Funk: 7, Elizabeth: 0

The thing is... as anyone who has ever even met me could tell you, I'm not a big fan of organized religion. At all. So, I realized that my penultimate chance to prevail against the perceived evils of organized religion and wield a mighty sword of entirely relative truth would be to... organize my own religion.


And voila! Here we are. Lizlam. We are few but proud, and wicked hot. We believe in loving all people but never quite calling them in the morning... We thrive in performing arts settings and wherever pancakes are served. Our people are served by a hardworking Executive committee consisting of me, the Prophet, and my hard-working, industrious, jolly as hell Executive Vice Prophet in Charge of a Riotous Good Time To Be Had By All. We are an iron fist in a velvet glove and we fight for our (and YOUR) right to par-TAY.


And, like any true religion, we have enemies. And, like any true religion, we take those enemies down, whether in a swift public act of destruction or sneaky coup in the quiet hours of the dawn, while everyone is still passed out from being so totally wasted at the riotous Lizlam celebration the night before. Lizlam faces enemies far more devious and malevolent than ever before, so I have compiled a rudimentary list of our top ten public enemies. Please be on the lookout for these offenders; the well-being and non-bad-moodiness of Lizlamites everywhere are dependent on your cooperation in this matter.


Before we get started, we are so proud to inform our Faithful that the Executive Vice Prophet has graciously agreed to take over management of the Big Apple Branch of Lizlam. Skyler, miss you terribly and good luck bringing the light of the Goddess to the most heathen city of New York. And bring some heathen back to us at Christmas, please.

So, here follow the Top Ten Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad and Generally Craptastic Enemies of Lizlam:

10. Mornings: In a perfect (that is to say, Lizlam infused) world, the daily party kicks off at aboot noonish. Where does that leave mornings? Being slept through and ignored, where they belong. Mornings, I renounce you in the name of the Prophet and her non-morning-person Executive Prophet (and: hee. If you ever have the privilege of road-tripping with the EVP, whatEVER you do, don't leap onto the pullout couch on which she is sleeping and sing loud, freeverse songs in her ear. Just... take my advice.) Any time before noon: make yourself scarce.

9. Celebrities and their CelebuSpawn: Cause, really? We pay attention why? The only thing more horrifying than an egomaniacal, arguably talented and filthy rich stick insect to whom we pay good money to speak someone else's words into a camera is the very real danger that that same evil being will probably create a merged genetic copy of itself and another breathtakingly shallow, hard-partying, no education-having Hollywood hellbeast and unleash it's celebuspawn on a country that embraces and covets the wasteful, hedonistic stick insect lifestyle. So, let's lay waste to the rich and the useless and then sell all their crap and use the profits to Lidice the shite out of the entire Hollywoodland universe. Stat!

8. Living Single: The state of singlehood, not the '90's sitcom. We all have to do it, and it sucks. I really have no way to elucidate here. If you're single, you know exactly what I'm talking about. If you're not, you're probably...
7.... the Smug Married: Oh yes, THAT married person who asks you loudly, "Are you seeing anyone?" or "Why haven't YOU gotten married yet?" or "Let me tell you all about how f-ing happy I am with my [significant other]!" or "I'm so glad [significant othe] and I had children before we got too old! Speaking of not getting any younger..." or "I can't understand why no one wants to date you! Why, if I were twenty years younger..."


6. Subcutaneous fat and the people who have none: You know who you are. If I have to hear one more size six girl boohoohooing over something making her look fat or mourning the fact that she can't have another cookie because it'll go to her hips (read: it'll make her HAVE hips) or watch one more teenage boy polishing off three pizzas as I pick miserably at a pile of lettuce with no dressing, I SWEAR I'm going to eat until I've gained 95,000 pounds and then singlehandedly (or doublechinnedly, as the case may be) seek out each whiny skinny bitch and SIT on them and CRUSH them and teach them to fear MY fat more than their own. And even Chuck Norris will tremble. Except he's not skinny... so no worries there. Can you imagine the epic battle between my Fat Wobble of Doom and his Roundhouse Kick for the skinnyfolk's SOULS?

Time to move on. But just imagine...

And the top 5:



5. Reality TV: Reality shows have slipped a roofie into television's drink, dragged its intert form into an alley, gang raped it and left it for dead and really? It's time to pay for your crimes. The Bachelor, Survivor, AMERICAN IDOL (yours will be the most painful and prolonged of demises, I can promise you that), Pants Off Dance Off, the Surreal Life... your time has come. The Tribe has spoken. America has voted and you substandard voyeur fodder porn star vehicle wretched excuses for the sheltering of the lowest forms of humanity shall disappear in fire and blood and anguish! Except for anything on the Food Network. Bobby Flay much?




4. Jay's exboyfriend Greg: I don't have a recent snapshot... so this old one will have to do. Just look for the EVIL and the cold, dead eyes. Someday, I'm going to ninja to his house in the dead of night, ring his doorbell and, when he answers, punch him in the balls. And as he doubles over in pain, whispering, "WHY?" I'm going to point my finger in his face and say "You KNOW why." It's gonna happen. Be ready.




3. Hickory, NC: You can check out any time you want, but you can never leave... Hickory is the ideal location to settle and roost and raise a family. But, to the single, non-drunk-faced young person of today, it's a sucking, bleak, depressing, boring, evilly sentient black hole of despair. We all have plans to leave. But few of us ever make it. Most are stuck forever, wandering in a Silent Hill-like Mayberry, praying for deliverance. Deliverance. What a perfect word. In SO many ways.


Paddle faster, I hear banjos. Someone get us out of here!



2. Paula Deen: Can you really look at this woman and not get chills down your spine from the evil? No one who cooks with that much butter or speaks with such an ungodly rural twang should be permitted to walk the earth among us decent, hard-working Lizlamites. Paula Deen, I hope the devil enjoys fried chicken and milkshakes made with heavy whipping cream!







1. The Uterus:

It's spongy, it's theoretically fertile and it's a royal pain in the pelvis. Unless you're planning on dropping a litter any time soon (which is not really smiled upon in Lizlam), the uterus is not only worthless, but painful and cranky making. Best to have it out if possible. Uterus, the tribe has spoken. Pack up your one-three weeks a month of pain, anguish and GET OUT! And don't come back!