Vegas Truth or Dare Challenge

Kat Nove & Jeni Decker will meet for the first time (in person) in Las Vegas on April 1st. (The day of fools, how appropriate!)

To celebrate us taking Sin City by tit-storm, we’re announcing the “Vegas Truth or Dare Challenge.” Your job, should you choose to accept it: send us your questions and/or dares. We will live tweet the answers from Vegas, as well as proof of each accomplished dare, in the form of pictures and video.

What would you like to see us doing in Vegas?

Here are the rules:

1. No nudity. (Nobody needs to see that.)

2. Nothing illegal. (Actually, we’re willing to work with you on this one. Misdemeanors will be considered, felonies will not.)

3. Jeni will not eat any form of bug. (Kat can be talked into eating anything - but it’ll cost you.)

4. Nothing that requires Jeni to run. Jeni does not run.

5. Nothing that includes feces or any type of bodily fluid. (What, are you an idiot?)

When we return (hopefully with all of our teeth and no tattoos) we’ll be doing a book giveaway. Two lucky winners will each receive a copy of Waiting for Karl Rove, which will most certainly become COLLECTOR’S ITEMS.

Why, you ask?

Because the books will fly with us to Vegas, and when the winners receive them, will have the actual signatures of some of the characters from the book - including but not limited to:

Black Elvis
Two old ladies playing slot machines
A happy couple getting hitched at The Little White Chapel
… and any celebrities and/or politicians we run into (accost) while there.

So, let ‘er rip - and be creative, for Jehovah’s sake. Submit your questions and/or dares as comments below, or to us on Twitter: @Jeni_Decker @katnove @WaitingforKRove . Don’t forget to leave us your Twitter handle or some means of contact should you be the winner!

NOTE: We will also be taking video comprised of scenes from Waiting for Karl Rove as well as our upcoming sequel, Waiting for a Plot: or What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas, Especially If Someone Slips You Some Roofies. So stay tuned for updates because we’ve already arranged for the use of a dead body for Karl Rove’s room!

Confederacy of Dunces

I have a premise. I’ve spent months working on it while riveted to the television and internet, watching the 2012 Presidential campaign develop like an origami snake - one pointed crease and sharp fold at a time.

I’m certainly not the first person to ask themselves what vicious trick Fortuna is playing on us now. It can’t just be me who watches these GOP debates and thinks that scraping the bottom of the Republican barrel doesn’t even come close to describing what we are witnessing as a Nation.

I cringe when I imagine what the world at large thinks of the line-up of Unusual Suspects vying to be President of the United States. It’s that same feeling I had every time George W. Bush came out to the podium to speak during his two terms in office. I wasn’t sure what gaffe he would commit next, how many times in one conversation he’d mispronounce the word ‘nuclear’ and on which foreign land he’d declare war next. I just knew that anything was possible and I spent eight years popping Tums.

He seemed, to me, a shelter puppy who'd suddenly found himself in a new home with lots of carpet to pee on; wide-eyed, shocked to be there, and ready to rip into a juicy bone. Good thing for him he had multiple puppet-masters like Karl Rove, Donald Rumsfeld, and Dick Cheney - who clearly played the part of middle finger.

I’ve had to break out the chewable antacid pills again as I ponder the current crop of GOP contenders and consider the possibility that one of them could eventually become President of the United States.

Consider Rick Perry: from his disturbing and seemingly drunken, rambling speech in New Hampshire, to his debate performance in Michigan where he drew a blank while trying to name the third federal agency he would abolish if elected president. It was painful to watch. I felt sorry for the guy, but I’m sure pity isn’t the emotion he was going for. Just trying to imagine this guy in talks with foreign officials gives me heart palpitations.

Then there’s Herman Cain; the King of the ridiculous 9-9-9 plan that would assure the top 1% will continue to benefit while the rest of us 99%’ers would be pushed further to the bottom of the pile. Now the former pizza magnate and motivational speaker - who is backed by the strong arm of the Koch brothers and their Americans for Prosperity - is embroiled in a sexual harassment scandal. But despite the drip, drip, drip of accusers, Herman continues to operate from atop a pedestal of righteous indignation.

I’m going to skip right over Ron Paul and Rick Santorum because while Ron has that crazy Grandpappy vibe and I sort of enjoy him, Rick is so far to the right he’s almost invisible at this point. There’s no way in Hades either of these guys will get anywhere close to being the nominee and they both know it. It seems they’re just there for the free food in the many media green room pit-stops. Or perhaps they both enjoy hearing themselves speak.

I can think of no other reasonable explanation for them continuing to travel the country, flushing contributor dollars down the toilet by the fist-full. My suggestion to both of them is to throw in the towel and donate the rest of the cash in their coffers to their favorite charities. It would do far more good in the grand scheme of things.

Michelle Bachmann continually rails against entitlements and big government, but she and her family have benefited greatly from land subsidies and federal monies for her business. That is disingenuous at best... insidious at worst. And consider this statement: “Our nation needs to stop doing for people what they can and should do for themselves. Self reliance means, if anyone will not work, neither should he eat.”

I wonder what she’d say to one of her constituents who relies on food stamps as the only thing standing between him and starvation because he was laid off a year ago and cannot find a job in this economy. Ditto the other 13.9 million people like him, all trying to scoop water off the bow of the Titanic with soup spoons.

I further wonder why nobody has the cahones to publicly call her on this statement. At not one of these debates do the moderators seem intent on actually holding these debaters feet to the fire. Repeatedly, the GOP contenders are asked a question and repeatedly they do not answer that question, but circle around to their talking point of the day, which invariably begins with them waxing poetic about feeling our collective pain regarding the economic disaster and massive job loss, and ending with Obama’s failed policies being the cause of it all. No mention, of course, of how that pile of guano ended up on the President’s desk in the first place. Nor have any of them suggested that the GOP stranglehold via their Congressional amigos might have something to do with our inability to rectify the jobs situation.

Why are these debate moderators and media pundits not asking direct questions and demanding they get a direct answers? At this point the word debate has become a joke, along with most of the media coverage - and all one has to do to see that is spend a little time on Twitter, Facebook, and any number of social networking sites and blogs.

The general consensus: there is no debate going on. It’s a recurring sideshow-esque reality show featuring actors with virtually no accountability - and in some cases, no conscience.

But the sideshow continues…

Newt Gingrich and Mitt “Flip Flop” Romney appear to be the least problematic of the bunch, politically speaking, though neither of these men meet with anything other than tepid reactions from possible voters, pundits, and their own GOP party members. Probably because they’ve both been around long enough for everyone to have decided they’re not anyone's first choice. Or even their second one... both in his own way like a document run through the photocopier one too many times; a tired image of what might have been… if only. And there are a lot of “if onlys” for both men.

Which brings me to my premise.

What I’ve outlined above is a collection of undesirable contenders no more able to successfully lead this nation than my albino frog, Humbert Humbert.

We must also take into account all of the forces behind the scenes: the Brothers Koch pulling the purse strings of Herman Cain as well as plunging their grubby paws into any political fight that serves them personally; Grover Norquist holding an entire governing body of lawmakers hostage due to a Tax Reform pledge penned and signed over a decade ago.

For heaven’s sake, Grover. I have a kid who’s gone from diapers to big boy undies and is almost out of elementary school in that amount time. Am I to assume that I shouldn’t adjust the particulars of his daily care and rearing based on the circumstances of today rather than ten years ago when he surfed out of my who-ha on a tidal wave of amniotic fluid and only required a clean nappy and a bottle milk to keep him content?

Cue the gaggle of Grand Ole’ Partiers like Mitch McConnell and his cronies, all bent on seeing our sitting president as a one-termer, and what we have is a recipe for a bilious stew of governmental gridlock; self-sustaining dysfunction with no end in sight.

But perhaps that’s the intent. At least from the perspective of the congressional GOP. Imagine, for a moment, if there was effectively no pesky POTUS to get in the way of the daily Senate and House shenanigans. Imagine a United States where the President was a puppet for Congress; a figurehead bought and paid for to do their bidding. A leader who was just ineffective enough to bow to every demand of whichever party held the most seats in Congress - a group of lawmakers who change the rules when it’s convenient for them; when it’s politically convenient and skirts around silly little issues like simple majority votes cast.

I don’t see anyone in the current line up of Republican contenders who, if President, would have the mettle to effectively do the job, or stones big enough to stand up to Congress when the need arose.

And I suspect that certain members of the House and Senate don’t either. Only to them, that’s a good thing.

Meanwhile, we, the American people are strapped to Fortuna’s wheel and can only hope she does not crush us beneath her spokes.

Letter to Rush Limbaugh

Dear Mr. Limbaugh,

We’re two humor writers who would greatly appreciate the opinion of a pill-popping, bi-polar, bigoted racist with regard to our book, Waiting for Karl Rove. http://amzn.to/q8INuc

It is presently doing the “behind-the-scenes” rounds all over Washington and New York and we've already managed to piss off Geraldo Rivera and irritate Karl Rove - but that’s another story.

In the book, you make an appearance along with a handful of other powerful Americans - Geraldo, Dick Cheney, Ann Coulter and Karl Rove, to name a few. As you can see, you're in pretty shitty company.

We would love to send you an autographed copy so you can introduce our brilliance to your gargantuan (racist, homophobic, Republican) listening audience - or you can buy 300 copies, since you’re rolling in cash. Consider it “supporting the arts.” Probably a tax deduction - check with your accountant. (The one that does your “dirty” set of books.)

We’d be honored to be attacked by you on-air after hearing Molly Ivins say it was ‘akin to being gummed by a newt, but leaves you with slimy stuff on your ankle. ’

That sounds like a perfectly interesting, if not slightly sadistic way to spend an afternoon.

Thanks in advance for the time and attention,

Kat Nove
http://katnovian.com

&

Jeni Decker
http://closetspacemusings.blogspot.com

The Curious Incident of the Stinky Dog, Vomiting Kids and Hemorrhoids in the Night Time

It all started Friday afternoon.

~ Call from Thing Two’s school: “Jeni, I don’t think Thing Two is feeling well. He took himself to the quiet area and is lying under the weighted blanket. He feels warm.”

“I’ll be there right away!”

~ Bring Thing Two home, get a dose of medicine in him, he falls asleep.

SuperMom on the job! Check!

~Midnight, same night. I hear moaning from Thing One’s room. (You know, the kid that WASN’T previously sick.)

Wait for it, wait for it…

Three seconds later, he bolts upright from sleep and projectile vomits all over the carpet, his bed, himself, the wall, and for his grand finale, me. If you’ve never seen projectile vomit, let me tell you, it’s a thing of wonderment. It sprays from its origin with the force of a fireman’s hose taking down a three alarm fire.

I was disgusted and in awe at the same time.

~1a.m.- I stripped down, made Thing One strip down, and began cleaning the carpet. The kid had three brats for dinner with red Gatorade to drink so his room looked like a gory crime scene, complete with chunks of what looked like brain matter IN THE CARPET!

~ Next day: Two sick kids intermittently puking up medicine just as I administered it. (Which is a Catch-22 situation, as any Mom knows. You need to figure out how much they’ve puked up. Do you risk giving them another dose so they don’t wake up with a fever, or do you wait it out? I always opt for not overdosing my kids, but that’s just me. A trip to the ER with a comatose kid doesn’t make my top ten list of things to do on a holiday weekend.)

We all scraped by during the day. Puke basins were placed around the house at targeted locations. I washed three loads of sheets and towels in between scrubbing my hands 5,348 times, always topped off by a generous slathering of antibacterial hand sanitizer.

SuperMom Status: Withering with every hour that passes.

Seventeen Thing Two baths later, after a few hits to my teetering sanity, it was bedtime again. (Thing Two still wears a Pull-up® at nine-years-old. Because of this, the autistic kid who’s not-interested-in-shitting-on-the-toilet must take a bath after every bowel movement in place of wiping his ass. At least hygiene is a priority for him.)

~ 9 p.m. - Sweet, silent bliss. Husband conveniently spent the day outside, then hightailed it to a friend’s house to drink beer and hang out anywhere else, presumably where vomit wasn’t flying around in all directions. (He did take the pukey sheets out on the front lawn and hosed them off before I put them in the washer.)

With two resting kids, I had an episode of House cued up and ready to go when I heard the dog scratching at the door. I got up to let her in and, as soon as she crossed the threshold, I noticed she smelled like she’d just spent a few unseemly hours inside the vagina of a skanky ho who’d recently finished working a double shift.

SuperMom Status: Debilitating depression has set in.

Let me back up and mention that earlier (between puking kids and a particularly nasty Thing Two diarrhea incident ) I spent 30 minutes brushing the dog because she’s in the process of shedding her winter coat. Also, I’d vacuumed the entire house three times because golf-ball-size hunks of fur had taken up residence around the house.

“Out!” I screamed and pointed to the door. My sweet dog hung her head - knowing she’d been a naughty, naughty girl - and went back outside. The stench! It took half a bottle of Lysol to surmount the insurmountable smell of whatever she’d rolled in - and the dog never made it past the mud room.

I grabbed my phone and called The Bread Winner, fully aware he wasn’t going to be amenable to the message I was about to leave. Unfortunately he answered. I hadn’t counted on that. (Leaving testy messages is easier than an actual phone confrontation.)

“Hey hon. Just to let you know, Sugar rolled in something that is abhorrent to my general sense of well-being, so before you can enter the house tonight, I’m gonna need you to give her a bath. I left a towel and some shampoo outside. Also, I taped a note to the front door in case you forget.” (Remember, he’s out having a beer… or twelve.)

MY SILENT BUT DEADLY INNER MONOLOGUE: I’ve also engaged the dead bolt so neither of you will be getting in until the job is done.

Yeah, I’m hardcore. Call me a bitch; whatever. Listen, I’d done multiple loads of laundry, vacuumed more than twice, washed every sheet on every bed in the house and disinfected every flat surface. After all that, I’d taken a bath and was smelling all girly and nice, so there was no way I was going to take my fragrant ass out there and get that stinky crotch smell on me.

I heard a sigh on the end of the line. “Okay, I’ll be home later.” Good answer!

“Okay hon, see you later.”

Click.

~ 11 p.m. - The Breadwinner comes inside, fresh from bathing the dog. She ran past him and proceeded to shake, shimmy and roll her way to getting the carpet nice and wet-dog smelling. Although there was a faint scent of rose emanating from her drenched coat, wet dog is wet dog.

To my credit, I did not yell. Breadwinner HAD bathed the dog and it was my fault I wasn’t specific enough. Next time I will elaborate on the importance of drying the dog thoroughly BEFORE entering the house.

So, now along with the rosy-wet-funk and slightly wet carpet, I had a dog dragging her body over every carpeted surface in the house in order to rid the water from her ears and fur. It sounded like someone was having an epileptic seizure in my living room as she pounded her way to a state of dry-ness that would please her. I noticed, however, that everywhere she dragged and rolled was left matted with fur. No longer were they weightless tumbleweeds, but globs of wet hair; furry landmines all over my living room carpet.

~11:15 - Vacuuming again because my OCD would not allow me to watch TV in peace without my eyes wandering down to the hairy mess on the floor. (Shit, will I ever get to find out what that sexy Gregory House is up to this week?!)

SuperMom Status: Goddamn it!

An hour or so later, everyone had fallen asleep, nestled comfortably between clean sheets. I finally got to watch that episode of House before dragging my weary bones to bed. I was out before I knew -

BLOODY FUCKING HELL! I woke up somewhere around 2 am. I believe my hemorrhoids wanted to have a chat; at least this was the impression I got as my anus throbbed and my stomach, legs, and back dealt with evil tendrils of fire wrapping their way around me from the inside. (Because of my distaste for Karl Rove, I’ve decided to hereinafter refer to them as Rovian tendrils.)

This time, unlike the first time this happened, I knew what I needed and exactly how many steps away it was. I slowly hobbled to the bathroom, found the tube, and took care of business. Still, after five minutes, the evil Rovian tendrils of enmity only minimized to a dull, throbbing animosity.

Step two was in the freezer.

This was not the first time I'd foraged behind the frozen peas and popsicles to grab the lime green screw-on lid attached to a protruding six-inch plastic dowel. Meant to keep a sports cup cool for hours, the frozen phallus jutting from a convenient handle had once spent a memorable night talking the little perpetrators in my poop-chute down from the proverbial ledge.

SuperMom Status: Alive, barely; possibly experiencing SMPTST (SuperMom Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)

I shuffled back to my bedroom, dropped my panties, laid down on my side and let the icy phallus get reacquainted with my anus.

For the second time in my life I feel it necessary to note that there was no insertion. Again, I want that on record. Anus-adjacent should paint the picture for you, so we’ll leave it at that.

So… how was your weekend?

Last Will and Testament

To Whom it May Concern,

If I die or end up in a stupid coma & become a vegetable (I hope yam or tomato because I don't want to be spinach) then my half of the proceeds from sales of Waiting for Karl Rove shall go in a trust fund for Thing One (Jake William Lopez) and Thing Two (Jaxson Walter Lopez) - because I have blatantly exploited them for personal gain, so it would only be fair.

This windfall, however, should be administered by their step-grandfather Bob, because my mother, sister, and husband cannot be trusted with such a chore. Mommie Dearest would drive everyone crazy, husband would buy way too much pay-per-view and beer, and sister would instantly bury herself under a ten-foot high mound of scratch-off lotto tickets.

If something happens to Step-Dad Bob before an anvil falls on my head or I slip in the shower, the above duties will then go (grudgingly) to Resi Decker (sister with lotto fetish) with the IMPLICIT STIPULATION that no lotto tickets, hair color, or chocolate shall be purchased with the proceeds from Waiting for Karl Rove under the guise of “Thing One and Thing Two management”.

If Step-Dad Bob and Resi Decker should succumb to a fishing/hunting/home repair accident, said duties should then fall to my husband - hereinafter called The Bread Winner. Oy, vey… I don’t even want to think about it. (SEE: ABOVE REFERENCE TO PORN AND PAY-PER-VIEW)

If a fishing/hunting accident, terrorist attack, home repair accident should befall Step-Dad Bob AND Resi Decker, AND The Breadwinner, simultaneously, then I REALLY GRUDGINGLY pass the buck to Mommie Dearest and hope like hell she doesn’t drive Thing One and Thing Two batshit crazy while lording over their money. She will...(sigh) but I will have no other options at that point.

If everyone above dies, I guess a stupid meteor hit the earth and it won't matter, anyway. (Which would be a damn shame.)

This official half of a contract between Jeni Decker and Kat Nove* is electronically signed on April 15, 2011 by:

Jennifer L. Lopez (YES, this is my legal name, so stop laughing, NOW!)


*to see her official half, go to katnovian.com

(the making of) Waiting for Karl Rove

Who’d have thought a bunch of crazy e-mails would turn into a book?

Surely not I.

Okay, I lied. It was all a part of my Sixteen Step Master Plan to Take Over the Universe…(along with Kat Nove, my sidekick).

Here we are, about to publish Waiting for Karl Rove (already available on Smashwords and soon to be available on Amazon.com for Kindle) and I decided to take a trip down memory lane and fondly remember how it all started…

(I will say, preparing manuscripts for e-book format is a slow, painful walk through hell and whoever invented the process should get a pick-axe through the temporal lobe. There’s simply got to be an easier, more effective way to get something to print on an e-reader and STILL not screw the formatting six ways from Sunday if you make any of a number of tiny errors. Seriously - Bill Gates, get right on that, will ya?)

The whole thing started when a writer friend told Kat and I we’d be perfect co-writers. So, first we thought about something like “My Day Sucked Bigger Balls Than Yours Because…” and then we’d just compile our saved e-mails and have ourselves a bestseller.

At some point, however, we decided an actual plot might be nice. Sometime later I said, “Hey, what about if we write ourselves into the story - and it’s a road trip book about a menopausal woman and her erratic sidekick who are on a mission to wrestle an apology from Karl Rove by any means necessary?”

Kat sent an e-mail that went something like this:

LMFAO AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH

And, we were off...

JENI: Holy *bleep*-a-Doodle!

That's a lot of e-mails. If even a third of them are remotely interesting, we've already written a book. Well, that's assuming anyone else finds us even half as funny as we do each other. But let’s not use any that make me sound stupid... or fat. I want people to think I'm sublimely intelligent and wasting away at 99 pounds--until we end up on David Letterman.

Oh, screw it. We’ll use it all. ;) On to greatness - or infamy, whichever comes first

KAT: Hmmm...I wonder which agent will call me first as I'm being interviewed by Wolf Blitzer.

"Well, Wolfie...may I call you Wolfie? I always knew she was a total nutjob because anyone with access to that many dildos and boob lifters has to have access to guns, right? So the truth is, when she demanded I write Waiting For Karl Rove with her, I was too scared not to. Is Blitzer a Nazi name?"

Then I’ll stop in and see Geraldo…

“Nice to meet you Geraldo. So this is the Fox News Studio? Frankly, I thought it would smell much worse in here. So kind of you to interview me after Jeni Decker's treatment of you in WFKR - which, by the way, was NOT my idea. I can tell you the exact day she snapped if you're interested in the truth. You are? Hmmm...surprising. It was the day she gave Rick Sanchez the Geraldo treatment via song parody. Yeah, it drove her bat-shit crazy. Uh...I can't say batshit on Fox News? You're kidding right? I assumed bat-shit was okay, what with the two most obscene words in the English language having their own show. Snap, Geraldo. I thought you'd get the joke seeing as how Puerto Ricans usually have a better sense of humor than old white people. The two most obscene words are (drum roll) Glenn Beck. Now, let's talk about me.”

Oh, and Jeni - screw Letterman…I'm shooting for The Daily Show. I'd ignore my menopausal tendencies to sit next to short little Jon Stewart and fantasize about his circumcised Jewish penis. I'm certain it must be massive. Har!

JENI: While I, myself, don't care to ponder the length and or girth of Jon Stewart's penis, circumcised or otherwise, I'd be happy to genuflect before his greatness, with you by my side. Are you saving all this, because if you're counting on me to do it, your screwed. It's bad enough I'm having to spell check things before clicking send.

KAT:

TO OUR READERS : Jeni is referring to compiling a book from our unorganized e-mails. Thank you for your attention and for your money.

Kat Nove

JENI: We accept checks, money orders, and the occasional bartering agreement, in the form of sex. ;) Expect to be de-loused prior to engagement, and it's probably advisable to BYOB.

KAT: Do to my current menopausal state, Jeni will be providing the sex, unless your check or money order is taped to Jon Stewart's circumcised penis, in which case I'll suck it right off and deposit it into my bank account.

JENI: Sure, sure. Leave me the dirty work. Ah, well. I suppose it'll be my penance for blatantly riding your pantyhose to literary success. Though that shouldn't surprise you. I have no issue exploiting the two autistic children I squeezed out of my uterus for literary benefit, so why should you be any different?

KAT: You idiot! I'm riding your coattails. And now I'm walking over to the skateboard park to find the skater who said he'd buy a copy of Global Swarming. That *bleep*er better be there with the cash, I need a pack of cigs.

JENI: Well, that's just dandy. Looks like we've got the menopausal leading the morbidly obese. Look out world, here we come.

KAT: Uh, I had to pee before I went to shake down the skater dude and made the mistake of looking at your emails again! Okay, now I'm off to a drug...I mean book deal.

JENI: BTW, Mitch thinks a better title for Engulfed would be: Where's My *Bleep*ing Bliss? Do you think dropping the f-bomb in the title would put agents off?

KAT: I guarantee they would make you change it to Where's My Freaking Bliss? I like your original title better, but that's probably because David Sedaris and I are such good friends. Oh! And when you respond, maybe you should reply using what you're responding to. That way we won't have to try to figure it out later.

JENI: Oh! so already you want me to make your life easier? What's next? Shall I draw you a bath? You're SO going to hate me before this is all over. And, where is the world heading that a writer can't use the word *bleep* at their leisure? I'm not sure I want to be a part of that world... Oh, yeah. How is Mr. Sedaris, anyway? Let him know I'm gunning for him - though I could be persuaded to cease and desist all future writing endeavors if he and Hugh found it in their hearts to adopt me. I think I'd have turned out better, all things considered, if a gay couple had been my parents.

KAT: Draw me a bath? Har! Quit imagining me naked, you pervert. Besides, in my world, bathtubs are not safe for baths. It's showers only, baby. Otherwise something worse than a yeast infection would be crawling up my who-ha.

JENI: I'm sorry, my dear, but being that it's almost 2010 and a free country (at least until the Republicans crawl back into power) I am free to imagine anyone I wish naked. Don't get all excited - there's quite a list in front of you, including but not limited to Rachel Maddow, Andre Braugher, Hugh Laurie, Suzanne Malveaux (CNN) and Newt Gingrich... (that last one, merely as a curiosity under the sneaking suspicion that something's gone horribly awry there, physically, and I'd like to get to the bottom of it...) And, clearly you're under the mistaken assumption that I'm not 'stoo-pid' as Mitch says...

KAT: Seeing Newt Gingrich falls under my 100 million tax free dollars umbrella, wherein for said amount I'll have sex with anyone on the planet of legal age, regardless of gender, religion and/or political party affiliation as long as most of them are gagged with duct tape, hosed down with disinfectant, the lights are off and nobody ever informs me I just *bleep*ed Ann Coulter.

Months later…

KAT: Last night I went to a college production of The Foreigner and laughed my fat ass off, which is a good thing because the cheap-ass seats in that dinky theatre are like sitting on a turned-on chainsaw (and I don't mean a chainsaw that is so aroused by my asshole that it wants to return the favor) I mean a chainsaw that wants to rip out my asshole, make me eat it and then rip it out again. Then I came home to a paranoid Richard who has finally snapped that I'm writing down his every word and sending it to you. He told me to tell you he'd like to apologize for his inappropriate remarks. More later on his idea to start a gang (as in Bloods and Crips) of pink-curler wearing, rubber dishwashing glove prancers.

So, where are we at on the next WFKR chapter? What am I supposed to be writing next? Help me get the order straight. We go to casino and we're wearing our Mardi Gras masks. We start riot and Conga line and run out being chased by security. Right?

JENI: Yes, that's your part. You can end inside wherever we are and do your usual RUN line because mine takes up with us actually running down the street.

KAT: You take it up and we crash a wedding and we're both super drunk.

JENI: Yes, mine takes us running down the street, going into the wedding, and ends with us walking down the strip leaving the bride and groom…then a bunch of shit happens while we're drunk that we don't remember. I thought it might be good for the next book to leave some stuff purposely open so that if we need anything to 'come back to haunt us' we can use that as a tie in. LOL I cover it briefly in the FBI interview - but that part of the document is REDACTED.

KAT: Then I wake up with black Elvis. We do some shit and end up at the fund raiser wearing masks. Did we decide who wears which mask (Palin/Cheney) ? Because whoever is wearing Dick Cheney's needs to be exposing some hellacious cleavage.

JENI: Entirely up to you. You're choice. Do you wanna be the Dick or the Bitch? LOL Take care to time your 'day' so that we end up in the bathroom at 7:02 PM. I figure Karl's speech could be around six or so in the evening.

KAT: How do I need to end that chapter? Being chased out by security again? Or one of us needing to pee and we hide in the men's restroom?

JENI: Mine starts with us sitting on the toilets, Geraldo comes in after that. You have to get us there or at least establish a chase because somehow we heard Rove was heading to the toilet (does he have handlers or security that we could overhear but get the message wrong--go to the wrong bathroom?) and we assumed that's where he was going.

BTW, which hotel is this that we're in the bathroom of? I assume whatever one the speech is in.

KAT: Let's have that scene in the Parisian. Probably some good jokes to be made about Freedom Fries and how ironic it is since Republicans hate the French. And I'll have us leaving in a hurry, but not writing about getting there. I think it's funnier to have us sitting on the toilets.

Oh. My. God! Did you hear that Cheney is in the hospital again? Be just like that *bleep*er to die and *bleep* up our book. Of course if he does kick it, we can substitute all his parts with someone else equally vile.

Karl's Angels

Yeah, I’m pretty sure HE’S up to something. This has Karl Rove’s chubby, grubby paw prints all over it. These chicks can’t be for real, so unless this is round one of the newest reality show - America’s Most Idiotic Politicians - I’m going on record now:

This is a classic Republican tactic: obfuscate and redirect.

While all of America is distracted by the whirlwind of lunacy that is the primary election coverage, something is happening behind the scenes.

What I want to know is, what's the great and powerful Oz doing behind the scenes while the rest of us guffaw our way through debates and absurd sound bytes? Be afraid, people. While we pay no attention to the man behind the curtain, I’m certain he’s up to no good. Like starting another war. Take a look at his gals and you tell ME if these wing-nuts can be ANYTHING but subterfuge for some greater rear assault on America:

First, the big guns:

Sara Palin

Momma Grizz is traveling all over the US with her bottled water and bendy straws in tow, working TeaBaggers into a mouth-frothing tizzy. Anyone who doesn’t think she’s running for President in 2012 has probably had a lobotomy. Sara is making waves AND cash, hand over fist. I guess quitting her old job was a money-making proposition, but not exactly a quality I want in a leader: Sara. Palin. Is. A. Quitter.

I’d also like to think all possible political appointees have at least a general grasp on basic geography, science and…reality - real reality, not the TV show version. But Sara and the gals following her lead don’t seem to think that kind of stuff is important.

Take, for instance…

…Christine O’Donnell

Oh, Christine. I just want to hold you to my breast, rub your head gently and say, “Oh, honey…no. You don’t need to be in politics. Sweat pea, we know you’re trying to be Sara Palin’s mini-me but don’t you think that’s lowering the bar a tad too low? We’ve been told you’re not a witch, but I’d rather be represented by Broomhilda than someone who doesn't have a firm grasp on the Constitution and Amendments. If you're applying for the job, I'd like to know you can tell when an entire room of people are laughing AT you, not WITH you.”

And, let’s talk a minute about what the Catholics like to call self-abuse…

"It is not enough to be abstinent with other people, you also have to be abstinent alone. The Bible says that lust in your heart is committing adultery, so you can't masturbate without lust." --says Christine-who-is-not-a-witch.

So according to you, I can’t touch myself? Oh, and didn’t you say evolution is a myth?

Let’s move on to…

…Sharron Angle

This chick looks less like a radical conservative and more like an escaped mental patient. Her bullet points:

--she called the unemployed spoiled welfare queens.
--she said entitlement programs are like worshipping a false God
--she calls flouridization a Communist plot
--under her care, American prisons would implement a Scientology massage program.
--she once opposed a local high school using black athletic jerseys, which she called un-Christian and wicked
--she opposes abortion even in cases of rape and incest, saying pregnancy under those circumstances is God's plan.

Of course, those in her own party would just love her to knock Harry Reid out of his seat, but once she’s sitting in it, I’m wondering if those forced to sit next to her would be concerned with their sudden proximity to wack-a-doodle. I can hear their inner monologues:

“Can I catch crazy?”

Isn’t anyone else afraid?

Courage and Consequence

TO: The Architect of Guano: Karl Rove
FROM: A Satisfied Customer

Dear Mr. Rove,

I just returned from one of my thrice-daily bathroom sabbaticals where I read portions of your book, Courage and Consequence, one ‘sitting’ at a time. (I eat a lot of roughage, hence the 3x a day thing.)

Thank goodness I have a hearty septic system because I find your book serves dual purposes: laugh out loud satirical reading material, (it’s satire, right?) and I won’t have to buy toilet paper for a good long while. (that’s what I call recycling!)

Thanks again!
Jeni


“The next time they give you all that civic bullshit about voting, keep in mind that Hitler was elected in a full, free democratic election.”
--George Carlin


"The great masses of people will more easily fall victim to a big lie than a small one."
--Adolf Hitler


"[T]he people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger. It works the same way in any country."
-- Karl Rove

Waiting for Karl Rove--TEASER

Well, here it is. Our one minute Waiting for Karl Rove trailer.

I want to thank a couple of agents and a publisher who responded to our query with a sense of humor. It's refreshing to know there are some out there who haven't become too precious about themselves. Frankly, that's a real turn off. If you can't summon up a quip or two now and again, I don't want you representing me.

We get that taking swipes at the publishing world might not endear us to everyone, but it's a sure-fire way to weed out the undesirables--and all part of our master plan.

Consider us Snarky Gardeners...

Below are a few of the better responses, with portions redacted to protect the writer's anonymity,

Chris (you know who you are!) had this to say:

Hi Jeni and Kat,

I read the first 40 pages of Waiting for Karl Rove – what a ride. The email exchanges between Kat and Tense are a perfect jab at the publishing industry – if you can’t laugh at yourself… While I have no doubt that the book will – should - be picked up for publication, I’m afraid that it is off-target for our (BLANK) fiction catalog. I ran the manuscript by one of our senior editors, and her comment was, “nice and snarky - and I hate Karl Rove – but it’s going to miss (OUR TARGET AUDIENCE).”

Thanks for thinking about (SO AND SO) Books, and good luck on your trip up the New York Times Bestseller List. I’m sure you will make it. Cheers.

*****

...and Ann...

...Thank you for thinking of me, Kat and Jeni, but the subject matter of Waiting for (that a**hole) Karl Rove didn't grab me the way I would need it to in order to consider representation, so unfortunately I've decided to pass. (I'm more of a thrillers, mystery, & suspense agent now.)

(the ‘that a**hole’ was her addition!) How cool is that?!


*****

An agent that I really, really would like to be MY agent rejected it — but responded with good humor:

1 agent
2 words "no thanks"
1 wish "that you find your ideal agent as quickly & painlessly as possible"

…and in another time and another place, I might have been YOUR agent. But I am overwhelmed. My overwhelmingness appears to be long term.

*****

Thanks M. I'm still holding out hopes for this one. He'd be my dream agent, and if I get an offer on another book at some point, I'm running (not walking) back to him and begging him to rep me.

We’d hoped for some snarky query responses so we could add them to the book, but alas, none yet.

Have no fear--if they do arrive, we'll post 'em!

WANTED: A brilliant LITERARY AGENT with size XXL cajones.

Serious inquiries need only apply:

jlcallmejeni@aol.com

NOTE: Please put Waiting for Karl Rove--Agent Query in the subject line. Queries sent with attachments will not be opened (unless it’s a contract) and any e-mail sent without the above subject heading will be deleted unread.

Please allow 2-4 weeks for reply, as our offices are inundated with agents querying us. Patience is a virtue. No calls, FAX’s or singing telegrams will be accepted—unless the singing telegram in question involves a scantily clad male or large quantities of chocolate —in which case, contact us with the scheduled delivery time at: jlcallmejeni@aol.com

Kat Nove & Jeni Decker

The Human Centipede

Excerpt from Waiting for Karl Rove
(FOOTNOTES BELOW)

“Jeni, this is the worst idea since I rolled over in bed that night and said to South-of-the-Border. 'Are you gonna marry me or what?'” (1)

Jeni turned on the blinker—about thirty seconds too late in my opinion—and eased off the highway into the rest area. “You are such a chicken-shit. Consider this another adventure.”

“Another adventure? Sure why not? It’s not as if anything exciting has happened to us so far on this trip. I still have most of my motor functions and my spleen.(2)

“Listen, Kat. I can drive in my sleep, but you’re such a whiner about making sure nothing happens to your car, (3) it’s best we stop for the night.”

“I’m not arguing that point. I’m arguing about where you’ve decided to stop.” I looked around at the rest area on the side of the highway where we sat parked next to a large horse trailer hitched to the back of a double-cab pickup. I lit a cigarette off the one I’d been smoking, looked out my window and squinted in the light provided by the squalid mercury vapor lamp attached to a twenty-two foot metal pole. The driver’s side door of the pickup read BAR-NONE QUARTER HORSE RANCH.

“We’re surrounded by truckers, Kat. What could be safer?”

“Gee, let me think. A mall Santa Clause’s lap? (4) My bed at home? A public library? The back seat of a police car?” (5)

She laughed. “You’re funny, Nove.”

“Yeah, I’m funny. And my corpse will be funny-looking once the cops piece it back together. If they ever do,” I added darkly. “Do you watch horror films, Jeni?”

“Not usually. I’m not about to let my kids watch them and by the time I wrestle them to bed, I’m usually too tired to take a shit.”

I winced and ignored her three hundred and twenty-fourth scatological reference.

I rolled my eyes at her and said, “Fine. Let me fish my pepper spray out of my purse. No way we’re entering that restroom this late unless we have a way of defending ourselves.” (6)

“Go on with your delusions, Kat. I find them fascinating.”

“My point is, that no victim expects to be murdered, just as none of the characters in those movies expected to be stabbed, bitten, run over, chain sawed, decapitated, or torn in half. Otherwise they’d have stayed at home. But the film characters’ misfortune began because they took to the road. And spending the night here with a broken car window, without a sawed-off shotgun and a S.W.A.T. team in the backseat is a terrible idea.”

“You’re overreacting to a hypothetical and highly improbable situation,” Jeni said, trying to fake me out into thinking she’s a rational human being. “There’s no way we’re getting killed by a serial killer because we’re spending the night here.”

“Not just killed. Turned into a human centipede.”

“You keep saying that,” Jeni said, right at the moment the trucker exited the restroom. “What the fuck is a human centipede?”

“A human centipede is three people sewn together. There’s a Dutch director named Tom Six who wrote and directed the most revolting horror film ever made. The Human Centipede. Six is an AK-47 enthusiast who once said he gets a rash from too much political correctness.”

“So do I. What’s wrong with that?”

“You own an AK-47?” I asked.

“No, doofus. I get a rash from too much political correctness.”

“Jeni, you’d get a rash from a baby’s diaper rash cream.(7) Anyway, can we get back to The Human Centipede?”

“Why not?”

“Many horror fans loved the movie.(8) But Roger Ebert didn’t even give it a star rating. Do you know what he did?”

“How could I?” she replied, smirking.

“He told his readers the review was not only a spoiler alert, but a public service announcement. Then he revealed the entire plot AND drew a diagram of the human centipede.”

“Oh, come on. I doubt it’s that bad.”

“Really? He said what happened to the victims is the worst thing he’s ever seen done to human beings.” (9)

“Worse than Hostel?”

“Jeni, the victims in this movie saw Hostel and begged the killer to do the disgusting things in that movie rather than turn them into a human centipede.”

I pulled my notebook and a pen out of my purse and began to sketch a crude drawing. After I finished, I shoved it in Jeni’s face. “There! There’s what’s going to happen to us if we spend the night here.”

She said, “What the fuck is that?”

“That’s what the insane German doctor in the movie created. He kidnapped two young American women and a Japanese man. He was a retired surgeon who specialized in separating co-joined twins. In the demented mind of Tom Six, this doctor had a hankering to attach people.(10)

Jeni peered intently at my sketch. “Am I understanding this correctly?”

“If you think each person is attached by sewing mouths to anuses all in a row, the answer is yes. But it’s worse than that.”

“How could it get any worse?” Jeni said, clearly horrified.

“The psycho doctor also attached their digestive tracts.”

“No!”

“Yes! So that means the first person eats, then the digested food passes from his asshole into the mouth of the second person, then the third who eventually evacuates.” (11)

“You saw this movie?”

“Hell, no! But I heard it from my corner while playing Peggle on the computer. The Remote Control Terrorist watched it.”

“And you live with this guy?”

“I did ask him after it ended if he got emotionally involved with the characters.” (12)

“What did he say?”

“He scoffed at me and said of course not, it’s only a movie.” (13)

“Why are you telling me this? I might have nightmares,” Jeni whined.

“Because I can’t believe a writer could come up with something so vile out of his own imagination unless he’s creating human centipedes in his garage or attic. Tom Six is douche bag who must be destroyed for thinking up such crap. When a movie is made of our adventures,(14) I shall insist that in this scene he is played by Steven Seagal.” (15)

“Well, that’s a relief. I thought you were really worried about being turned into a human centipede.”

“Of course I’m worried about it. My luck, you’d be in the front and I’d be in the middle. With your ass situation, I’d rather go skinny dipping with Freddy Krueger.” (16)

__________________________________________________

1. My ex-husband’s family came from Monterrey, Mexico and are millionaires. Know what I got in the divorce? Can you spell J-A-C-K-S-H-I-T?

2. I didn’t expect that to last long the way Jeni drove.

3. Not to mention the aforementioned motor skills and spleen.

4. Unless he happened to be a pedophile and even then what’s he going to do with all those elves as witnesses?

5. Where I predicted I’d soon be sitting because three years ago I made the mistake of joining a writer’s website – thenextbigwriter.com. It’s frequented by a high number of crazies, Jeni being the Crazy Queen of the Forums.

6. My spur-of-the-moment plan didn’t really include wasting my expensive pepper spray on a rapist or serial killer, but rather shoving Jeni into him and running like Marion Jones on steroids while he bounced off Jeni’s tits into the cinderblock walls. I call this the Trampoline Defense.

7. But I wouldn’t put it past her to mug the Gerber baby if she thought his diaper rash cream might be the solution to her ass issues.

8. I picture anyone who loves this movie never leaving his room in his parents’ basement and looking like Jabba the Hut existing on a diet of maggots and pizza.

9. And he watched Hannah Montana: The Movie so he should know.

10. A little hobby to pass the time in his retirement. More creative than crossword puzzles and less tedious than gardening.

11. Who knows where. Under these circumstances, it seems a toilet would be difficult to manage.

12. Keeping my fingers crossed he wouldn’t tell me he wished he could be more like Dr. Crazytown.

13. Same thing he says about romantic comedies.

14. Alternative title – Waiting for a Plot.

15. Check out my Steven Seagal rant on katnovian.com.

16. Not-so-thinly-veiled reference to Jeni's 'roids, which she talks about ad nauseum.


________________________________________________________________

As it turned out, we did run into some trouble that night, in the form of Gollum the rest-stop masturbator yanking his way to crazy-town on the hood of Kat's car. But we got the upper hand. The police later found him bound with duct tape and a little message written across his chest in lipstick.

I MAY BE A SERIAL KILLER
I MAY BE A RAPIST
I HAVE A PUNY PENIS
ARREST ME!

Don't screw with a menopausal woman and her erratic sidekick... Just sayin'.

Waiting for Karl Rove (and for Kathy Griffin)

Today a Special Treat--guest blogger: Kat Nove



I wrote a scene for Kathy Griffin in Waiting for Karl Rove because she’s my role model. When the movie comes out, I won’t sign any contract that doesn’t include Kathy Griffin playing herself in that scene.



A couple of years ago I went with Moses (my own personal gay) to watch her show in San Antonio. She was fantastic – what I could hear of her. For weeks before the show, I’d fantasized about sitting next to a hot gay MALE Kathy Griffin fan. Imagine my distress when my seat mates turned out to be two chatty lesbians instead. These women wouldn’t shut the fuck up so I could hear Kathy.

Then I ended up falling asleep for a few minutes due to the fact I suffer from sleep apnea and never get more than four hours sleep a night. I’m certain drooling and snoring were involved and I’m so grateful Jeni Decker, my co-author of Waiting for Karl Rove wasn’t’ there to film it. Other than those two incidents, it was a wonderful evening.


On August 6, I’m going back to see her with my two gays, Moses and his boyfriend High IQ. I’ve only met High IQ once, but I get to claim him as my very own gay because at that time he gushed about what a wonderful human being I am. He’s right. It’s strange how evangelical Christians, Tea Party members and/or wealthy white Republicans don’t get that about me.

I only have two gays, while Kathy Griffin has millions, but someday I hope my gays will number in the double digits! All you gays out there can help make this happen by getting on Twitter and twatting about Waiting for Karl Rove and how much you want to see Kathy Griffin playing herself in the movie. Bless your hearts!

For more about Waiting for Karl Rove go to the website.

http://waitingforkarlrove.wordpress.com/


Visit Kathy at her website.

http://www.kathygriffin.net/

You can find out more about Moses by clicking the link. He’s really cute!

http://katnovian.com/?p=49

And if you’re the type who likes to mock computer end users – mock away. While trying to imbed the links, my monitor shouted – FORBIDDEN! Then it spit rattlesnake venom in my eye. I’m finishing this post while wearing an eyepatch. I’m certain that’s what Kathy would do.

Waiting for Karl Rove

It was an inspired idea. All I had to do was convince Kat.

“So, what do you think about packing up and heading out to visit Karl Rove?”

Thus began a road trip that started with two separate terrorist incidents at the San Antonio Airport—both attributed to us—and ended with an FBI interrogation.

Most of what happened in between is a hazy horror-show that we’d both sooner forget. Unfortunately, my predilection for always having a camera handy assured every humiliating detail would forever be captured on film.

When I dreamed up this little scheme to find Karl Rove and throttle an apology out of him, I did not count on being accosted by Junior Hillbilly in an outhouse, chased by Geraldo Rivera, ...or witnessing Gollum the rest stop masturbator jerking his way to crazy town. Kat got tasered (twice!) and humped a Teabaggers leg at the Alamo, I stripped at La Teta Pequeña, and one of us woke up in bed next to an Elvis impersonator after a long night of drinking on the Vegas strip.



Then we wrote a book about it. And now we’re ready to publish.

Our ultimate goal: Appear on The Daily Show and make ridiculous sums of money after selling the movie rights to Harvey Weinstein.

Oh shit…I think this means I have to compose a query letter.

Yuck.

I don’t suppose the following will suffice?

Waiting for Karl Rove is…

75,461 words
629 footnotes
351 pages
2 authors
1 good fucking book

If you become befuddled by the first person perspective told from the point of view of dual-protagonists, you’re probably just stupid. That’s a personal problem as far as we can see; yours, not ours.

We are two writers on a wild road trip to the top of the New York Times Bestseller List and this book is blatant self-promotion.

And what is this titillating tome about, you ask?

Think Thelma and Louise—only Thelma’s menopausal, Louise is an erratic big-mouth with a penchant for discussing her hemorrhoids, and they’re on a road trip to wrestle an apology from Karl Rove by any means necessary.

That’s really all you need to know.

BP Spills Coffee

Lazy blogger here again. Okay so I have an excuse. I’m in the middle of writing another book and there aren’t enough hours in the day to write, edit, Photoshop, deal with two children who are off for summer break and get in at least a bit of reading so I don’t totally lose my mind.

Now, first thing’s first. There’s nothing funny about the recent BP OIL F$%KTASTROPHY.

Truly, lives are being ruined as we speak due to a one/two punch to the Louisiana area that nobody deserves (With the possible exception of Karl Rove) and the eco-system is being damaged beyond repair. Let’s be realistic, there’s not a thing in the world that I, you, BP, Obama or Kevin Costner is going to be able to do to fix this thing. It’s not fixable. We’re at the damage control stage and even that seems an oxymoron at this point.

That said, being a writer, I believe there’s no topic that can’t be used to comedic advantage — or at least as a band-aid to keep us from slitting our wrists in angst for another day.

If you don't believe me, ask any stand-up comedian. They'll tell you that the marriage of any truly horrifying incident with the ability to make said incident palatable, or even entertaining to someone else, is a rare gift.

This is why I watch Jon Stewart regularly. I still get the bullet points, but I also get to laugh while Mr. Stewart rips someone a new one in the pithy way only he can do. Sometimes it’s too painful to tune in to CNN or MSNB, and I think every forward-thinking person in the free world knows it’s always painful to tune in to FOX News.

Today I offer up a video from the good folks at UCB comedy.com, who felt like taking a stab at the Oil Spill Crisis.

Enjoy!