natural selection

don't worry. you, too, can raise a holier-than-thou child... literally. just make sure he's (NOTE: must be a He, like jesus was, cuz girls are the devil, silly!) been officially run through the catholic dog and pony show, with documentation, mind you.

hey, welcome to Chaminade.

School Motto: We are better than you.
School Fight Song: Onward Christian Soldiers, or #509 in the CBP
Students Pledge: To be more tolerant of other white people.
Famous Sponsors/Alumni: D'Amato, Suozzi, O'Reilly
Cost of Sponsor-/Alumni-Purchased Sports and Activities Complex: $20 million dollars
Cost of Your Soul: Fucking priceless!

on a serious note, ban Chaminade from competing against or interacting with any public school in this country. and certainly—obviously—here in a secular country, Chaminade should not be getting a fucking dime from the feds, directly, indirectly, infrastructurely—whatsofuckingever. right?

go peddle your crazy xenophobic bullshit somewhere else.

GTFO white boy, this shit ain't williams

just to clarify, in case you missed it: tommy amaker is still a huge piece of shit.

eight is not even fucking close to enough

i swear to fucking god this is real. i swear to fucking god this was in today's nytimes.

now, really, go read this in all its full glory, written from the nadir of the modern female sportswriter: think, vogue with a twist of mommy blogger.

but let me just cut, paste and, er, annotate the rules.

well, i have to at least start with the lede. it's fucking epic:

Few audibles are called in the Warner household. Keeping seven children on the same page requires a no-frills playbook.

sports journalist and pioneer Karen Crouse with some more of that hard-hitting language that makes her so tough, showing off all the football terms she's learned since the season began. sez here that Karen is not only proud of the fact that she's a mommy in a man's world, but has in the past seen a head doctor because hard-hitting readers occasionally sent her some hard-hitting feedback, saying things like "go write for the fucking gossip pages, mommy" as well as a certain timeless catchphrase that we're especially fond of here at girthy, and which, like everything, just sounds better in scottish.

now, back to the rules:

“Eight Rules for Being a Warner Daughter or Son.”

apparently the rule that periods should only end actual sentences when used in headlines or bullets is not one endorsed by the warner household. faith > grammar.

1. Everyone has to agree on which strangers’ meal to pay for when dining at a restaurant.

ZOMG, me too! it makes me feel so much better about myself. also, firenze sucks, but that's only because i sill have a grudge from when we used to race.

2. At dinner, share the favorite part of your day.

now, were i das warnerspawn, i'd prolly recount how i just made that homeless guy in the back booth grovel before letting me baptise and "faith heal" him in the bathroom, on account of me just promising to pay for his meal, as part of rule 1. plus, bonus points for saving a soul, too! demons out!

being a warner is fucking awesome.

3. Hold hands and pray before every meal.

make sure you've washed. homeless guy cooties > faith.

4. After ordering at a restaurant, be able to tell Mom the server’s eye color.

because not only do both superman AND jesus think it's ok to give the freaky bugeye to people, if He really loved you, you wouldn't be colorblind. or "starring" on fucking youtube in ripley's believe it or not. sinner.

5. Throw away your trash at the movie theater and stack plates for the server at restaurants.

i wonder if they have rules for some of life's other complex challenges, like "don't piss in your pants again, use the bathroom" or "don't automatically tell the gay people we see holding hands or making out that they are going to burn in hell, because they might just be siblings." see below.

6. Spend one hour at an art museum when on the road.

no more. no less. also, no feeding the warners after midnight and none of that hateful poop art.

7. Hold hands with a sibling for 10 minutes if you can’t get along.

what if you're just praying? does that shit stack?

8. If you can’t get along holding hands, sit cheek to cheek. (If you can’t get along cheek to cheek, then it’s lips to lips!)

as long as it's not gay, or incestuous, or both. cuz in 2008, now, that's just not ok. also, ohio is fucking awesome. (EDDY: was that song not evil when it originally debuted... back in 1995 or whenever? is ohio like soviet russia? do they still listen to 80s music? i mean, we do, but look at us.)

on a side note, KURT, IF YOU'RE STILL READING... should, during some future serendipitous visit to the local chain steakhouse, we ever see das warnerspawn approaching our carcass-strewn and empty-jello-plated, all-you-can-eat-salad-barred table, their holier than thou, cash-filled grubby digits outstretched, we will gladly accept your money.

and we will spend it on porn, booze, drugs, whores and that much-anticipated matt leinart sex tape, featuring a horse, the USC cheerleding team and a midget wearing a mini-me mask.

by the way, i just wasted two hours of my life that i could have spent being productive. so fuck you, kurt warner, and your crazy christian balls. harrumph.