Woman Adopts Puppies, Baby Girl from China

Olin, NE—Nov. 7, 2006

When Nebraska resident Marilyn Dreaster adopted three puppies from China, she didn’t know she was also getting a baby.

“I was excited to get Mei, Ling and Ping, who were abandoned after the One Dog policy went into effect,” Dreaster, 40, explained. “And then Dog Baby China had an available baby girl, so I thought, why not bring them all back?”

Dreaster adopted all parties the same day and paperwork was handled in a week.

“I love them all—they’re just like sisters,” she said.

Since the One Dog policy in China, hundreds of thousands of dogs and puppies are left on the streets, often with or near baby girls, also abandoned due to the One Child policy. Jun Li, director of Dog Baby China, said that pairing the two helps China and foreign countries. “We are helping save lives, and, doing what you Americans call, ‘Kill two birds with one stone.’”

The rising success rate of Dog Baby China is forcing many Chinese adoption agencies to consider sending a puppy with every baby adopted out of the country.

“It makes sense because white people love dogs and they love babies,” said Li Zhen Lo, director of Many Hearts Chinese adoption agency in Beijing. “It could be a goodwill gift. Both made in China! But the benefit is that they would be live gifts.”

But some adoption agencies in the U.S. are upset. Lynne Jenkins Ross of New Lives Adoption in Philadelphia believes sending dogs with baby girls will give the wrong impression. “Chinese people eat dogs. I don’t want Americans thinking Chinese people eat their babies, too,” she said.

But for mothers like Dreaster, the dog-baby combo sealed the deal. “It’s like getting a ready-made family. All I have to do is cut off their tags and tumble dry low,” she joked. “But seriously, who doesn’t want to save the lives of dogs and babies? It’s a no-brainer.”

The puppies even helps baby Zhen vocalize. “Mei and Ling bark and then Zhen imitates them and barks back,” she explained. “It’s like they’re helping raise each other. They really have each other’s back.”

For more information on the dog-baby adoption process, visit dog-baby-china.net.

I’m Going to Marry My Kittens

My name is Jack Uthergand and I’m going to marry my kittens.

I don’t care about this New Jersey legislation and the gays marrying. Fine, let them marry, but what about me? I am deeply in love with my kittens and want to marry them, too. So I decided to do it myself.

Let me show you my darlings: the one on the left is Sparky, the middle one is Tiffany and the right one is Candy, my favorite. She has the sweetest breath and loves to snuggle in my arm pit.

The night of my proposal to them was magical. I bought them the best sushi and we sat together outside on the deck with the candles going, my old Bill Evans record playing and the kittens eating the sushi like there was no tomorrow. For dessert, we all lapped up mint chocolate chip ice cream from our favorite bowl and then I popped the question. They looked at me, and amazingly, all three meowed their consent. I was in tears and kissed them each on the forehead before putting them to bed.

After they said yes, I got tiny collars and engraved my promise to love, honor and obey on them. I even rewrote my will to have everything go to them in case of an untimely death.

I’ve always dreamed of a June wedding, so I plan to dress the kittens in filmy white organza and I’ve already ordered little white booties for them, which I will embroider with white seed pearls. It will be beautiful. My nephew Sam already agreed to drag a dead eel down the aisle so the kittens will follow him to meet me at the end.

I need to hire a minister, of course, and I hope my family will come. Heck, I even tracked down the kittens’ mother and asked her and her human to witness our happy day. The mother’s owner hung up on me, but I feel optimistic that she’ll allow Mitsy to come anyway. After all, it’s going to be a special day.

Honeymoon? Well, we talked about going to Mexico, but they’re afraid of contracting worms, so we’ll probably go to British Columbia and do some salmon fishing. I know it’s not completely traditional, but we’ll have a great time sneaking in little kisses as we fish.

I hope they’ll always love me like I love them. I think my heart would break if they ran after any Tom that caught their eye. I spayed them all, of course, because I couldn’t bear the thought of them being that way with another cat. I wish we could have kids, but of course, that hasn’t been developed yet. Someday, though, there will be a way, and believe me you, I’ll be the first in line. Until then, we just snuggle and I make sure to groom them and keep their ears clean.

I’m really the happiest man on earth. Every day, I shout to the world, “I love these kittens!” I can’t wait until we’re married. It’s going to be so great.

My Anti-Allergy Baby Makes Me Sneeze

Goddamn baby. I hate her. I ordered her through that new company, AllCleanBaby, where you pay $5,000 to get this supposedly allergen-free kid.

All my life, babies have made me sneeze, develop rashes and got me nauseated. When I heard about AllCleanBaby, I thought, heck, I’m single and retired. I got time to devote to a new lady. I also run a lot and keep myself in shape, you know, so I thought I could buy this special kid and take her with me.

When she arrived, she was OK. Really white. Really clean. Things were OK. But then she got shit all over herself and I started getting skin infections after wiping her. Even hosing her down with toilet cleaner didn’t work. It made her skin red and my eyes started to itch. I started sneezing and then she threw up a bunch. Dumb baby.

I called the company for my money back, but apparently, there is some sort of clause that you have to keep the product with no returns after three months. Sickening waste of money. And now I’m stuck.

The kid was supposed to come toilet-trained, but she couldn’t even hold up her head until I made this neck ring that hooks on the wall. She can crawl to her food bowl now, but man, even looking at her filthy skin and matted-with-food hair makes me puke. I don’t even want to touch her, she makes me sneeze so bad.

I tried to shave her head with my electric razor to get rid of her hair (they say it works with some dogs) but I accidentally cut her scalp and she got these nasty scabs that make me gag when she tries to scratch them off. Never met a dumber baby.

This natural selection or gene thingy where they make these babies without allergen-causing proteins is shit. This stupid, dirty baby makes me sicker than a dog and I’m thinking about dumping her off at the Salvation Army soon if she doesn’t shape up. I’d eat her, but we Americans don’t do that stuff like the savages in Bangladesh.

So let this be a warning to you. AllCleanBaby should be sued for their damn faulty babies. Learn from my mistake and just stick with cats.

My Mommy Puts Me in the Freezer

Hi, my name is Maddy Eckler  and when I’m a bad girl, my mommy puts me in the freezer. At first, when I was little, I could fit into the kitchen freezer, but when I got too big, she made me go out to the garage’s big one.

It’s cold in there, but mommy says it calms me down. I do get sleepy. Sometimes I chew on some cold venison sticks grandpa makes, but mostly I make up stories.

Last time, I sneaked Boots in with me so he could keep me warm, but he got cold and died on my lap. I cried really hard and then fell asleep and I guess the tears got hard and stuck to my cheek and mommy got really mad about having to scrape them off and put band-aids on the red spots.  She was so mad I went right back into the freezer. She wrapped Boots up, too, and stuck him under my head for a pillow. I was sad.

Daddy doesn’t like it when mommy makes me go, but he understands because mommy makes him do things when he’s bad too. I think she arrests him because I saw handcuffs in their bedroom once.

I really want a brother or sister. Then they could play with me in the freezer a while before we got too cold to speak. It’s dark there, and maybe we could tell each other ghost stories while we waited for mommy to unlock the lid.  I asked mommy and daddy about getting a sister or brother, but they got mad and put me back in the freezer.

It’s not all bad in there. Sometimes mommy lets me wear boots, because a few of my little toes turned black last year and had to be amputated. But I never wear mittens or a hat because being warm won’t teach me a lesson.

I stick my hands under my arms and curl up really small. I turn into Little Maddy and make up stories about how I’ll shrink and be able to climb out of the freezer and go back inside. If I had a cell phone, I’d call my Aunt Jill. She’s really nice and lets me put on a hat before I have to go in the freezer.

Oh, I hear mommy calling. I better go. She’ll keep me in the freezer all night if she finds out I was talking to this nice reporter woman. Bye!

Sebelia Outsourced Project Runway Collection to Me

Recently, Jeffrey Sebelia, one of the final contestants on Project Runway, was accused of outsourcing the sewing for his Fashion Week collection, which would disqualify him from the competition. Apparently Bravo conducted a “very intense and thorough investigation” to be revealed on tomorrow’s episode. But The Ice Calf conducted our own investigation and we discovered the shocking truth: L. F. Mann, whom many claim to be an “invisible genius” at sewing and construction, is claiming to have sewn all of Sebelia’s creations on the show.

The Ice Calf: You’re making a huge claim, here. You really sewed all of Jeffrey’s designs, even the ones before Fashion Week?
L.F. Mann: Yes, I did. Jeffrey hired me last summer and since I had engagements in New York at the time, I accepted the deal.

IC: What was the deal? Didn’t you know this was grounds for disqualification?
LFM: OK, here’s the story. I took a dare from my cousins who work on Manolos. They said I didn’t have the balls to do a national show and get my talent recognized. But I did. And now they’re just shoe elves while I’ve sat on Heidi’s lap. Ha!

Jeffrey knew what he was doing when he hired me. He likes to take risks, too.

IC: Wait a minute. You sat on Heidi’s LAP? How did you escape being seen by everyone?
LFM: Duh.

IC: Um, pardon?
LFM: Didn’t you know I’m half elf?

IC: Well … we don’t like to make assumptions around here. Let’s make it clear to us and our readers.
LFM: Being any percentage of elf means you don’t get noticed unless you want others to see you. I was there the entire time, helping Jeffrey drape and sew. And if you see him grinning idiotically, it’s because I was there, telling tiny jokes. Obscene, really, so they weren’t fit to be overheard.

IC: So, you did most of your sewing with Jeffrey during the shoots?
LFM: Most of the time.

IC: Most of the time?
LFM: Well, sometimes on overnight challenges, I’d help out. It wasn’t in our contract, but I felt sorry for him. On the inside, Jeffrey is bruised and vulnerable.

IC: Right.
LFM: Hey, everyone has his personal angst. I mean, he tattooed his neck, which not only signifies misguided turmoil, but also makes him look like a short, dirty giraffe, so …

IC: True. OK, we’ll believe you. (Cough, cough.)
IC: Back to Fashion Week. It’s true, you sewed his final collection?
LFM: Yes. He offered me a lifetime supply of crotch chains for my pants, like the ones we devised for his jet-setting outfit. They are magical, those chains. They attract the babes like nothing else. So, I left New York and went to L.A., and had a marvelous time with beach babes after I was done sewing.

IC: What happens now that you’ve confessed to helping Jeffrey cheat?
LFM: He’ll take the fall. He played up the asshole personality card on the show, so Bravo will kill him. Pretty simple.

IC: You mean, Bravo will disqualify him and kick him off the show.
LFM: Sure. Right.

IC: Why are you coming forward with this information? Are you concerned about your reputation?
LFM: Well, to be honest I don’t want to get squished by Laura Bennett. She’s a bitch in heels if I ever saw one. My reputation is still good. I’m an excellent sewer and my construction is flawless. Look at my collection! Everyone was surprised.

Don’t worry about me. Worry about the tattoo giraffe. He’s in major trouble.

IC: Thanks for your candidness, Mr. Mann.
LFM: Not a problem. Have a good time, here.

IC: We will!

Celebrities Fly Light with Luxury Suction

Keanu Reeves after three hours of Luxury Suction.

By Jonathan Kujlik

Hollywood, CA—The U.S. Department of Homeland Security may have eased up on restrictions of liquids, but celebrities often need to carry more gels, liquids and facial products than would fit into a one-quart bag.

“I never travel without my entire line of facial care, hair care, leg care, personal hygiene liquids and ear gel,” says Jessica Simpson. “It’s impossible to pack it in my checked luggage because once they know it’s you, your stuff always goes missing.”

So, the Hollywood “It” girl chose to join the growing list of celebrities who undergo what is called Luxury Suction, a fast, quick suck that removes over 100% of a body’s fluids, including blood, urine and spinal fluid and replaces them with a variety of personal care liquids.

“It’s kind of gross-sounding, ” recounts Justin Timberlake. “But I can carry an unbelievable amount of hair gel in my calf and all of my cologne in my left buttock.”

Christie Brinkley swears by Luxury Suction. “It doesn’t hurt. You feel different, sure, but mostly, it’s a fresh, light feeling.”

Once the Luxury Suction is complete, celebrities board planes and fly anywhere, without a complaint in sight. Some flight attendants from Delta are happy about the procedure. “They don’t complain and they don’t smuggle their lipgloss in their rectums anymore,” says Michael Klein, head flight attendant. “I don’t know how many times we had to do body cavity searches on the celebrities.”

Proponents of Luxury Suction are quick to add that the procedure isn’t cheap and that the average person probably wouldn’t want to go through the three-to-seven hour process. Indeed, the cost would prohibit the average person. There’s the $18,000 initial suction and depositing of personal care liquids, plus the $10,000 Replenish stage, which is the restoring of the body back to its natural fluids. If you’re worried about the toxins in your body, Slurp!, the hip cosmetic clinic that pioneered Luxury Suction, also offers a $30,000 fluid cleanse.

“The Cleanse is a very popular request after the Luxury Suction,” says Dr. Hines Dosson, who does an average of 30 Luxury Suctions a week for stars such as Madonna, Whitney Houston, Taffy Sinclair and John Mayer. “People want the freshest fluids and we provide that.”

Not all celebrities believe in Luxury Suction. “It’s wasteful and repulsive!” says Brad Pitt. “With the money from those procedures, I could adopt a lot of children. I find it really hard to support this fad when you could be saving lives, not sucking away your own.”

But the stars refuse to be denied their liquids. “I have to have my special tonics and herbal tinctures in me at all times,” says Mary-Kate Olsen. “Otherwise I’m a complete wreck on the plane and can’t eat a thing. I love Luxury Suction because it does all the work for me.”

For more information, visit luxurysuction.com.

Friday Human Blogging—I Love My Human

In honor of Friday, I want to start off by telling you how much I love my human.

I love the way she snores at night, her breath softly smelling of pizza. I love the way her silky hair tastes in my mouth. I like running my paw against her arm, which is sleek and cool. When I do that, she softens like a newly killed mouse and curls into me.

Every day when she comes home, she runs to me and scoops me up and kisses my head. I endure it for a while, but then succumb to her lips and allow her to rub my furred belly. We purr together and then I ask her to feed me and she always, always does.

I play a game with her and I am amused each time. She’s so simple. I love her for that. For example, I wait outside the shower curtains and then just when she’s distracted by soaping her hair, I jump up on the tub and spring for her legs. She screams like a child and I silently laugh and then go groom myself scrupulously on her bathmat. It never fails.

She doesn’t ask much of me and I prefer that kind of relationship. When I give, it’s from my heart. Like the times she’s bloated before her menses and I, knowing exactly what she needs, carefully step all over her stomach to ease the internal pressure. I also know to stay out of the way when I smell too much tequila on her because she makes these cute, little pukey noises and I wait, calmly, outside her bathroom until she feels better.

The only time we encounter conflict is when her oafish boyfriend stays the night. My place next to her hip is taken up by his beefy presence and tireless hands. It’s so distasteful that I choose to avoid the pair of them and take up residence in the living room. Though it’s not that bad, because I do have a charming video I play to keep me company.

Ah, my human. So endearing, so filled with personality and charm. I’d be a very sad feline without her. Let’s hope I can rid our life of that bothersome boy. I might try a little excrement on his head, or take the high ground and just urinate in his shoes.

Until next week, my fellow cats. Love your human, especially today.

I Wipe My Butt with Spinach

I’m not ashamed to confess that I wipe my butt with the dark, leafy-green vegetable known as spinach. As a world-traveling professional, I don’t have time to deal with rough, scratchy paper. It’s passé, it’s bestial, it’s coarse.

I carry bagged spinach and save half for a salad and half for my butt. Spinach is superior because it gets my butt shining white and clean. It’s quite a science, and I’ve even hired myself out to New York socialites and celebrities to demonstrate how spinach does the deep clean, gently.

With all this ruckus about E.coli and bagged spinach—well, it makes me furious. All of those immigrants must be wiping their butts with spinach, too. They try so hard to be American, but their backward attempts at mimicking upper-class people like me just cause innocent citizens to become sick. Go back to your rolls of paper and sanitizing gel in your squatter port-a-potties!

And they’re not even doing it right, those farm hands. You properly wash your hands after wiping your butt with spinach. And if you really need to eat the spinach after wiping, well then, you wash it and then spritz it with organic vinegar for extra cleansing! You’d never catch me or my clients suffering from bacteria-related spinach outbreaks. I have the cleanest spinach in Manhattan.

I run a high-class operation and I refuse to let sunburned grubbers ruin it for us. A clean butt is a white butt and don’t any of you forget it.

Aleen Is My Name, Dammit!

Euan Denholm/Reuters

I am so totally sick of Lucy. I’ve been buried in silt for millions of years while that dang Lucy kept getting all the attention. I have a hyoid bone, people! I am more complete than that spotlight-stealing, dig-diva. I am the child that family trees beg for.

And please stop calling me Selam. It means peace, but seriously, what kid do you know who wants to be named Peace? I was called Aleen in my time and Aleen is what I’d like to remain.

Anyway, I get unearthed by pokey anthropologists and then those stupid anthro-razzis take a picture with a shadow on my left side. I hate that! I look lopsided and grim. I was really a looker in my time, a mere three million years ago, or so. And I wasn’t three, for god’s sake, I was six and yes, I used tools and if I were a living child today, I’d know where to bury my poop. Sheesh. Kids today are so clueless.

So the anthros dissected my body and speculated on my shoulder blades and rotator cuffs. I swung from trees, sure, but I walked more than they knew. I walked a lot. In fact, you should have seen my feet. They were so dang cute and I decorated them with cinnamon paint.

I’ve been around for longer than Lucy and when all the academes scrambled around, making predictions and writing chapters about her, I was so steamed that I almost combusted! But I was wise, yes, even for six, so I sat tight and waited for the dig intern to stumble upon my cute dried up self.

I suppose I’ll be put on display and theses will be written about me, but humans are pretty stupid these days. Back when I was alive and before that terrible flood came, if you came upon someone unfamiliar, you asked him or her about his or her story and he or she told you. I’m so fed up with no one asking me, “Aleen, what was it like to live then? What did you eat? What was your family and community like?” that I just refuse to say anything other than it was a hell of a lot more interesting then and we didn’t even have the SIMS to play with.

So there. Go sit at your desks and drain your brain everyday hooked up to something unreal and I’ll just cackle from my glass box. Later, suckers.

Embryo Ice Cream

September 21, 2006—Hopetown, OH

Jen & Harry’s ice cream is known for its startlingly fresh and complex flavors. We thought last year’s winner, Scab, was the ultimate in gross, but delicious. But this year, they went over the top and have developed their newest stunner: Embryo!

The Ice Calf interviewed Ohio resident Gary Hopper about the controversial new dessert.

IC: What do you think of Jen & Harry’s new flavor, Embryo?
GH: Well, it’s pretty tasty. Kind of like honey, custard and tomato mixed up and frozen. Tastes like iron, too.

IC: Were you taken aback by its name?
GH: Sure. But then again, I liked Scab. It was chewy, with chunks of sticky bacon or something and lemon-custard ice cream.

IC: Is it true that sometimes a tub of Embryo ice cream will contain a candy placenta?
GH: Yeah! I was surprised when I came across that. It’s in one tub in like, 10. Really chewy and ropey, but not too graphic. I mean, there’s no cherry juice like blood or anything.

IC: What do you think about the controversy surrounding the name of the ice cream?
GH: I know that people are sensitive to the name. But embryos are as common as cows these days. I mean, they’re frozen up all the time and then thrown away. Might as well do something with them.

IC: Wait a minute. The ice cream isn’t made with REAL embryos, Gary.
GH: Right. It just sort of tastes like what you’d think a frozen embryo would taste like. Crunchy. Soft in some parts.

IC: Are you trying to gross us out?
GH: C’mon, after Chancre, anything tastes great. Besides, Jen & Harry’s ice cream is known for combining weird things to make a really great ice cream.

IC: Will you keep buying Embryo, or do you prefer other flavors?
GH: I like Embryo, but I really get into Scab. It appeals to the little kid in you.

IC: We don’t want to go any further with that. Thanks, Gary!
GH: Thanks! Good luck with your new blog thing.

IC: Thanks! After this, we think we’ll go puke in our bathrooms and call it a night.
GH: Well, whatever turns you on …