Apparently, a young "pop tartlet" is making a statement about childhood obesity by going into a donut shop, licking the frosting off a number of pastries, and returning them to the tray without paying for them. Seems to me that many three year olds achieve childhood obesity by doing about the same thing, just without telling the world that they hate America.
Personally, I am planning on protesting adult obesity by eating the "Monster Thickburger" at Hardee's, or possibly with a trip to the "Heart Attack Grill." Anyone care to join me?
In related news, some activists have a really great idea if you're yearning for romance; "affirmative consent" forms that you can sign with your spouse before completing the act. Optimally, according to the Washington Examiner, participants will film the signing so that there is no doubt about both parties' consent.
With all due respect, isn't this kind of thing--at least if it becomes public--the only reason anyone cares about Kim Kardashian or Paris Hilton, if you catch my drift? Because if you want to PROVE willingness, you can't exactly sign the contract in a business suit. I prefer the method Mrs. Bubba and I used--putting a ring on it. No camera needed.
Along those same lines, an Irish fitness blogger has achieved "viral" status by revealing that her (ex) boyfriend had given her a black eye after she confronted him about his infidelity. Now I know a bit about domestic violence, so my condolences to Ms. Murphy for what she's gone through, and it takes some guts. Good for her.
But that said, I couldn't help but notice that she hadn't put a ring on it, and the statistics are clear; cohabitation is inferior to marriage in many ways, including a doubling of the rate of domestic violence. Back to the title, it boggles the mind that we can praise women for when they get out of a bad situation, but are unwilling to tell their friends; if you want to avoid domestic violence, make it legal. Don't just shack up.
Video killed the radio star - Originally posted on Hearth's Rose Garden: One of the questions that always bugs the modern is, “when did we stop dressing properly?” My dad had the answe...
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