Michelle Obama inadvertently lets her boob slip out in Saudi Arabia

Somewhere in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia... Michelle Obama inadvertently lets her boob slip out. And by "boob", I mean her husband, Barack.

What do you think, "Wardrobe malfunction"?


Keith Koffler, White House Dossier

We get plenty of lectures about not respecting other people’s cultures, but we often do our best. The Saudi leaders arrive here dressed in their pajamas and make our presidents walk along with theirs holding hands like a pair of little girls, as is the Saudi custom. The Saudis should have shown some respect themselves, and shook the first lady’s hand if they were going to go through a receiving line.

Meanwhile, back home...


First, WH Spokesman Eric Schultz refuses to call the Taliban a Terrorist Organization.

“The Taliban is an armed insurgency,” not a terrorist group.

Later, the reclusive yet handsome conservative blogger known only as "DaBlade" from Chattering Teeth caught up with the Spokes Idiot for follow up questions.

DABLADE: So the administration refuses to call the Taliban "terrorists", correct?
SCHULTZ: I believe the correct pronunciation for these freedom fighters is "Toly-Bahn".

 

DABLADE: OK. How about this... The 1988 movie titled Hero and the Terror starring Chuck Norris, is about an LA cop who hunts down an escaped serial killer nicknamed "The Terror" due to his propensity for snapping women's necks and taking their corpses to his lair in an abandoned movie theater. Would you describe this psycho serial killer as "The Terror" or "serial insurgent"?
SCHULTZ: Why was the movie theater abandoned? Was Selma playing instead of American Sniper?
CHARLES KRAUTHAMMER: Look, you can't parody this administration
DABLADE: Thanks Charles. Doesn't mean I'll stop trying.

Patriots ballboy leads the "po po" on a low speed chase in a white Bronco with under-inflated tires

PHOENIX, Arizona - DeflateGate takes bizarre turn in week of Super Bowl XLIX!

Chattering Teeth News reports that the New England Patriots ballboy has been fingered in the manipulation of the Patriot's balls. When confronted with these allegations, Patriots owner Robert Kraft continued to insist the organization had done nothing inappropriate, and stated that, "what goes on in the privacy of a team's own locker room should be off limits.

After all, we gave the boy a home!"

When news broke that the NFL had surveillance video showing the ball boy taking the footballs from the official's locker room into another room at Gillette Stadium before bringing them out to the field prior to the AFC championship game, the ball boy fled the scene. He was later spotted on a nearby freeway, and led the police on a low speed chase in a white Bronco with under-inflated tires.

"I'm not surprised the ball boy's tires were under-inflated by a couple psi," stated coach Bill Belichick. "He was always confusing the pressure gauges with the meat thermometers. His gas mileage is bound to suffer, the poor fool."

Belichick was asked why the ball boy was hired in the first place if he was so incompetent. "Because he was cheap. All he requested was a little alone time with the team's balls." "Besides," the coach added. "Incompetence was never a reason for the NFL not to hire their part-time officials."

The NFL grosses $25 billion in annual revenues, yet they can't afford to hire full time officials? Instead, they hire dudes with weekday full time jobs and work for the NFL as a side job?

Coach Belichick promised to not make the same mistake twice, and stated that they already have hired a replacement ball boy with extensive inflation experience. He's currently an NFL official but has decided to climb that corporate ladder.

When quarterback Tom Brady was asked for his opinion on the new ball boy, he answered, "I don't know nuthin'. When you don’t know something, that’s all you can say is, ‘I don’t know nuthin.’"

Brady later managed to lock himself inside coach Bill Belichick's sweltering car in a Walmart parking lot, requiring a locksmith to eventually free him.

The part-time team doctor stated, "Had he not accidentally dislodged his wool cap during his panic attack, he very well might have succumbed to lethal dehydration."

Budweisersaurus Part Deux

A very large asteroid zoomed passed Earth yesterday named 2004 BL86, coming within only 745,000 miles from our planet. I located this asteroid while drinking beer and playing with the kid's telescope in the backyard.

I spotted a herd of dinosaurs living on this large rock. Not sure why this isn't being covered by the mainstream media, but I really found it strange.

 Most scientists agree that a direct hit to Earth would likely have been catastrophic for these dinosaurs.

Obama delivers disjointed apology while unveiling his new Cybersecurity strategy

OBAMA TRANSCRIPT OF ADDRESS: Fellow "citizens of the world." Remember when I first used that phrase during my 2008 campaign speech to massive adoring European crowds in Berlin?  What a difference a little over six years makes. We've gone from my "A World That Stands as One" speech, to "A World That Stands without The One".

I know there are some who are still upset that I didn't make it that Paris rally, but let me be clear. If I had a son who was a leftwing progressive cartoonist, he would look like that "Charlie" fella. No, I don't mean Charlie Hebdo. I'm talking about Charlie Rangel, who recently was quoted as saying that when he served in Korea, he never became upset about seeing dead soldiers unless they looked like him.

Listen here Charlie, I feel ya bro. I'd be upset seeing a corpseman resembling a squatty, tanned Jackie Gleason with a salt N Peppa porn 'stache and a comb-over brow my own self.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again. The future must not belong to those who slander the prophet. Or my golf game. Ya hear me Jordan?

But as I was saying. I would have loved nothing better than to be front and center in that Paris street marchathon and taking selfies with y'all, but some of us had to work, ok? The oceans aren't going to recede themselves after all, amIright? I just so happened to be working vigorously on shoring up some of the cyber security issues that have been plaguing us.

The good news is that Healthcare Dot Gov just signed up 10 million ISIS members.

Oh sure, I could have skipped along the Paris streets sipping on a Mocha-flavored shaved icee, but that wouldn't have been very responsible of me, what with our infrastructure at risk. And when I say "infrastructure," of course I am talking about cell coverage for my Blackberry at any of our nation's golf courses.

As I stated yesterday, If we're going to be connected, then we need to be protected. Just ask Miss Sandra Fluke if you doubt how important connection protection is. See what I did there?
Oh sure, I could have frittered the afternoon away hangin' with that chickensh*t Bibi or secretly taping  Merkel's cell calls for kicks and giggles, but then I would have been ignoring clear and present cyber threats. The last thing I need is for my Rangefinder GPS golf watch to get hacked and I get the wrong yardage tomorrow. See what I'm sayin'?

Michelle and I are like parents everywhere... We want to be sure our children are safe online, especially when Malia is shopping for more Cop Hating T-Shirts and gear.

Aaaaand in a world where everyone is banking, buying, and communicating more through digital networks, I need to be able to count on continued unlimited funds from my credit card from the Bank of China in the name of your children.

I will unveil a few more details of my comprehensive cybersecurity strategy at next week's SOTU speech, assuming I come up with a few more. Right now, all I got is this. Change your passwords. Write 'em down on a sticky note and post it on the monitor if you have to. Just change 'em. And number two... keep those car tires inflated.

What does that have to do with cybersecurity you ask? About as much as it does the gas prices, but have you checked the price at the pump recently since I last suggested filling your tires back in 2008? You're welcome.

And that's why I missed the Paris rally.

Snakes on a Blog

If you're like me, you try for a little escapism from the madness of the day by channel surfing, only to stop and watch whatever is on NatGeo Wild or Animal Planet.

And, if you are even more like me, then you also suffer from a posterior "left cheek, right cheek" Donny & Marie tattoo regret. I guess some ideas just sound better when one is in their mid-40s, but that is for another blog. It never occurred to me at the time, but every morning's porcelain appearance of the tanned and tapered hidden imam only serves to remind me of my hurt at their career split. Just take solace in the knowledge that you are not alone. And go easy on the hot sauce with those bean burritos.

But I digest.

Where was I? Oh yah, escapism. Most times these attempts fail due to my overly fertile and brilliant brain thingy making metaphornalogies from seemingly innocuous shows. For example, the other day I was watching an episode of Survivorman where Les was squatting under a makeshift lean-to of leafy foliage in some remote rainforest, cold and wet and subsisting on roasted dung beetle, while staving off attacks by fire ants and sparrow-sized mosquitoes.

I thought to myself, "Well, this would still be preferable to spending another 2 years under the obama administration." And who knows? After another two years of this clown, these survival skills may just come in handy.

The internet is no better. Take, for example, this National Geographic article from the other day regarding Vietnamese fisherman who simultaneously harvest squid and venomous sea snakes.

From "squid" to "sea snakes", and I immediately think from "squish" to "spineless", which naturally leads me to think of House Speaker John Boehner, who happens to be one of the people I am trying to temporarily forget while reading National Geographic.


I decide to trod on and continue to read the article in hopes that this was just a temporary deviation of my escapism efforts.

Fishermen wading barefoot through a writhing ball of venomous serpents can pay a high price for participating in the Gulf of Thailand's sea snake harvest. Some die from snakebites...

Or lose their cushy, plum committee posts...

OK, there I go again, but I defy anyone to read about "a writhing ball of venomous serpents" and NOT think of Congress. It occurs to me that my efforts may be harder than I originally thought. I read on...

Fishermen bitten by their deadly catch believe that drinking ground-up rhino horn—or putting chunks of horn on the wound—can cure them.

AH HAH! There it is! While I am all for grinding up RINOs and consider it good medicine, I am against the archaic practice of the poaching and slaughter of the African rhinos for false medicine. One is on the verge of extinction, while the others are so numerous as to be considered an infestation of what was once a Grand Ol' Party.

So in conclusion:

Obama to speak (and golf) at Ford Plant today

Obama will be visiting the Ford Motor Co.’s Michigan Assembly plant in metro Detroit today, where it is expected he will once again falsely take credit for "saving" the auto industry.

The good news is that this plant is presently closed this week because of lagging demand for its small hybrid sissy obamacars, so he will be afForded a bit of elbow room. Taking full advantage of another empty factory, and with wind chill temperatures for metro Detroit expected to be in double digit negatives, obama sent his advance team early in order to retrofit the plant into a full 18-hole golf course.

Compromise reached. Boehner out as Speaker, fake house plant in.

In what most are calling a sideways move, House Republicans have replaced John Boehner with an artificial 8' Fire Retardant Weeping Willow Tree as the new speaker of the House.

Emboldened by the landslide victories handed to them by the voters in the mid-terms, and the overwhelming rejection of Barack Obama’s extreme radical agenda, the minority conservatives mounted a spirited challenge to the worthless Boehner. "We just didn't have the votes," said a Tea Party conservative wishing to remain anonymous. "The Republican party has become overrun with RINOs."

That's when Boehner shocked everyone by stepping down. The RINOs acted quickly, and the artificial 8' Fire Retardant Weeping Willow Tree was tapped as the new speaker of the House.

"The people have made it clear they want us to get things done," said Boehner. "I'm hopeful this tree can pick up leadership of this party where I left off."

In many ways, the two are very similar. John Boehner has cried so frequently on the job, he is quietly referred to as "The weeper of the House", so the gag nickname nameplates need not be changed. The manufacturer assures that the artificial Weeping Willow Tree can be dipped and made to glow with a deep, orangish hue, just like John, so there is that.

However, unlike the original Boehner, we don't have to worry about this artificial 8' Fire Retardant Weeping Willow Tree spontaneously bursting into flames during its frequent smoke breaks.

Welcome to The Flatulating Moose

Three men free Alaskan moose buried in avalanche

Is this a "smell bad" or "feel good" story?

Seriously!? What's an environmental PETA whacko to think? On one hand, a poor, innocent creature of the Erf has been saved. On the other hand, moose flatulence has been artificially perpetuated by meddling humanity. I mean, everyone knows that the Erf's temperature has remained a perfect constant for thousands of years, and only began to warm when the humans arrived with their hockey sticks (or something).

Here's what we know:
FACT: This avalanche was the result of Alaska's unseasonably warm weather and unstable snow pack.
FACT: Researchers in Norway claim an adult flatulating moose can produce 2,100 kilos of methane a year, equivalent to the amount of CO2 caused by an 8,077-mile car trip.
FACT: If I were starting this blog today, it would be called "theflatulatingmoose.blogspot.com"

We know that forest fires have become increasingly more severe due to human interference and insistence on putting out these fires as quickly as possible in order to save as many mountain mansions of rich venture capitalists as possible, thereby leaving additional dead fall fuel for the next one.

Maybe moose flatulence induced avalanches are just nature's way of keeping balance.

I just hope there is still some snow in Alaska come my planned cruise later this year, or I swear I will hang my tail over the rail and give this moose a dose of his own medicine.

Newspaper memories, from an ex-tree killer

The janitor pushed a trash bin into my office yesterday morning, just as he does every Friday. And, just like every Friday morning, I took his visit as an opportunity for a short break from the file I was underwriting. I removed the earbud from my right ear that was broadcasting a radio talk show and sat it aside.

"How ya doing, Kevin? Any new war stories?," I asked.

Performing maintenance and facilities cleanup duties was just Kevin's "day job", as he was also a Flint Journal newspaper carrier. Kevin knew I had spent a good number of years at the newspaper in the Circulation department, and therefore liked to swap delivery stories.

Kevin also knew that I had the dubious distinction of being the last Circulation Director at the helm of The Flint Journal when it still had a 7-day distribution model. The Journal was founded in 1876, the same year Rutherford B. Hayes was elected president of the United States, and there had been 25 presidents since then. I'm not sure how many Circulation chiefs there have been, only that I somehow was the one at the wheel when it hit the iceberg. But I've already told you about that. See the various links at the end of this blog entry if you need a refresher. I was talking about Kevin's stories...

Sometimes his story would be the stereotypical "dog versus delivery man", and Kevin has been known to repeat his favorite one with equal fervor every time. Caught unawares outside of his car in the middle of a darkened pre-dawn street, our hero was confronted by three large pit bulls intent on making him their breakfast snack. The pit bulls were kept at bay and eventually discouraged into retreat by a steady stream of liquid pain dispensed from Kevin's pepper spray. It was a close call, as Kevin tells it, as the last dog turned and ran at the precise moment the pepper spray can was exhausted. "I now carry an extra can," said Kevin. 

Sometimes he will complain about how late the semi was with the papers at the DC, or his latest "slip and fall" on an icy porch step. Or he will tell me how big the Thanksgiving edition was this year, and how many hours it took him to deliver his entire route while driving in his father-in-laws old pickup that got "2 gallons to the mile". Or about the ridiculous quantity of ad pacs (or 'market-places' or whatever they call those free flyers distributed to the non subscribers) and how many extras he received every week.

All these stories are familiar to me and remind me of my own similar experiences over the years. I usually am able to put these memories on and wear them like a pair of comfortable old jeans.

Yesterday's news, however, only made me sad.

Kevin told me about his latest batch of "stops" he received that morning. His daily draw is now a little under 600, down from just over 900 just 3 years ago. Quite a plunge, albeit anecdotal, I can't help but wonder just how much longer this print newspaper patient can last on life support.

It's hard to believe, but in 2005 The Flint Journal was publishing newspapers every day and averaging 85,000 daily and over 100,000 on Sunday. Today, just 10 years later, the newspaper only provides home delivery four days per week, making Flint the fifth-largest city in the United States without a daily newspaper. As far as the current circulation numbers, they are roughly half of those daily and Sunday numbers from 2005.

I still think about my old co-workers often, and can't help but smile at some of those memories and good times we shared. I recently had the pleasure of attending a poker game with some of the boys last month, where we swapped some of the old stories between hands. Like the time when several District Managers and myself piled into the luxurious confines of Mitch's personal limo he owned in order to deliver a north-end route for a carrier contest winner. I think it was one of Pratt's carriers who had won, and I remember more than a couple addresses for "new contest starts" appearing on the list, yet finding nothing more than growing weeds in a vacant lot where the new subscriber was supposed to be living. Man, did we ever have a great run (and even some laughs).

VIDEO: An actual voicemail message from one of Pratt's longtime adult carriers in the act of dumping his route.


"I want you to love me forever. It is raining out there. I can't get the papers done..."

One of the "joys" of being a District Manager was the occasional surprise down route requiring your personal attention.



Before you ask the obvious, my job required my presence in the projects. I kept that faux-$20 in my desk to remind myself the cost of being gullible. When my job required delivering an open route in the projects, I learned to take a couple extra packs of smokes with me. I would paste an idiotic smile on my face and pass out single cigarettes to anyone who looked at me cross-eyed as I hurriedly made the rounds. Hey, it worked!

Those were some of the lessons I learned the hard way. I'm from Flint... so RESPECT, yo!

My favorite newspaper memories, however, involve the time spent prior to being hired full time at The Journal and delivering the neighborhood route with my brothers in the 70's. Route 1102E. Lockhead, Dell, McKinley, and Shawnee streets in Flint's south end. A route we had in the family for maybe 12 or more straight years, and passed down from Rick, to Greg, to me then to Donnie (pictured here). After our Sunday morning deliveries, we would rush home to watch whatever Abbott and Costello movie re-run being broadcast that week.

Pictured below is my dad gently hinting to Donnie to scrap the scrabble game and that he might want to consider doing the weekly collections, crutches or no.

My dad was always there to support us, or to physically pull us out of bed (or the top bunk) for the Sunday morning deliveries. As much as I dreaded those moments at the time, I'd give anything to relive just one of those Sundays.

Links to other of my newspaper blogs:
Confessions of a Tree Killer

A Paperboy's Tale Of Unrequited Love
The newspaper implosion continues
Phone call bookends from father and son
The Pledge of Allegiance Convenience

What used to be Black and White and Read all over, and Spoiled after just a few hours if not consumed?

2014 Chattering Teeth's Year in Review

It was a good year in and around the spacious Chattering Teeth Studios. I gained two beautiful daughter-in-laws when my middle son got married in October, and the eldest boy hitched earlier this month. Being the father of 3 boys, I now have learned what my life these last 25 years has been lacking. Drama. But a 'good' drama because I love them as my own :)

It was a little bitter-sweet when my middle son was married. Not only did he move out, but he took his 3 year old German Sheperd with him. Koda had lived with us her entire life and Mrs DaBlade and I were heartbroken when she left. (Oh yah, we miss you too son).

The good news is, we don't have far to travel to see them. My boy had purchased a fixer-upper on the very next street over in our same subdivision last year (How cool is that?), and with a tremendous amount of help from his now father-in-law, had completely remodeled this beautiful home that was waiting for them when they returned from their honeymoon in St. Lucia.

The oldest boy and his new bride married on the very unforgettable date of 12-13-14 (no excuses to forget an anniversary son) and have recently returned from their honeymoon to Disney World (their favorite place in the world). They live and work in Grand Rapids, a little further than the next block over, but still just 2 hours away. We don't see them as much, but mom and dad love having all 3 boys (and girls now) home at the same time, as we did on Christmas.

My "baby boy" turned 20 this year, and DID NOT get married to complete the trifecta. However, he did go to Wyoming to train as a mountain climber, then climbed giant wind turbines to perform maintenance, only to return home and enroll to study (and ultimately receive) certification as a welder.

While he didn't really leave to climb mountains or windmills (though he spoke of doing these things) he really is pursuing the welding trade. He came up with this on his own, and this time I think he really means to follow through. It's a darn good trade, and the side benefit is that the wife and I can keep him close for at least a little while longer (so no empty nest yet!)

Speaking of which, meet Zeke, a white Sheperd and newest addition to our family!



See ya next year! Happy New Year! (Maybe by next year there will be grandbabies involved? :)

Obama's 2014 Facebook Year in Review

It's been a great year! Thanks for being part of it.

Headline you'll never see: Church Wedding canceled for Obama visit

Cue wavy lines for Chattering Teeth Blog Dream sequence...

Today's top story: Soldiers forced to relocate from their Christian church wedding so Obama could pray.

Wedding nuptials had just gotten started when an Army couple, their wedding party, family and friends were told to "move it outside" because President Obama required the entire holy sanctuary to do some soul searching and hard praying to a higher power (no, not to "Putin").  

"So you folks think you're getting married inside this church today?", Obama was overheard asking. "VETO!," he shouted, scaring the little flower girl and causing her to burst into tears.

"There are going to be some areas where people disagree with me," obama understated later. "But I haven't used the veto pen very often since I've been in office, but this was one of those times where I've got to pull that pen out. If you don't believe me, try getting an ice cream or a cone of shaved ice at the stand down the street later."

The new bride was upset, but otherwise understanding. "Who are we to get in the way of our selfless president when he wants to humble himself in prayer petitioning for this country and asking forgiveness for the absolute mess he's made of everything?"

The new groom wasn't as accommodating. "Who plays through a church wedding? It's not like we were crazy enough to plan on getting wed on the 16th tee box at Kaneohe Klipper Golf Course on Oahu, Hawaii near Obama's vacation retreat during Christmas week," he argued. "That'd be like climbing a tree in a lightning storm."

...and that's when I woke up slumped at my desk in the spacious Chattering Teeth Studios, my cheek in a cooling pile of my own drool.
Obama in church? Of course I had been dreaming. I looked up at my computer screen and read the actual article headline:

Soldiers Relocate Wedding to Accommodate Obama's Golf Game

The couple reportedly ended up moving to a lush site overlooking the 16th hole, which one of the wedding planners said was more secluded and prettier anyway.

Well, perfect! What an excellent venue for a couple to exchange vows promising everlasting love and a lifetime commitment, all the while ducking errant golf balls and brief interruptions while passers-by urinate in the fairway lined shrubbery.

At least the president called the bride to apologize, and joked with the groom saying, "Don't do anything later that I wouldn't do!" "What, like snort a few lines of 'coke' and frequent a gay bathhouse?," answered the groom.

OK, I might have made that last part up. It's the 'journalist' in me when I do that.

Still reeling from the  “hilariously bad” optics this has caused the president, he ordered thousands of tourists evacuated from Waikiki Beach and cordoned off with yellow police tape. When asked why?, he simply stated that Michelle had planned to put on a bikini and head down to the beach later.

"Talk about bad optics," obama stated. "Trust me! Nobody needs to see THAT!"

President George H.W. Bush in "Twas the Night AFTER Christmas"

Former U.S. President George H.W. Bush, 90, spent a  fourth straight night in a Houston hospital for observation, after complaining of a shortness of breath this past Tuesday.

The first thought that occurred to me after reading this was how sad it must be to have to spend Christmas in the hospital. H.W. Bush "41" was never my favorite president (that would be his predecessor), but unlike the current occupier in the Oval Office, 41 is a war hero and a man of honor and integrity. I have little doubt that, even at 90 years of age and wheelchair bound, he would easily whoop obama.

The next thought that occurred to me, knowing 41's obsession with parachuting at his advanced age, can best be expressed with the following poem titled, "Twas the Night After Christmas." It is a purely 100% original poem, and any similarity to a famous Christmas classic is strictly coincidental.

TWAS THE NIGHT AFTER CHRISTMAS (at Houston Methodist Hospital)

Twas the night after Christmas, when all through Houston Methodist
Not a doctor was stirring, not even a specialist.
The I.V.s were strung by the patients with care,
In hopes the saline bag soon would drip there.

The children in pediatrics were nestled in pneumatic beds,
While visions of going home danced in our heads.
With my head in a bandage, my arm in a cast,
I just settled in for a drug-induced nap.

When out in the ward there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the door I flew like a flash,
Tripped in my slippers and re-opened my gash.

The LED lighting on the newly-waxed tiles,
Reflected and worsened my migraine so vile.
When, what to my bloodshot eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh... no wait, it's a wheelchair.

With a little old rider, so mirthful and fun,
I knew right away it must be Bush 41.
More rapid than eagles his pursuers did chase,
As he wheeled his chair and by name he debased!

"Now Barbara! now, Jeb! now, Georgie and Laura!
Now Cheney! and, Baker!, Sununu and Quayle!
Into the elevator to the hospital roof! to the edge of the railing and over the wall with a poof!
Now BASE jump! BASE jump! BASE jump away all!"

I watched him sail past my window in a backless gowned wingsuit,
His presidential bum wrinkled like dried fruit.
As he sailed past my floor, he passed gas like a balloon that's been punctured,
I knew it wouldn't be prudent to open my window at this juncture.

I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he flew out of sight,
"Read my puckered lips you jack@$$ obama, let's see you do this!"

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

FROM THE CHATTERING CLAUSES!

Obama no friend to the law