To be filed under: "WTF!?"

As far as I'm concerned Facebook lost it's cool quotient a while back. But when Bruegger's Bagels can score 3,321 fans on their page complete with happy wall posts ("Rosemary & Olive Oil Bagels are the best!) by providing no redeeming content, it officially becomes reason 437,863 on why Facebook should be put down. Porn Star Facebook pages? sure. Politics? of course. I'll even tip my hat to some lame Twilight fan page; but goddamn bagels? That's just sick.

The only thing that brings me off the ledge is that there is a Facebook-killer out there somewhere on some geek's staging server ready to be funded or found that will go nova and kill everyone's favorite blue-hued time suck; and with it, goes Bruegger's...justice

Well, at least we can make a guess at how that RFK gaffe fell out of her mouth

Okay, far be it from me to come to the Clinton's defense but man! What a hatchet job the New York Times and MSNBC did on her with one simple headline and a corresponding picture.

Apparently the junior Senator from New York likes her Maker's Mark at the end of a hard day of campaigning. And rumor has it she can drink the hardiest correspondent under the table like Indy's girlfriend Marion in Raiders of the Lost Ark. Like we're shocked.

But the picture they put with the headline "Clinton burnishes her cocktail credentials" is something you'd see in a 1963 Esquire issue. The juxtaposition of Hillary's picture (looking like she's singing raunchy bar songs) and the headline containing the word "cocktail" is pure editorializing and simultaneous comedic genius. It's the perfect weekend piece for the last remaining primaries since her campaign is so goddamned absurd. It's as if you could almost hear the editors going "fuck it, what's she going to do? Refuse an interview? Hell, it'll probably help her with Appalachia voters."

Star Trek: The Sexed Generation

More YouTube hilarity. It's long, but so worth it for the money shot at 4:21 and the chicken at 6:33. Yes, chicken. This kind of mad scientist editing may de-throne Charlie Rose.

You're goddamn right we're sore losers

Okay, for those of you who didn't hear, we got nominated for a LOUIE. What's a LOUIE you ask and why must it be typed in all caps? A LOUIE is the greeting card industry's highest award for excellence; an award that honors the creativity of its artists, writers and designers. The OSCAR of greeting cards if you will. Well, this year it is also affectionately known here at the Cerebral Itch offices as bullshit on a glass stand.

The LOUIE is handed out by the American Greeting Card Association; an august committee if there ever was one. Well these folks saw fit to select one of our cards for their "Superbly Stated" category. A category that is a recognition of editorial copy – greeting cards with original composition. They selected our sweet and smart "Cool Family Member" card. We're proud of this little card. Not only because it's a best-seller, but because it resonates with a lot of people in a very sweet way when a new baby comes into their lives. Here it is:

Well, we lost.

Who won you ask? Studio Expressio - For their card "owl love you forever". We've posted the card below so you could take in the touching majesty and savor what makes an award-winning card according to the American Greeting Card Association LOUIE judges.


Just the fact that we lost to a shitty pun is enough to make us bust up the office in a Tyler Durden-like rage. But for chrissake, to lose to a card that actually uses the line "wise birds always knew life's better when there's two - lucky me, lucky you" is all the evidence one needs to know that something tantamount to a briefcase full of non-consecutive $20's and hookers at the hotel gets you a LOUIE trophy; because it sure as hell ain't bang-up copywriting.

So how did we get over this devastating loss? Six bottles of a lovely Central California Coast Pinot Noir, five Honduran cigars and our makeshift backyard paint-ball shooting range festooned with Studio Expressio cards and LOUIE logos printed from our cheap-ass inkjet. To look at our offices this morning after assuaging our loss, you'd think we won.

Ahoy Pedro

Aside from all the stellar jokes one could make about the Mexican Navy, this is just plain f*%$ed up.

Anderson Cooper Loves Bears

Jesus, I need to get the creative genius who did this hilarious editing mash-up on our staff.

From the So Freaky Your Head Will Explode Files : Cher dated Tom Cruise

According to a yet to be aired interview conducted by Oprah, Cher discloses that long ago she dated and even shacked up with a then up and coming young actor named Tom Cruise. Yeah, I know. Let me print that for you again: Cher admits that long ago she dated and even shacked up with a then up and coming young actor named Tom Cruise.

Okay, aside from all the rumors about Cruise and his pansexual ways, the Scientology and his nutjob Manson-like intensity this has an eeew factor up there with AARP orgies. When you have the ultimate cougar, Cher, dishing with Oprah, who as far as we're concerned has the worst possible taste in celebrity friends (i.e. John Travolta, Tom Cruise, Jennifer Anniston, et al) film (Catwoman, Basic Instict 2, Bee Movie, et al) and music (Josh Groban, Il Divo, James Blount, et al) chattering like dirty old hags about banging the Risky Business kid twenty years ago you got yourself a shark jumping moment devoid of all dignity.

It easy to see why Cher dragged this chestnut out of the muck for all to imagine. She needs to juice her image for her new Vegas gig at Ceasar's Palace. But c'mon, why have we not heard of this before? "He was so wonderful. And I was so crazy about him," said Cher, "And he was so, like, different. He was a shy boy. He didn't have any money." And there you have it ladies and gentlemen, the cougar prey profile : hot, shy, poor and 16 years younger - "c'mere and let mommy give you a special hug".

Now let it be said that the editorial staff has nothing against the legendary loveliness that comes from an experienced woman teaching a young buck the ways of the world. We just have a problem with the jumping-out-of-the-cake nature of this bombshell and the absolute lack of sexual chemistry it conjures up. This love connection rivals Melissa Etheridge and David Crosby. It certainly doesn't have any of the panache of let's say, Doris Day and Rock Hudson or Wayland Flowers and Madame for that matter.

Well, we wish all involved the best, because careers are slouching towards nadirs and I guess at this point all they have are memories. Lurid, tabloid-esque, I need to take a shower kind of memories that most of us could've done without.

Children of the Corn for real

Now we have a panoply of things that could really kill us: crossing the street, drug-resistant staph, the weather, etc. But none of those things rarely rise to the level of fear like during our morning commute fretting whether or not we DVR'd our favorite show. But then there are those few things, so irrationally implausible, yet conceivable that make us piss our knickers. Like city dwellers afraid of poisonous snakes or rural folk afraid of black people. But I think the one thing we can all agree on that would make you want to sit in your locked house with a loaded rifle on your lap is a pack of Ritalin-crazed third graders with the intent to stab you with a dull steak knife.

Stephen King plot notwithstanding, the very thing was just uncovered at an elementary school in Waycross, Georgia. Some teacher had apparently reprimanded a little hellion for standing on a chair and by doing so, she apparently crossed the line for these kids where retribution became necessary. So instead of drawing obscene pictures of her on their pee-chee folders, about nine kids banded together and whipped up a plan and a gym bag of evil with handcuffs, duct tape, a paperweight for rendering her unconscious and a busted steak knife for the denouement.

According to law enforcement, the types of students this teacher makes her paycheck from are students with learning disabilities, including attention deficit disorder, delayed development and hyperactivity. Add homicidal tendencies to the list and she gets a raise.

Now one could see teenagers doing this or your run of the mill disgruntled office worker, but a bunch of wee tots? Maybe it's time to cut junior's sugar intake, TV viewing and lift the spanking moratorium for the next 10 years. Seriously, what do you do with a bunch of kids that have conspiracy to commit a malicious act involving cutlery on their student record? How the hell does a future teacher discipline a kid who has whispering Gregorian chants on their iPod? I'll tell you how you straighten these pups out: Ship them off to Guantanamo. Most of us have issues with a vast majority of the current inmates being deprived due process and murky extensions of civil liberties. But a bunch of little f%#kers who think it's cool to ice their third grade teacher. God knows me and the majority of parents just trying to do the right thing would cough up $39.95 for pay-per-view to watch those kids shuffling around sugar-free in shackles and a snappy orange jumpsuit with Sergeant Dontfuckwithme teaching them who really has the bigger gym bag of evil.

Cerebral Itch to host live webcast of co-founders having sex

(PRWEB) April 1, 2008 -- Cerebral Itch co-founders Paul and Kacky Chamberlain will doff their clothing and express their love on the web for the world to see in a live webcast scheduled to begin at 3PM EST/12PM PST today.

In an effort to capitalize on the financial success of high-profile sex tapes such as Paris Hilton, Kim Kardashian and the infamous Pamela and Tommy Lee, Cerebral Itch co-founders felt the time was right to stimulate sales by doing what comes naturally. "As the great Cole Porter composed, birds do it bees do it, even educated fleas do it; so what's the harm in doing it to spike sales in the slow spring shopping months?" said Cerebral Itch co-founder Paul Chamberlain.

Cerebral Itch plans to capture the moment and make it available for sale next week in the form of iPod video and Blu-Ray DVD.

Jungle Fun can kiss our alabaster ass too!

It’s a pretty mixed bag of nuts over here at the Cerebral Itch offices. To say we have a typical employee would be like saying there is a typical penis (wait, not that I’d know). We got your bouncy perky fitness club types and your bitter sardonic Paxil popping Xbox 360 playing geeks. It’s a lively bunch that always keeps the rumor mill and Human Resources hopping.

So one of our favorite employees, a Brit if you must know, came back yesterday from a family vacation. With his wife and three kids in tow, they did the historic east coast colonial tour. First off, color us shocked when we all found out this chap had a wife much less kids. Secondly, he had the funniest goddamn story from his trip that we had to share it with our readers. He sent it to me in an email this morning and like all good or really bad emails, they go way past their intended recipients

From: Geoff
Sent: Wednesday, March 26, 2008
To: The Boss
Subject: Jungle Fun can kiss my alabaster ass

Last Thursday it’s pissing rain in Pennsylvania and we’re trapped in our hotel room. The wife said she’d watch our boy, who’s got more energy than a f’kin’ OPEC nation, so I said I’d help out and take the two girls off her hands in the hope she might return the favor later by perhaps pruning me ol’ twig and berries if you get my drift. My plan was to take the girls to an indoor playground called Jungle Fun, which I saw as a perfect name for a strip joint, but that’s just me. My thought process was focused on grabbing a newspaper, a bloody huge cup of coffee and getting to this ring of hell where I would waste an hour reading about the world whilst forcing some caffeine into my bloodstream while my girls scream and bounce around like crazed banshees.

Due to lack of parking, I abandoned the car on a patch of grass adjacent to the parking lot, grabbed the tots and struck out in the inclement weather for the gleaming Jungle Fun entrance. When I entered the Jungle Fun foyer if you will, we were smacked with a downright rapacious admission fee. Not only that, but the twits had a sign blaring “No outside food or drinks allowed” right next to another saying “we sell Starbucks coffee” – bastards! Holding my own just-purchased Starbucks, the fellow behind the counter yells “no drinks….see!” and points to the sign.

Now if he had been courteous I would have been fine, but I kept my mouth shut (hard for me) and proceeded to enjoy my coffee in the Jungle Fun foyer. He then insisted that I drink it outside in the cold. That was the last f’kin straw, I yelled back at the nancy-boy, “What am I supposed to do; take my girls outside in the cold whilst I down my coffee, or leave them inside on their own?” So fine, I take this cock-up of a minimum wage worker’s advice and stand outside with the door wide open enjoying my coffee. He then yells at me to close the door. This is the point I decide I am not spending any money on their jungle shite. So as me and the girls turn to leave, some manager comes running out and threatens to call the police. I said “go ahead ya’ wee-puss of a man! – what are ya’ going to tell the 911 dispatcher 'please come quick, someone is drinking coffee next to a sign that says he shouldn’t'”. He then rushes in to get a clipboard to scratch down my license number at which point I gladly point out that I was parked illegally too. I have not been kicked out of a bar since college, but I am now banned from Jungle Fun for life.

Boo-f’kin-hoo.

Sometimes I just post'em people

Please enjoy the deadpan comedic timing of the simple folk who just won $270 million in their regional lottery. Forget the Mercedes and the 4X4, bridgework and a bra might be little higher priorities when the check clears. I'm just saying.

Hello FCC? Have I got a complaint for you:Man Boobs

So one of the things we have got to change this year here at the Cerebral Itch offices is the old piece of crap Zenith console TV in the lunchroom. It's heavier than a dwarf star and the channel knob is busted off requiring needle-nose pliers to change the channel. It looks like intern Silvio lost the pliers again (probably used in yet another speaker fuse change for his pimped out '94 Toyota Corolla) which left those of us on the late shift stuck watching what was ever on the last channel viewed that day; and that would've been NBC. Leaving us helpless during dinner having to watch the always entertaining social train-wreck, The Biggest Loser or as we like to call it, "Fat People Crying".

None of us are regular viewers of this slick carnival sideshow, so around 9:45 our take-out Thai left our bodies through the same hole it entered due to a virtual parade of extremely large Man Boobs.

According to the Federal Communications Commission obscene material is not protected by the First Amendment to the Constitution and cannot be broadcast at any time. The Supreme Court has established that, to be obscene, material must meet a three-pronged test:

1.)An average person, applying contemporary community standards, must find that the material, as a whole, appeals to the prurient interest
Bingo - score one there. You have to be one sick mother to find big boy boobies hot

2.)The material must depict or describe, in a patently offensive way, sexual conduct specifically defined by applicable law; and
Call me loopy, but I find a grown man's three-foot long droopy bosom patently offensive

3.)The material, taken as a whole, must lack serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value
Unless it's on the Discovery Channel on a Saturday night documentary about a pre-op transsexual on hormones (which is always fine entertainment after two bottles of cheap Shiraz) it's lacking all four.

So there you go, flunks all requirements by the FCC as far as we're concerned. Our letters are going out first thing tomorrow morning.

Never let it be said that this blog doesn't hit all the important issues

It's Saturday and video of Lionel Richie singing "Hello" on helium is about all we're good for

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)

Bigfoot gets booked a gig on Mars

The intriguing image was captured by Nasa’s six-wheeled robot explorer Spirit during its three-month mission to study the surface of the Red Planet.

Snapped at the rock-strewn Gusev Crater, believed by scientists to be the bed of an ancient lake, the grainy picture appears to show a Bigfoot-style alien creature strolling casually down a hill.

Financial markets are a lot like life, just listen to Cesar Romero

In light of global financial panic and today's rocky start on Wall Street, we thought it only appropriate that we get some perspective through the soothing timbre of Cesar Romero.
{thanks April}

Tom Cruise is Batshit or Sometimes this blog just writes itself

Forget the couch jumping or being on the verge of bitch-slapping Matt Lauer or even the creepy abduction and androgynous makeover of Katie Holmes. Forget all that. Give this man the benefit of the doubt. Clear your mind of any preconceived notions that you may have of Tom Cruise and his selfless devotion to extracurricular activities involving the legacy of a certain dead science-fiction writer. Now that you've done that, watch this video and be reminded why you originally thought this man was totally f@ckin' cuckoo and really needs to be squirreled away in a padded bunker so he can prepare for his alien invasion.

One more point, before some Über-liberal star chaser or Tiger Beat subscriber smacks this author with a religious persecution rap. I want to illuminate that there needs to be a little more intellectual gravitas behind Scientology before I stop looking at it sideways. A "religion" that has academics like John Travolta, Jenna Elfman and Kirstie Alley behind it is not all that convincing. The day Stephen Hawking drops a copy of Dianetics on the way to his office at Oxford is the day I might stop crossing my eyes and twirling my index finger next to my temple when I talk about Scientology.

MacBook Air: Okay now you guys are just piling on

Once again Jobs and his minions reduce CES to a noisy little swap meet up in Las Vegas with another MacWorld product debut that's a solid kick in the nuts to the rest of the consumer electronic vertical. The MacBook Air debuted this morning and it looks like another home run for Apple. The commercial has the laptop being taken out of a manila envelope to profoundly emphasize the unprecedented lithe profile. It's a little more than 3/4" thick at it's fattest point and weighs about three pounds.

I suppose we're now going to have to put up with countless stupid references by the media to supermodel thin-ness and crap like "if Kate Moss (or insert the name of whoever's clavicle is visible) was a laptop...blah, blah, blah". All said, it's not hard to imagine sitting in a coffee house typing away at this sucker while talking on your iPhone should, no scratch that, will get you laid.

The Smurfs turn 50 today and as a result,peace reigns throughout the world

You got your chocolate, your waffles and Smurfs. Well Belgium, two out of three ain't bad.

Today the impish blue-skinned little people that annoyed the world during the 80's are half a century old and looking to make a comeback. Apparently in the form of a CGI-movie, remastered DVD's and all sorts of other crap merchandise that will lead more children to like something that involves an entire community of little giddy blue men enjoying the company of one little flaxen haired blue female who is probably always carrying a shiv and constantly looking over her shoulder.

Marriage of Convenience

Pat Robertson claims his endorsement of Mayor Rudy Giuliani is one of faith and fellowship in a man who understands that the greatest threat to America is Islamic Radicalism. Well Pat, we call bullshit on you and your house of televised crazy over there at CBN. With that said, Pat really couldn't admit that the religious right is in a tailspin and instead of being a muscular and retarded gorilla forcing Republican candidates and red state voters into a bent over position, that they are now a stomped-on ant hill of believers who need to bet on the best GOP horse to win so they can limp into an inaugural ball, stop the bleeding and focus on 2012.

Pat is a miserable little cretin who spouts the antithesis of Christianity festooned in the most sinister of amalgam visages: politico-Christianity. In August of 2006, he obviously felt it was prudent to rub out Hugo Chavez. An equally crazy moron who would be rendered impotent if we stopped buying his oil (the Chinese however would buy oil from the Nazis - see Sudan). Might I cite the sixth commandment as laid out in Exodus 20: Thou Shalt Not Kill. Color me confused, but that appears to be somewhat contradictory. Pat spouted that 9-11 was brought on by America's coddling of abortionists and gays. He also said Ariel Sharon's stroke was the result of his relinquishing portions of Gaza. The hits keep on coming from his tiny intolerant brain; all too many to list here for free.

But back to Rudy: Sleep well whore.

If the gods look the other way and he is elected, was selling out the Supreme Court worth the price for Pat's pat? Or perhaps, promising to give the Israelis an inordinate amount of help to further destabilize the region and bring about end times worth having the pre-primary support of this wrinkled turd?

Does anyone really care? We live in a world that is bigger than Rudy and Pat. One where an Islamic nation with nuclear warheads is about to devolve into anarchy, one where a frighteningly significant portion of the American people see water boarding as an acceptable war-time practice, where super models and rappers are structuring contracts so they're no longer paid in American dollars and where more than two remaining presidential candidates do not believe in evolution.

Simply, it's the world that now powers the grave spinning machine for Orwell, Vonnegut, Wells, Jefferson, Eisenhower, Franklin, Paine, de Tocqueville, Lincoln, et al. It's quite sad really - we had a good run in the 20th Century; one would've thought we might have known how to keep that party going.