Ah, Florida – In this hour, we discuss what is wrong with our home state skillet, and why the rest of you people no longer want to grace her shelly beaches with your overwhite fat flesh. It looks like the streams of “New Family” arrivals into our fair state have dwindled to lows not seen since the great Sadness of ‘77 (see also, Dumb Gov., Gas Shortages, and Stupid Hair). Whereas we had once been content to sit back and wait for the multitudes to settle down in our suburbs, lapping up the over-chlorinated groundwater, settling into their stucco empires and demanding the immediate erection of god knows how many Wal-Marts, Walgreens, and Walled Communities, it is now apparent that we can no longer count on John and Jane Q. Pennsylvania to swell our ranks.

So, what is a suddenly single stategal like Florida to do to make ends meet? We used to simply pay tribute to The Mouse, as The Mouse would attract dollars to its various theme parks and overpriced resorts, allowing us the occasional mealy morsel in the form of a Bed Tax. With a tanking economy, the idea of waiting for millions of vacationers to show up with a fistful of financial stability doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

Some people scream, “Let’s get some GAMBLIN’ already!” – I ask those people to look at New Jersey, or those god-awful southern states along The Hurricane Brim. Poor bastards live hand to mouth, and most people with sense can see that gambling makes Casinos and Land Developers rich, not citizens. Plus, they attract crime, and as we are rapidly advancing on the Murder Capital of the Country prize here in Orlando, I doubt we can afford to plug in a giant neon bandit brigade right now.

And so, we at SomaCow have a simple solution – Boobs.

I know, we ALWAYS say boobs, but, seriously, boobs.

Open the finest strip clubs in the country. Kick out the sleaze, the ne’erdowells, the coke dealers and the just plain creepies. Build strip clubs on every corner, and stock them with clean kids with business degrees and fresh immigrant poon. STATE OPERATED STRIP CLUBS is what I am driving at. Every girl that does enough sit-ups to be able to hold her own weight up sideways on a brass pole gets a tax break. We have the sun for tanning, it’s certainly hot enough to make most girls want to get undressed, all we need is the legislation to allow a friendly neighborhood boobecue on every corner. Get rid of the stupid purple buildings, and the creepy smoked glass, and the lame ass gold chained fur chested fauxmafia types, and make a strip club into the kind of place a man would proudly bring his kids to live beside. I gotta get some more facts here, so consider this one in the works. Mickey announced his intention to open the first prototype!

We’re still recovering as a city from Nipple-Shock. It seems that the WWE had to modify their promotional materials here in Orlando so that MALE wrestlers nips were not showing. When I first heard about it from Xander on The Lunar Room, I realized that I do not currently have a large enough font to display my wtf-acity.

Speaking of wtf-acity…

I mean, why would anyone want this taken down? It’s the truth, right? Or is it? Should you raise your children with religion? religions? If you do will they turn out like J and sue the church?

Mickey actually quotes Bill Clinton in his Life Coaching this week at the :40 so check it out!

J doesn’t get aroused in strip clubs. I am just saying.

We’re never taking down the following great bands:

• Richard Cheese – Girls, Girls, Girls
• The Vandals – Fucked Up Girl
• They Might Be Giants – The Mesopotamians

If you personally own such a hat, throw it in a trash can with all speed. Seriously.

So, SomaCow invaded Disney’s Wide World of Schportzen to watch the Atlanta Braves take on the Cleveland Indians. It was an absolutely gorgeous day, and Disney has a great ballfield out there in Kissimmee. I highly recommend it, but you will need to take certain steps to ensure you enjoy the day.

1. Bring water, so that you have something to drink on your way to the concession stand to buy beer. Remember that after a few beers, you will develop sun-skunk mouth, so make sure you bring a few extra bucks for a cool-refreshing soda. The soda will probably be too sweet, so you will want to get a pretzel to cut the sweetness, at which point, you will realize that you are pretty hungry, so you might as well get a hot dog. OooH! OR a burger! and nothing goes with a burger like fries, or better still, cheese fries! Those are pretty good, and you might as well grab some popcorn while you are waiting for all that food to cook, so go ahead, at least, unless you would rather have a lemon-icee… Woof… That was pretty sour, better nip up on some of that cotton candy to reset your tongue, although… cotton candy is kinda dry, so, yeah, make sure you bring some water. It is important to stay hydrated.

2. Get the Program if you have kids. It’s a good memento for them, and it will remind you of who the hell is playing. If you do not have kids, save your money for “water”.

3. Get a seat on the lawn. The lawn is where it is at. If you are in a seat, you can not see what is going on. Below is a picture of what I saw from a seat:

Whereas this is what I saw from the lawn:

Yeah.

4. Even in springtime, it can get downright scorching outside. Plan in advance, as the ladies above did, by wearing very little and keeping a cool breeze on your skin. Unless you are a guy. If you are a guy, use beer in copious quantities, and under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you ever remove your shirt. No one wants to see that, and people paid money to be here, for God’s sake.

(Pic Deleted Out of Taste and Dignity)

5. If you must remove your shirt, do not allow your reasonably hot girlfriend to apply sunscreen for you. The application of sunscreen is a one-way understanding. Male applies to Self, Male applies to Female, Ideally, Females apply to Female, and then tickle Female a lot. NO self-respecting guy should ever get himself into a situation where he is having gay love messages quasi-permanently emblazoned into his skin.

6. Be shade for someone. It’s the right thing to do.

We were joined again by the lovely ladies of Say… Anything, which is always nice. Thanks to everyone that has let us know how great they sounded. We will be sure to have J grow some boobs. We talked up the proper care of hotdogs, and the idea that all relationships are doomed.

They are, you know. Consider every relationship a game of Tetris. You work hard, trying to fit all their stupid shit into your brain, constantly praying that they will drop you some nookie, in the form of a four-in-a-row piece. On and on you plod, shoving their insecurities here, their inconsistencies there, and all of the sudden, you have holes all over the place, and the stupid b&$ch hasn’t given you head in four months, and her dumb friends are coming over again for the third time this week, and they’re all fat, and loud, and short, and they smell like cinnamon farts, and her cat shat all over your shoes again, which is fine, cause they are the stupid shoes she picked out for you to wear in the first place, and kinda made you look gay, but now you have nothing to wear when she drags you off to some retarded renaissance fair, where you will AGAIN get to hang out with her fat friends, except with stupid fancypants and bad food and mosquitoes and fat nerds from Omaha wearing poorly cut felt hats. Anyway… F%$k the Russians, F@&k that Bard, and F*#k Tetris!

We enjoyed the following quality music selections in this, our finest hour:

• They Might Be Giants – Why Does the Sun Shine?
• The Presidents of the United States of America – Rot in the Sun

Stay tuned at the :40 for some Life Coaching with Mickey (Who is NOT an asshole, and is actually quite pleasant)

And some cereal talk. I don’t know why, it just happened.