Flori-duh … Why Leave?

So what’s the deal with all these non-Flori-duh states flooding my pristine (just kidding) airwaves extolling their virtues?

north-carolinaMy screen’s filled with crap about why I need to haul my butt to … Michigan, or New York, or Pennsylvania.  Comeon, man!

Do you really expect me to buy into the fly fishing routine?

Or the crystal clear waters of Michigan?  You still have Flint on your hands.

The sunshine and the clear days … that would be Washington State on the three days it doesn’t rain.

And they don’t limit their promos to TV.  Checkout license plates!

The quickest way to get a fix on a state’s alter ego is to tailgate an out-of-stater and read their license plate motto.

They’re mobile billboards for braggarts.


Idaho – “World Famous Potatoes” … Says who?

Oklahoma – “Native America” … Did anyone ask the Native Americans?

South Carolina – “The Iodine State” … Shouldn’t that be mercurochrome?

North Carolina – First in Freedom … Unless you want to use the bathroom.


But, my fair state, Flori-duh, makes license plate advertising as inscrutable as their politics.

In addition to “The Sunshine State,” Flori-duh offers over 100 other plates touting children, education, horses, manatees, agri-business (Think Big Sugar), the military, colleges and universities, cultural/family values.

You name the group and our state “tags” it.

So we’re painfully in need of a “kick-in-the-gut” marketing motto.


What’s Flori-duh stand for?  What’s our core appeal?  How do we get folks to pack-up, pick-up and haul their fat wallets down here?

#1)  Our world famous wet t-shirt contests.  Think Spring Break.  What’s more fun than watching someone pour an ice cold Mai Tai down the front of a pair of U of Minnesota Nordic breasts?

“Flori-duh – Birthplace of the Wet T-Shirt.”

2)  Gator attacks.  Screw Disney, Busch Gardens and Gator Land.  You can wade in our rivers, ponds and lakes and wrestle your own damn alligator.  What’s an arm or a few toes … you got two arms and 10 toes.  Live a little.

“Flori-duh – Wrestle your Inner Gator!”

3)  The Dade County I-95 Thrill Ride.  Think bumper cars at 95 mph.  Add driving thunderstorms, flooded underpasses, gale force winds, coked-out competitors, and no cops until you hit the next county line.  Dade County’s I-95 Indy 500 car chases look like Grand Theft Auto on steroids.

“Flori-duh – I’m an I-95 Survivor.”


Or, we could just say “Come to Flori-duh … the Last Frontier” … for the wild, the weird, and the truly strange.

Just sayin’ …

Just Released: Donald Trump Stars in “Nasty Woman”

Debates number one and two were packed with lots of good s**t … especially if you’re a poke-fun-at-anything-that-moves Blogger.

But that third one … what a gold mine.  A real monster lode.

And it was wrapped-up in bright orange flesh, skanky orange hair, and unbelievably bushy orange eyebrows.  The vein just kept on pumping out orangey-gold.

“Nasty Woman” … two little words whispered by T-Rump into his then working mic, while Clinton racked up her 3,438th debate point.

Why am I so excited?  Just follow me through the post debate spin cycle.

(Note: I have my own news source – HussNews.com … we promise you that nothing is verified, no opinions are based on logic or fact, and that the truth does not lie anywhere in-between, on, or within anything we report.)


A new marketing slogan’s launched … Don’t stop with “This Nasty Woman Votes” bumper stickers … Hey, “Bad Hombre,” Let’s rock’n’roll with the entire taco!

Vera Wang’s already on it.

“The Nasty Woman” fashion line … Worn with pride by the “Pride of Lionesses Who Dare!”

“Nasty women unapologetically wear my clothes,” said a breathless Wang immediately following the third debate debacle while sketching on napkins, note paper, and anything else papyrus that she could grab.


In a move of rare familial solidarity, Bill Clinton, in true Sarah Palin style, gave a shout-out to the lingering crowd, “Nasty my ass.  That fat orange Bastard ain’t seen nuttin’ yet!”

Chelsea, hugging mom post-debate, stage whispered for all the Fundits to hear, “You’re one Nasty-assed Woman.  I’m proud to call you my Mom.”


Melania Trump tried to slink out but was overheard muttering as she dove headfirst into the T-Rumpcopter … “Just wait until that pasty faced orange blob gets home … never apologized, my ‘nasty ass.’

“I’m changing the locks as soon as I get home.  He’s, how do you Americans say it? ‘Toast!’”


Meanwhile, Kelly Ann Conway, quivering like a jellyfish fought back her rage saying, “That F**ker’s absolutely ruined me.  “‘Nasty woman?’  That’s exactly what I told him NOT to say.

“I told that pussy, Bannon, clamp those metal clips on his small balls … not his arm pits.

“Christ, I’m surrounded by schlong waving Bozos.  What’s a woman to do?”


Ivanka, flouncing her “T-Rump approved” ass past the press corps and Fundits, let it be known that she was headed back to Ivana’s penthouse … until the election’s over.

The ever clever Eric and Junior were high fiving and pointing loaded finger guns at each other.  After mock firing, they blew mock smoke from the barrels of their little’ish fingers.

One Fundit whispered, “S**t, sure wish they’d been loaded.”


The s**t’s hit the fan … but then the GOP whiners have always been a lovely shade of brown’ish.

Just sayin’ …

Creepy Clowns? Stephen King … What Did You Spawn?

It’s October … time for pumpkin spice in everything we cook, smell, drink, slather and otherwise ingest into our bodies.  Yummy!

Time for adult Halloween costume parties.  Yippee!

Time to send in the clowns.  Uh oh!

What’s up?  Bozo, Ronald McDonald and Clarabell … have you gone over to the dark side?

Is there a problem with those perpetual smiley faced happy-go-lucky performers who entertained us with humor, slapstick, pratfalls, juggling, stuffed cars, and stilt walking?

Apparently so.


Clowns, of the not so nice variety – Creepy Clowns – are popping up in every nook and cranny … forests, alleys, intersections, schools and playgrounds, peeping in windows and doors.

Everywhere … but birthday parties.

Google “clown terror map.”  You’ll get a graphic that pinpoints U.S. creepy clown sightings.  Only folks in The Dakotas, New Mexico and Maine have missed this latest creepy-terror-horror-clown festival.



That’s where “Horror-Clown-in-Chief,” Stephen King, lives and pumps out terrifying tomes that keep the masses shuddering under their covers … sleeping with the lights on.

Didn’t he write the novel, “It” … where Pennywise, the Dancing Clown, traps and murders kids in Derry, Maine?

Where’s he in this hysteria?

According to his hometown paper, The Bangor Daily News, King confesses he’d be scared, too if these creepy clowns appeared in his window.  What?  The Master of Terror’s terrorized?

Comeon, man … show us your Moxy!

Don’t tell us you’re fraidy-scared.  Now what’re we supposed to do?


Let’s take a look at Flori-duh.  Surprise, surprise … we’re a leader in creepy-clown incidents.

We actually have a sorta law against this clown behavior.  In Flori-duh, it’s a misdemeanor to wear a mask, hood, etc. with the intent to harass or intimidate another person.

Exceptions are made for Halloween, but other than that … you’re on the wrong side of the law!

A rapid increase in Flori-duh sightings, and already “overworked-enforcing-the-law-for-WalMart” police, produced a spate of warnings issued to our Clownistas.

Plus, they’re reminding wannabe Terror-Clowns that we’re a “stand your ground state,” which allows folks to “gun down your-clown-painted-ass.”

Given the number and nature of our homegrown gun-toters and crazies, it’s just a matter of time before some citizen “offs” a Clarabell armed with a machete instead of his little “honkie-horn.”


As for me, my darker side hopes this plague will spread.  Just think about it.

Thanksgiving with “Possessed Pilgrims.”  “Satanic Xmas Santas” already decked out in red.

Just sayin’ …

The Trump-mandments

And Don the Con emerged from the Penthouse in the Sky.

trump-stained-glass-windowDescending on his gilded escalator, his bitty hands cradle a gold-plated Power Point … displayed for all to see.

His baseball hatted worshipers peer at him in glassy eyed adulation as He bellows, “This Power Point was given directly to me by the Great Billionaire in heaven.  He told me that you should all gather and listen as I read the Word.”

And the Words were … “The Ten Trump-mandments.”


One … Now that I’m elected, you shall have no other Billionaire before you … Only Me, John Donald Trump shall you worship.  I’m a jealous Billionaire with very thin skin.  Plus I’ll bury your ass in insane 3 AM Tweets because I never sleep.

Two … It’s okay for you to have Idols as long as they’re voted on in Reality Shows I own.  No Idols shall accumulate a net worth more than Mine … which may never be disclosed.

Three … You shall not take My name, or any variation, in vain.  If you do, I’ll bury you in law suits because I never settle.

Four … Take a few minutes to remember the Sabbath.  Then get back to work.  Idle hands, even as small as mine, are the Devil’s workshop.  Remember what I did with only a small loan from my father.

Five … Honor your father and mother.  Many people are saying that I did not honor my father or mother because they sent me to military school.  Those are lies.

Six … You shall not commit murder.  Only I can commit murder and now that I’m your Billionaire, it’s not limited to the middle of 5th Avenue.

Seven … You shall not commit adultery.  However, as your Billionaire, I’ll make a law that adultery no longer exists … for me.  It’s a silly little Commandment.

Eight … You shall not steal.  Only I can steal and I’ll continue to steal from you, the government, small business owners, and anyone stupid enough to do business with me.

Nine … You shall not bear false witness against your neighbors … unless of course they’re from Mexico, the Middle East or are an African-American or LBGT.  Then you can make up stuff about them, insult them and even punch them in the mouth … like we did at my rallies.

Ten … You shall not covet anything.  The act of coveting is reserved solely for Me.  I can covet anything I please.  I can covet your wife, if she meets my standard of beauty, or your real estate if it’s in a prime location.

There you have it folks.  Now get outta my lobby and go “Make America Great Again” or I’ll have you arrested by the Secret Service, which I do not pay for, and you’ll be prosecuted because we must have Law and Order.


Then Don the Con’s eyes snapped open as he awoke from his very, very beautiful dream to the reality of being:  a total L-O-S-E-R.

Just sayin’ …