio and I got to our hotel in Bogota only to find that the place was shot up the week before in a minor skirmish between families over shall we say an "agricultural" issue. The bell captain's arm was in a sling and his head was wrapped in dirty gauze; but jaunty and polite as anyone could ask for in a one-armed indigenous citizen tasked to carry my bags. Once in my room, (I made the two idiots sleep in a free room that had been given to us by the management because the toilet was plugged up by ziploc bags full of "flour" and it's windows were blown out in the previous week's firefight - I found this hilarious considering the rainy season was upon us) I frantically dialed every ex-girlfriend with either State Department or travel industry connections, left messages and then decided to make the most of Silvio's error by soaking up some local color.

Wednesday, September 26th
Bogota, Colombia - If I had a nickel for everytime I woke up face down in a town square at dawn unable to name the city, I'd have $5.80. Make that $5.85, because Bogota can now be added to the list. Veejay and Silvio are nowhere to be found and my hangover is made less by the possibility I may have finally shaken those bozos without the cost of COBRA.

Thursday, September 27th - A.M.
Bogota, Colombia - I get a call from the U.S. Embassy. Silvio and Veejay have turned up courtesy of the Colombian Police who got them from the Colombian Army in a sweep of a FARC rebel compound in the city. Guess who sincerely thought they were at a suspiciously well-armed youth hostel? Yep, the boys. The authorities didn't even question them. They just knew by looking at these two rubes that their terrorism threat level was pink.

Thursday, September 27th - P.M.
C-130 Transport plane - Apparently one of my old flames had some pull with the state department and once they de-liced the boys we were on a C-130 transport plane headed home with a busted up Humvee, 16 palettes of sugar and a USO troop that included Alan Thicke and Gloria Estefan. Miami was our next stop.

Friday, September 28th
Miami, Florida - Wearing the same clothes we started all of this in, we got off a bus our G.I. buddies packed us on in Miami and walked straight into a PETA International Hug a Vegetarian Day rally. I had some fierce jet lag and was bitch cranky but I'll still swear on a stack of bibles that the banner over the stage said "Hit a Vegetarian Day". I thought it was too good to be true, but I went with my first instinct and took out three vegans with two haymakers; you read that right. Two punches - three hits. They're vegans for crissake. I knocked one into another and they both went down like you'd expect malnourished soy-lovin scarecrows to do. Next thing I know I'm pushed to the ground by three cops with one of them whispering in me ear, "you have no idea how many of us have been wanting to do that all day - you're our hero. Play nice and we'll get you out of here." I struggled a bit to look tough in front of the ladies, but otherwise took my cues from the constabulary. Two hours later I was sippin' mojitos at a South Beach bar with Gloria's backup singers.

Friday, September 28th, Saturday, September 29th and Sunday, September 30th
drunken hedonistic haze with memories best chance to be recovered through hypnosis.

Monday, October 1st
San Diego, CA - I woke up in my condo not knowing how or when I got there. Only to find "the rhythm is gonna get you {smiley face}" written on my ass and 47 missed calls from Veejay.

And that my friends is how you lose a week

Cerebral Itch Handy Hints #214: There is a wrong way and a right way to get tasered

First Amendment rights aside, if you plan to be a loudmouth schmuck for the benefit of your Webpage and scoring chicks at the next WarCraft convention, don't beg and scream like a sissy-boy having a tickle fit when you discover as a result of your tomfoolery, you're about to meet the business end of a taser. We've all seen it, but damn it it's still funny to see jumpy campus cops jackboot this doughy attention-whore - roll-it!


So that's not how you want to be seen when you get defibrillated against your will. Simply, screaming several octaves higher than Lisa Simpson will not get you laid or coalesce the sympathies of civil libertarians. With that said we would like to compare and contrast the following on how one should instigate and receive a Taser shot - roll-it!


Case in point, if you're going to be belligerent and piss off cops, you do so with bravado and hyperbolic threats. Requesting that the officers let loose the police dog so you can "box him" is a master stroke. Refusing to unclench your fists and standing your ground when you hear the officer request that a junior officer come over and release the taser from their holster is another balls of steel move. Despite this gentleman's immediate attitude reversal as a result of being lit-up like a Tesla coil, he still gets high marks for taking more than two jolts which will most assuredly get you the respect of your drunk tank mates.

Tony Snow: mouthpiece for Satan

We know we haven't posted in a few and to that we say: "get off our ass!". It's been another drunken blur thanks to the hijinks we kicked off last week celebrating the last day of work for Tony Snow.

And because most of us are still lit, I'm going to go out on a limb here and state something quite provocative: Tony Snow is, was and will forever be an asshole. I had to either shoot out the TV like Elvis or leave the room every time a news anchor or correspondent began to sniffle and wax melancholy over Tony. Fine. we know the man is dealing with cancer and we had to watch him slowly getting ravaged by chemo, but lest we forget the man was a sanctimonious shill who served as the first line of defense for the Bush Administration.

Check out this collection of his greatest hits:

Tony Snow on Iraqi Occupation
Tony Snow on Scooter Libby
Tony Snow on the Attorney Scandal
Tony Snow on Al Qaeda
Tony Snow just plain lying

Do you honestly think when he sits down with St. Peter at the Pearly Gates he's going to get a fast-pass through to heaven? I imagine it would go something like this:

St. Peter: So Anthony, it says here that you defended an illegal war, a corrupt administration and lied to people daily claiming it was in the best interest of their nation. And before that you worked for FoxNews - don't even get me started on that one...

Tony Snow: Now wait a minute St. Peter, I did my job to the best of my ability and had the respect and admiration of my colleagues. I also was a good father...

St. Peter: I'm going to cut you off right there Anthony. Do you have any concept as to how many borderline cases I get coming through here claiming they did their best? I'm still getting letters daily from Nixon and Harding begging me to let them in. You're going to have to sit there for 1000 years and reflect on the life you led and then maybe, and I mean maybe, I'll start processing your paperwork.

POOF! Big cloud of red smoke, the temperature shoots up about 35 degrees and cherubs start dropping from the sky

Minion of Satan: Hey Tony, name's Moloch, glad I was able to catch you. Say listen, my boss would like to extend an offer of employment to you. He's been looking for a person with your skill set for quite some time.

Tony Snow: Really? What's it pay? I don't know if you knew, but I saddled my family with a lot of debt just so I could juice my resume by becoming press secretary. I take it you can help me there?

Minion of Satan: Oh Tony please, bestowing obscene wealth is our specialty - we invented gambling for Christ sake, ooh did I say that? Sorry Peter. Anyway, you want the job it's yours. First class accommodations, restore you to your physical prime and we'll cater to whatever vice you got a jones for.

Tony Snow: I'm in, let me grab my flute.

Minion of Satan: Uh no. That's pretty much our only condition is that you no longer play any music. I mean for Christ sake, oops, sorry Pete my bad again; we invented Rock and Roll, Jazz and Hip Hop - We bring it white boy. We've seen you play and frankly, you make John Tesh look like Prince. We have standards Tony and you suck.

Tony Snow: Alright fine - you've got a deal.

Minion of Satan: All good here Pete? We can have this one?

St. Peter: Sure take him. I'm too busy as it is. Plus, I'll be sending you Cheney and Kissinger any day now. Just get out of here, you're scaring the new arrivals and stinking up the joint.

POOF!

How I spent my time at the 2007 MTV Video Music Awards with Veejay in tow

So apparently $3000 cash (twenties and fives) and a Ziploc quart bag of seriously dank Maui Chronic stuffed in an green Adidas duffle bag deposited in an east facing trash bin outside the Riviera Hotel parking structure (as instructed) will get you two all access passes to the MTV Video Music Awards - Veejay and I were in.

One may ask why we went to this kind of trouble to get into last night's televised mind screw of America's 15-25 year olds. Well, our old friend Britney Spears was opening the show and that little witch owes us quite a bit of money for breaking the terms of her contract when she was the Cerebral Itch spokesperson (click here for the background story).

Veejay and I flew into Las Vegas yesterday morning armed with subpoenas and a six-pack of whoop-ass for anyone who stood in our way in getting to Ms. Spears. I had misgivings about bringing Veejay considering the pooch-screw he wrought in New York at the Live Earth concert when he literally threw himself on, not at, but on Cameron Diaz. My rationale for this trip was Veejay had never been to Vegas so there was a little altruism, but mostly it was because he would make good bouncer-bait if shit went south.

Our plan was to soak up all the glamour and schwag at the pre-show party, grab a seat in the backstage lounge and spring like the panthers that we are on Britney as soon as she finished her opening number. Well, best laid plans. No sooner did we arrive at the Palms that Veejay spotted 50 Cent and his crew playing craps in the high roller lounge. Veejay, always the cool customer in the face of manufactured fame, fancies himself a bit of a hip-hop aficionado and proceeded to rush 50 Cent and his boys. Arms swaying side to side grabbing his nuts trying to look urban, intermittently throwing gang signs that made him look like he had the palsy. I swear to god, it sounded like a sound effects recording session for a John Woo movie when 50 Cent's chums simultaneously drew and cocked their glocks all aiming for Veejay's forehead. Rushing in to avert the bloodshed, 50 Cent notices my platinum Cerebral Itch lapel pin. Much to my surprise, 50 Cent is a huge Cerebral Itch fan - loves our cards and reads the blog. He couldn't get over the fact that it was really Veejay who stormed him and was somewhat flattered. He asked if we would do his Christmas cards to which I agreed, clearing up the brouhaha. We politely excused ourselves (I made Veejay kiss his ring and apologize) and made our way upstairs to the Playboy Club to take the edge off before we executed our mission.

Kid Rock and Tommy Lee were already going at it in the lounge area which made it easy for me to spot Kanye West hanging back with the ladies. My other purpose on this trip was to see Kanye and personally deliver our new Dick Cheney/DNR shirt. The man beamed, hugged me and proceeded to introduce us to his harem all while offering us lukewarm overpriced alcohol served off of Playboy bunny asses. Kanye knew why we were really there and gave me his support, "that bitch needs to be put down - if that was a black girl doing all that shit there'd be jail time." To which I thought bringing up mother-of-the-year Whitney Houston wasn't such a good idea.

We finally made it to the theater, where we settled in with our free Boost mobile phones, spa certificates and watched the show start. We soon stood up amazed at what we were watching. It looked like a talent show at a Rotary Club in bumf*ck Alabama where the big number was some guy's daughter doing a Britney Spears impersonation, except we were looking at Britney Spears doing the shittiest impersonation EVER of Britney Spears?! The best part was looking around at the faces of other people backstage. There was head shaking, laughing and even crying. Christina Aguilera was punching her fist in the air hissing "I win, I win!". I looked at Veejay and posed the question "can I really serve her with $15 million dollar lawsuit considering she's fat, devoid of talent and just hit rock bottom on international television?" No sooner did I finish my sentence then Veejay grabbed the subpoena, jumped into a passing crowd which turned out to be Britney leaving the stage and jammed it in her cleavage like a freakin' Jedi Knight. He coolly looked her in the eye and said "courtesy of your former employer". After that was tackled, pummeled and zip-tied. As he was being dragged away to I still don't know where, he flashed me a bloody smile and winked knowing he had done good.

Veejay is my new best friend.

Yes, but the muzzle of a .45 caliber doesn't taste as good. Plus, you might survive the gunshot

So once again some numb nuts broke the channel knob off of the Zenith console TV in the lunchroom and this time the channel that Ellen Degeneres' show is on was the one that was going to stay until someone found the goddamn needle-nose pliers. After lunch most of us were still loitering in the lunchroom because let's face it, we're on freakin' easy street with our t-shirts sellin' like hotcakes. So Ellen comes on and one of the guests is that old Paula Deen broad who has the cooking show that makes shit so fattening and disgusting she should be waking up every morning to piles of cash on her veranda secretly and gratefully delivered by cardiologists from all over the country. Case in point, today's recipe:

Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding with Butter Rum Sauce

2 dozen Krispy Kreme donuts
1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk (not evaporated)
2 (4.5-ounce) cans fruit cocktail (undrained)
2 eggs, beaten
1 (9-ounce) box raisins
1 pinch salt
1 or 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
Butter Rum Sauce, recipe follows

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Cube donuts into a large bowl. Pour other ingredients on top of donuts and let soak for a few minutes. Mix all ingredients together until donuts have soaked up the liquid as much as possible.
Bake for about 1 hour until center has jelled. Top with Butter Rum Sauce.

Butter Rum Sauce:
1 stick butter
1 pound box confectioners' sugar
Rum, to taste
Melt butter and slowly stir in confectioners' sugar. Add rum and heat until bubbly. Pour over each serving of Krispy Kreme Bread Pudding.

This woman cooks like a five-year-old given carte blanche by it's mother to throw anything they want into a bowl and bake it just to entertain the little shit on a rainy day. Most of us were stunned to the bejeezus that she was even being allowed to broadcast this trailer trash plaque factory in Pyrex. Veejay had to go puke when he saw the old lady tongue a stream of condensed milk Ellen poured into a mixing bowl. We convinced him that this was how lesbian porn starts and he better leave the room if he didn't want to have to wash his eyes out with bleach.

The funniest part was when Silvio our new intern said if he knew the end of the world was coming he'd make this concoction, wash it down with a 64oz tumbler of sour mash on ice and chain smoke a pack of Lucky Strikes all while being serviced by a midget platinum blonde hermaphroditic prostitute. This was funny for two reasons actually: one, we didn't even know Silvio could speak English and two, it made Veejay puke again.

We have just done you a favor...

The boys over at i-mockery.com are proving that until the Chinese start putting out hilarity genius on the level of a Flash Ivan Drago (Rocky IV villain) side-scrolling 8-bit video game, America still firmly kicks everyone else's ass.

Cerebral Itch on the road with Scooter, Leo and our own special little trouble making idiot, Veejay

I will definitely cop to the fact that we've been a little erratic on posting surrounding the holiday, but I thought we really had our act together in preparing for the editorial necessities of the 4th of July. Then GW goes and lets our buddy Scooter out of his cage last Monday and ever since we've been tangled up with Libby and his defense team in a drunken haze complete with celebratory streaking, pissing off balconies and 24/7 room service at the Ritz-Carlton. Washington D.C. was where we celebrated the 4th because I like to expose our editorial team from Bangalore to what makes this country great: K Street, executive power and laissez-faire morality D.C.-style. So the Scooter party was just a lucky break for all concerned.

No sooner were we paying bail and sober for about six hours then we got wrapped up in all the Live Earth crap. Al Gore had left us a few VIP passes at our hotel (he's still sweet on us for the coverage we gave him during Oscar time) and we figured if crooked conservatives could party, then tree-hugging juiced up artistic liberals could put us under the table; plus, they're way hotter. So we fueled up the Cerebral Itch Gulf Stream (on loan from Oprah - another story for another time) and popped over to New York. My main man and editorial manager, Veejay, who you may remember is still getting over the trauma of his run-in with Orangutan, swore he was going to get himself some Cameron Diaz. He has a bit of a penchant for inane mousy blondes with questionable hygeine; so by going to a liberal rock concert he was about to throw himself into nirvana.

I stayed a safe distance away from the hordes. I've been to Burning Man, I know how these things can get. Turns out Leonardo Dicaprio is a huge Cerebral Itch fan and loves to send the Beard Intervention card to Katie Holmes every month as a joke. Which led her to start firing back with Fraud cards. I love that we're part of a Hollywood feud. He heard I was around, had his people find me and twenty minutes later I was in his custom trailer knocking back lemon drops adorned with organic mint sprigs cavorting with a passel of Icelandic lingerie models while being attended to by two midget waiters wearing tuxedos, I kid you not; this is how Leo rolls.

As I'm enjoying the good Christian fellowship of the group in Leo's pad, I get a text message from Veejay saying he just got swept up by security. Well, it seems that Veejay did get in Cameron Diaz's personal space and made an ass out of himself. He got down on one knee, ripped open his shirt and pointed to his heart and told her to "come home where you belong Cammie!". He was tackled by the Live Earth shock troops, tasered and thrown in a makeshift pen for idiot law breakers. I replied back, "You're harshing my buzz - the Police are about to go on and I'm done pulling your ass out of a sling, I'll see you in the morning dumb ass". I settled back into the remarkably soft hemp couch with Falda and Brynhildur and reduced my carbon footprint with another drink.

Love Letter from Paris Hilton

It came to our attention last night that one of our senior writers here at the Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad is apparently the current paramour of jail bird Paris Hilton. We confronted him about using company equipment to communicate with a criminal and he claimed it was all for the blog; in turn, he handed over some of the most recent correspondence.

Dear ****,

I know this may shock you, but I love you. Not like I love Crist my saveeor (sp?) but I loveyou liek no other guy I've been with. Being in prisin makes me want you more.

I know you make fun of me on your blog to make people think your cool and all but I know that you really want me just like I want you. You think by being all tough and pertending you think I'm a slut willmake me want you. Well your rite, I do.

Prison is tough and the food sucks and total skanky crackwhores try to watch me shower. They all yell mean things to me but I know there all jealous. I'll be out of here and back in Vegas with you dancing and drinking and patying so hard. I cant wait, because I like so want to tell you about all the reading I'm doing, not just the bible but things like thick books with totally tiny letters.

I'm going to go now, stay studly and kiss my picture every night like I do.

luv Paris

A letter from the Queen

Dearest Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad,

It is with profound joy that I address your sagacious readership.

I have been looking forward to penning this letter due to the fact that your "web-log" allows me a certain degree of candor concerning my recent trip to your wonderful country. The pageantry and historical significance of this trip is not lost on I nor the Duke of Edinburgh, but I must say that your President leaves a great deal to be desired.

Mr. Bush strikes me as a bit of an inbred troglodyte. Never before have I been so insulted by lax manners and presentation. You poor people literally have an old chav running your country. Prince Phillip remarked that Mrs. Bush fares no better when engaged in conversation. Once one strays from the synopses of children's books the woman has very little command of all things elevated. I too found her to be bereft of anything becoming a first lady and I've met my share. Her mother-in-law is a close second on the "rough around the edges" list, but at least she knows how to emasculate her husband and I can respect that.

I must say that I came very close to cutting my trip short after the Jamestown ceremony with your Vice-President; a true bore. He is nothing more than an angry fat man who reminded me of Churchill in his final days. Although Churchill could tell a ribald titty joke and get the help in a fit of laughter. Dear me, I am so enjoying this letter; it is allowing me much-needed catharsis and I thank you for that.

I mean honestly, who winks at the Queen of England? I'll tell you who, your cowboy President after he clumsily insulted me by adding 200 years to my age. I would like it to be known that I employ people who could make things very difficult for him after 2008. Lest not forget that I still do run to the Illuminati. No one, and I mean no one (well, maybe Daniel Craig) gets to wink at me. I dare say, if he had pulled that with Golda Meir you would all be learning how to say President Pelosi this morning. Angela Merkel still calls me and complains that she can't scrub off the "bad touch" of the President's famous G8 back rub. My deepest sympathies to you all.

In closing, my eternal gratitude to your editor, Mr. Paul Chamberlain for allowing me to address you and great thanks for the gift of Cerebral Itch Greeting cards. The "Dead Relatives can see you humping" card is my favourite for obvious historical reasons.

convivially yours,

Elizabeth
HM The Queen
HRH The Duchess of Edinburgh
HRH The Princess Elizabeth
HRH Princess Elizabeth of York

We're back! Just like Sexy

We're back! Not tanned, not rested, but better humans for the experiences we enjoyed over the past week. From what friends and police records tell us, we cut a swath through life and took no prisoners all while wearing the same underwear we started with.

This whole sordid affair started at the White House Correspondents’ Association dinner. We were able to procure/appropriate/steal an invite and get seated at the same table as Sanjaya and his/her mother. And let me tell you, when Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia and Sec'y of State, Condi Rice come up to shake the hand of that American Idol hermaphrodite rodeo clown, you have confirmation that birds now fly backwards and babies crap gold coins. By this point in the evening I needed to get properly numb and thanks to a couple of vicodin John Ashcroft's wife passed me in the foyer earlier, I was aces. Then, Rich Little took the stage. After an appropriately imposed 23-year absence from this particular function, the 70's era comedian and impressionist approached the dais and did an amazing impersonation of a has-been comedian sucking, crashing and burning. It was glorious. Let's face it, when Rich Little is the only talent you can scrape off the comedy shoe as not to offend, you know you got problems. Apparently I didn't keep my opinions to myself during Rich's performance and was summarily tossed from the room, dragged to the hotel kitchen and thrown in the massive refrigerator. I was interrogated amongst the rack of lamb and asparagus for about six hours by pissed off secret service spooks and then woke up wearing an orange jumpsuit in a Iowa corn field on Tuesday. Take note people, that's a f*ckin' weekend!

I knew I could get back to L.A. by calling up an old flame from college who helped me get through the rough spots financially speaking. Agnes was a very generous and attractive woman in an Elaine Stritch kind-of-way and she knew how to properly compensate young men who curried her favor. She was still living; in Des Moines, I needed plane fare and we'll leave it at that.

Once I arrived in L.A. I was going to stay with my old friend Kim Bassinger and her daughter, but apparently this was a bad time for them so I made other arrangements. I called my current employer, Representative and presidential candidate Duncan Hunter and asked if he could put me up in the "Duke Cunningham suite" at the Ritz-Carlton in Laguna; he made some calls and one town car and mini-bar later I was poolside. While lying there reading my green Vanity Fair I spotted Scarlett Johansson and Ryan Reynolds making out and dare say, petting in public. I politely asked them to get a goddamn room and they shot back "want to join us?". I was intrigued and thought about it a minute, but erred on the side of sanity when Ryan said I could be in charge of the camera and the raccoon. It was time to go home.

I could use a drink right about now

Apologies to the readers of the Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad for the irregular posting schedule you've been subjected to for the past couple of weeks.

They say confession is good for the soul, so allow me to be good to my soul. The reason for the less-than-stellar performance has been due to the disproportionate allocation of resources towards assisting in the Alberto Gonzales defense and getting over the grief of not being the father of Dannielyn. I know we'll be back on track soon, because despite the above somber notes; the world glistens with nothing but happiness and brotherhood.

Somebody got kicked off American Idol and it wasn't the hermaphrodite

Okay, let's make this quick: the big-boned boring rocker chick got the boot. Haley Scarnato holds on by stealing a page from Antonella Barba's Handbook for Whores, showing off her fine Wessonality legs. Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse, Sanjaya sails through yet again. The Josh Groban of jazz standards, Michael Buble stepped in for an "ailing" Tony Bennet; which translates into Tony had a brief moment of lucidity and realized what his people signed him up for and came down with the "flu" resulting in respectable crooner Harry Connick Jr. telling panicked Idol producers to "go f*ck themselves - my career ain't in the shitter" when asked to fill in. Buble was reportedly found in a hotel lounge off of LaBrea. In a futile effort to sober him up, he simultaneously received an ice-tub plunge and a coffee colonic then was quickly shoved on stage.

There, I just saved you some space on your Tivo.

10 Things I Hate About Commandments

I just peed myself laughing. This is genius on a MF'n stick people. Brighten your day and watch this. Way to go Vayabobo.
(hats off to April Winchell again for teaching the world what is funny)

The Sanjaya Phenomenon uncovered

Through diligent reporting on the part of our own Cerebral Itch Scratch Pad staff, we have uncovered the machinations behind the astounding staying-power of talentless Sanjaya Malakar, the Y-chromosome challenged American Idol contestant who survived yet another night of eliminations.

Based on close to six pages of documentation and a few well placed phone calls to relatives across town, it appears that approximately 300 call centers in Bangalore, India have been utilized in a surgical effort to inundate American Idol with votes for, euphemistically referred to in a confidential memo as their "homeboy", Sanjaya. The most notable call centers allegedly involved in this scandal are those that have existing contracts with Ford Motors/Mercury Vehicles, Gateway Computers and Cricket Wireless. A call center employee who would only allow us to refer to him as "Ted" explained how an entire call center could be utilized for such a nefarious purpose. "Nobody buys that crap so we don't get any calls. We got some of the best Sudoku players in India because people are just sitting around." The young Indian gentleman continued to elaborate. "Sure a couple of fat old Americans will give us a call on how put the seat back in their new Mercury town car or how to turn on their $300 junky computer, but other than that it's pretty quiet." "Ted" said that the entire staff of his call center jumped at the chance to start dialing for Sanjaya.

A spokesperson for Fremantle Media, producers of American Idol declined to comment, but Fox issued a statement this morning stating that they are looking into the situation but currently have all their resources focused on allegations surrounding the Jeff Foxworthy show Are you Smarter than a Fifth Grader? that the show has been plundered by a ring of genius midgets disguised as 10-year old children.

Representatives for Malakar have also declined to comment but expressed to the media that this is a very stressful time for Sanjaya and he needs to focus at the task at hand; which apparently is the utter destruction of whatever credibility American Idol has left. Despite this scandal, Sanjaya's popularity has skyrocketed among his strongest fan base: developmentally disabled little girls who sob uncontrollably.