8:10pm: Jackie - Christ on a bicycle, what is she wearing? Someone raided Minnie Mouse's wardrobe, and from the sound of the voice, I'm guessing it was someone with a trachiotomy.
8:18pm - Rick Braddy. This dude is prematurely balding, and his pro-mo's not exactly accentuating the positive. He sounds like a bad lounge singer. I'm beginning to regret that I didn't stop by the liquor store on my way home. Maybe we've got some crappy vodka around here...
8:30pm - Alexis Grace. What.The.Fuck. I thought this show was about hot people with minimal talent who could be widely marketed to the drooling pop masses. Did they drop the 'hot' part this year and go for broke? On a lighter note, I did manage to find some Smirnoff in the cabinet. No OJ in the fridge, so I figure I'll just mix it directly with the contents of my stomach. At least the contestants will start looking better...
Paula Abdul's rambling like a homeless drunk, and I swear her eyelids are looking lazy. Maybe she's tripping. Wait, was that Ted Danson and Doogie Houser sitting in the front row? Now I think I'm tripping.
8:45 pm - Brent Keith. Oh God, but he's laying it on thick: a country song about poor crackers with pickup trucks and chicks who use White Rain. Are you kidding me? If this guy was from where I live, we'd mount his carcass on a spear Dracul-style when he got kicked off this show. He says he doesn't think that country fans will forget his music, and this is the kind of music he wants to make. If that's what country fans want, they deserve all the ridicule that's heaped on them.
Cut to commerical. This vodka is going down good, but it's making my burps smell like warm garbage. I guess that's what happens when you chase dijon-glazed pork loin and mashed potatoes with low grade swill from a plastic bottle. I'm going to fridge to find something, anything, to make my burps smell better.
Question: If a mousetrap snapped closed on say, a cats paw or tail, would that cause permanent damage?
8:50 - Stevie Wright. The hotness draught continues. Talk about marketable though, that girl should be selling ad space on that forehead of hers. She certaintly shouldn't be singing; if I had to guess I'd say she hasn't even done karaoke before. Damn. The judges are blasting her for sucking so bad, and the audience is booing. Fox must've packed the stage with a field trip from the school for the deaf. Cowell says her performance was so bad "I wanted to punch my own teeth out, fashion a cutting tool out of them, and saw my own bollocks off with it." That may not be exact, but it's pretty close...
8:56pm - Anoop Desai. As a Carolina fan, I've got high standards for this guy even though he looks like a total d-bag. He can sing, but he sounds like Boys II Men circa 1992. The judges are complaining about technical shortcomings with his singing. Dial 6 to vote for unibrow.
Cut to commercial. Hmm. The vodka bottle's looking a little light; and no one's getting any hotter. That's an uncommonly bad omen.
9:04pm - Casey Carlson. The hot draught may be bottoming, but we've got a long climb ahead of us. Talent is still painfully absent in all forms. This chick dances like Elaine Bennis from Seinfeld; and it seems that the judges are avoiding eye contact in hopes that maybe this will all just go away. The judges are passing this poor girl around like a 5-dollar hooker. Paula says "the guys" always say she's beautiful; I would like to respectfully enter my dissenting opinion. She only looks halfway decent because she's following three trolls, The Forehead, Unibrow, and something that looked like an starved wildebeest with pink highlights.
9:18 pm. Michael Sarver. Dude works on an oil rig, so I ain't saying shit about him. Normal people go to the gym each morning before work, but roughnecks get up and put people they don't like into industrial-size plastic shredders and make smoothies from the leavings. I notice the judges are aware of this as well, and adjust their commentary appropriately. The guy sits down on the couch, and Seacrest's panties moisten noticeably.
9:25pm Ann Marie Boskovich. The Wife and I agree that hotness has made its first appearance of the night. And she can sing too? Hey, there's a refreshing idea! Ted Danson's on his feet. The judges give her shit about choosing a difficult song, and she calls them on it; which is a moment of awesomeness that goes relatively unnoticed. Cowell says something absolutely retarded about how the real world is going to be able to tell she's not a true singing talent. Hey Cowell, the refutations of your hypothesis are legion, and one of them is sitting right next to you. Her name is Paula Abdul.
9:35pm - Stephen Fowler. Michael Jackson's music freaks me out, because even though he's singing about a girl, you know in his mind he's thinking about a preadolescent Macaulay Culkin. The singing is okay, the hotness level has begun heading back down. He tries to say that his performance sucked because he's not 100% ready. Newsflash buddy, it's the first week, neither is anyone else. If you make the cut tonight (ROFL) try not to be such a pussy next time.
The vodka is finally gone. I think we've got a bottle of white table wine in the fridge. Can you mix stuff with wine? I think we've got some Apple Pucker in the cabinet. Apples, grapes, they go together right?
9:48pm Tatiana Del Toro. This chick has annoyed me from day one. She's a drama queen with an annoying laugh. She also rolls her R's, but only when she says things like Peurto Rico or something. When I watch her sing, I feel like I'm watching the talent portion of some cheesey pageant competition. I hope she trips on stage, loses control of her bowels, and is shamed into spending the rest of her life in a cardboard box. Cowell agrees with me.
Tatiana then proceeds to talk over Seacrest and plead with the American people to fulfill her dream of being the American Idol. I think she'd make a better Miss Chiquita Banana 2009. Also, wine and Apple Pucker tastes like Kool Aid and hobo piss; but it's better than sobering up at this point.
9:56pm. Danny Gokey. I think this guy is a good singer, so I'm expecting him to make the rest of tonight's contestants look like pillocks. And wouldn't you know it, he is doing just that. The judges push each other out of the way to impact-mold their tonsils to the base of Danny's penis. Except for Cowell, who likes to play hard to get.
So there's this club of uber-nerds called CERN. I'm not sure why it's called CERN, because such an acronym cannot be derived from its full name; which is the European Organization for Nuclear Research, or Organisation Européenne pour la Recherche Nucléaire in pig latin. But I digress.
Anyways. This Coalition of European Research Nerds has built this thing called a Large Hadron Collider. If particle acceleration was NASCAR, the LHC would be the Texas Motor Speedway. A pretty good metaphor, since the LHC's main purpose is to act as a track around which nerds can watch subatomic particles smash into each other.
Well, they powered it up last night; and that was supposed to be the beginning of the end. The whole deal with this thing, according to the Chicken Littles, is that the experiments performed at the LHC will create black holes. Think of a black hole as the Michael Moore of gravitational pulls; it consumes matter at such a high rate that the vaccuum it creates as it gets larger and larger becomes inescapable. So you can see how the idea of such a thing being created at CERN would be cause for the Chicken Littles to worry.
However, the good news is two fold:
1) They won't start actually running the LHC until this weekend, so we have plenty of time to run up huge debts on Ferraris and mansions that we'll never have to pay for once the rift between matter and anti-matter is breached. Or something.
2) Since the LHC is located in Europe, we'll enjoy the sight of watching all of them get sucked in first. Hell, it should be televised. Maybe we can get ESPN to drop one of the college games and carry The LHC's Black Hole vs. The Known Universe.
I've yet to get confirmation, but I've got to assume that Bob Costas' contract stipulates that he must not be on screen with a taller man, who is not an athlete; because I swear to God they've put a 6-foot dude in a stuffed bra and a brown wig, and named him Mary Carillo. She got a voice like a fucking violone, for Pete's sake.
On the other end of the spectrum, we have Kerri Walsh. As if Women's Beach Volleyball needed the ratings boost. Thank you sweet baby Jesus.
Gymnastics, for all it's prancing, arm-lifting, ribbon-twirling flamboyance; is a staggering display of atheleticism. I tried gymnastics when I was in middle school. It lasted until we got to the rings, and my instructor noted, rather nonchalantly, that if we swung incorrectly we would dislocate one or both shoulders. I was like "Oh hey, um. I was just looking for something to do between soccer seasons, so I'm just going to ah, bow out at this point...given the...that um, the idea of two simultaneously dislocated shoulders made my balls shrivel into my abdominal cavity. So, ya'll have fun." Those people are strong to, like chimpanzees they are.
Just watched Phelps win his 9th career gold medal in the 200m freestyle; breaking the world record just for good measure. The only two Americans to ever win that many golds were two randoms named Carl Lewis and Mark Spitz. Whoever they are. I mean, who watches the Olympics anyways, right?
Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez, visiting Moscow to pursue weapons and energy deals, on Tuesday called for a strategic alliance with Russia to protect his country from the United States.
Chavez might be one of my favorite dictators. If they were on collectible cards like pro athletes, I'd keep his in a plexiglass case. His card and Ahmadinejad's; right next to each other. Anyways, back to the article:
The newspaper Kommersant, generally regarded as reliable, reported Tuesday that Chavez is looking to order Ilyushin jets, diesel-powered submarines, Tor-M1 air defense systems and possibly tanks. It did not specify its sources."
As anyone who's seen The Hunt for Red October can tell you, a diesel-powered sumbarine couldn't sneak up on a deaf retard dogpaddling in his backyard pool - not to mention ambushing something like the new nuclear Virginia-class subs. Or as I like to call them, billion-dollar cans of whoop-ass (my favorite? This one, because I was there).
Of course, upon reading that diesel submarine thing, I was immediately curious about 'Ilyushin jets'. According to wikipedia, Ilyushin hasn't made a fighter plane since the stone age; and they mostly build transports these days. Unless you count these Il-28's, that apparently make great museum peices.
The way I see it, Putin (who, let's be honest, is the real mastermind behind Medvedev) is laughing his ass off. He's selling off all his old junk to Chavez, who's happy to buy it because he's suffering from some paranoid fantasy that the US has it out for him. If the US has it out for you bro, diesel subs and 70's era jet planes aren't going to help.
Okay, looks like some people are saying that Iran's latest missle launches were recycled and/or photoshopped images.
This opens the game theory box. Even without the photographic evidence throwing doubt on the launches, it will be easy to find out if Iran did, in fact, play 4th of July yesterday; and to what extent. That's what satellite images are for. The real question is; if Iran is faking it, do you call them on it or not?
The answer to that question, of course, depends on what you think Iran is going to do if you call them out. Ahmadinejad doesn't exactly strike me as someone who's long for this world, so calling his bluff might just result in real missle launches. Of course, what's the difference to the rest of the world between a launch they don't know is fake and a real launch? Nothing. It would simply be needless escalation.
I'm wondering if the best official course of action is to do nothing, let the blogosphere out them, and then snicker at them from behind closed doors. We're getting a free peek at Iran's hand, and seeing that they've got two pair of jokers that have aces scribbled on them in magic marker.
I mean, a fake missle launch really isn't even saber-rattling; it's like, I don't know, waving around a picture of a saber and yelling "Clang clangitty-clang!"
Surprise surprise; looks like Obama got one of those ubercheap home loans. I can't say that I'm all that surprised though, and I wouldn't be to find out that all Senators probably did. The wealthy will nearly always get breaks on financing because they're seen as a safer investment. My only problem is the conflict of interest it creates when the rich people getting the breaks are the people writing the legislation that governs the lender.
Looks like we met 15 of our 18 goals on Iraq so far. That's pretty good to hear, considering the pissing and moaning that has been coming from the peanut gallery all along. I mean, 83% ain't going to get you on the honor roll or anything either; but it's good to see that we're tracking well.
And here's something all bloggers can get behind - water-boarding MSM 'journalists'.
I love the smell of raw sewage in the morning.
Water quality has been a concern for the sailing events, given that many coastal Chinese cities dump untreated sewage into the sea. At the same time, rivers and tributaries emptying into coastal waters are often contaminated with high levels of nitrates from agricultural and industrial runoff. These nitrates contribute to the red tides of algae that often bloom along sections of China's coastline.
The Wife had to work tonight, so we set the DVR to record Hell's Kitchen for her. For some reason, the damn thing wouldn't record. It's a cable company-supported peice, and they recently upgraded the software on it and ever since it's been a little wonky. Anyways, I decided to take notes for her, and write up the episode so she wouldn't miss anything.
I present it to you here in the style of a video game walkthrough. If you're not familiar with the genre, you're a geriatric or a Luddite, or both.
Now, what follows may not be funny if you've never seen the show. I'm also willing to take the risk that it may not be funny regardless; but I don't care.
This is awesome. Imagine the impact that an information network this speedy would have on life as we know it.
Of course, it's also kind of freaky that if it went down, and you were 'cloud computing', you'd pretty much be ass-out.
And how 'bout that collider? I like how the theory is that the LHC will either produce a tiny harmless little thingie; a blakc hole, or a runaway fusion process. That's only two out of three for an outcome that would result in total cataclysm.
It's an exciting time to be alive...
So I was perusing my local fishwrapper this morning and came across this little 'notable note':
Members of the church group located in Kansas travel around the country, mainly to the funerals of Marine soliders, protesting that it is America's fault they are dead.
Oh. Well, how very nice for them. The jerks.
[the]church group plans to make a trip to Camp Lejeune this coming Saturday.
Look, let me try and put this in a nutshell for you WBC twits:
Jacksonville, North Carolina is not where you want to be. This is will not be anything like attending the funeral of one of our fallen heroes in their hometown. Camp Lejeune is the largest concentration of Marines and US Navy personnel in. the. world. In the world!
Now, I know with 100% certainty that every one of those soldiers is under explicit orders to stay the hell away from the intersection of Lejeune & Hargett, even if that means they have to drive around their asshole to get to their elbow. I've also got a great deal of faith that the vast majority of those men and women have the discipline and composure to do just that. By the same token; I've got an equal amount of faith that every retired vet, friend-of-a-Marine/Navy sailor, and family member in a 100-mile radius is probably going to find a little time in their calendar to show up at that intersection as a show of support for the soldiers. Some of these people will be peaceful, and some of them will most definitely be pissed off. I'm going to be in Ft. Lauderdale this weekend, or I'd show up myself just to hold an 'FU' sign and watch the show.
You just can't go into a town that's populated by Marines, sailors, their friends and families; not to menion the large number of retired servicemen, and not expect some serious backlash.
You know, when I was a kid I used to pester the ever-loving shit out of my older brother; and a few times he took the opportunity to remind me that the reason I was able to enjoy chewing my food was because he had not yet chosen to rip my mandible from my twerpy noggin. I'd go moaning to Mom, and she'd say something like "Well, you asked for it."
WBC, you had better be careful. You've been asking for it for quite some time now, and it looks like you've finally found the place that's willing to fill your every request.
From the Washington Times.
Key Quote: "Nothing creates cognitive dissonance in the mind of a true believer."
Oh, and 'Heh'.
Finished painting the livingroom/entryway/hallway last night. It looks a lot better than the shit-brown the previous owners had slapped up. Quite honestly, it looked like they'd put a paintbrush in the hands of a blind epileptic and just let 'em go at it. We still need to go around the trim and ceiling to get all the overlapping brown off. They call it painter's tape for a reason. Yeesh.
Now that the holiday season is upon us, it's time to look back on the year 2007:
Britney Spears. Quite possibly the quickest celebrity spiral since Pee Wee Herman was caught in a skin flick theater in flagrante delicto. Words of advice to Britney? Well darling, you've pretty much screwed the pooch with complete abandon this year, so it can only get better. As long as you don't get caugh masturbating in a public theater. Well, on second thought, that might be a step up.
Michael Vick. I have to admit 23 months is pretty harsh, especially considering this is a man who pretty much has zero future left. I mean, we all know what goes on in prisons these days, and you can bet your ass (or, more appropriately, Mr. Vick's) that there's at least 17 seperate sick mofo's in the big house who can't wait to be the first to make Vick their girlfriend. Two years of that is going to turn him into the NFL's version of Mike Tyson, and the first time they let him back on the field he'll be biting people's ears off. The rest is history.
George Bush. He's like the crappy girlfriend or boyfriend. He makes stupid mistakes, your friends don't respect him, he says the wrong things at the wrong time; but you just can't get enough of the sex. That's right America, you're having sex with the president. If the man turns you off, don't sweat it because according to all the pundits, you can look forward to having sex with Hillary Clinton in the near future.
Appalachian State University. The only I-AA team to ever beat a I-A team, at Ann Arbor no less; and consecutive 3-time national champions. You wish you went there.
Hollywood writers. Rich people haven't complained this much since Cape Wind. Get over it you moaning dickbags!
Well, that's pretty much everything that happened in '07. I know you could swear that more things happened this year, but they didn't.
I’ve watched this about a hundred times.
And the sequel.
Kid Nation
I'm sure you heard about this TV show - they sent a bunch of kids out into the middle of nowhere to start their own town, see if they could organize government, divide labor, etc. Anyways, a couple of the kids ended up getting burned or something while they were cooking, and now the army of nanny-state pansies is poised for attack. They want to sue based on the grounds of child neglect or unfair working conditions or something. Look, you pussies, when I was a kid we called that kind of thing 'summer camp', and we sure as shit didn't get paid for it. I don't know what the legal ramifications of this will be, but you can bet your ass the higher ups at the Boy Scouts of America are pissing in their olive drab nut-huggers right about now.
Senator Craig
This is absolutely hilarious (except for the profiling part, which just kind of 'has its moments'). Who knew that all you had to do to get some bathroom tail was tap your foot and wave your hand? And here I am all these years just barging in and bellowing "Anyone interested in a little how's your father!?" It's kind of irritating though, when you think about it. I mean, here we all are showing up two hours early for our flights, being herded through the security check; and this guy's seemingly found a way to get the full body cavity search and everything without having to wait in line at all. I guess it's just one of the perks of being a senator.
As an aside, it makes me wonder why it is that people do this stuff in bathrooms. I mean, most of us cozy up next to someone at a bar or a party or something, and then have sex in the bathroom. It just seems a whole lot easier to proposition someone if you're not surrounded by the sights and sounds of pooing strangers. But I don't know, maybe your average cottager has strong enough game that he or she can close the deal with that kind of a soundtrack playing in the background.
Thoughts? Comments? Advice?
As we speak, the stock market is erasing all gains for the calendar year. I guess that's what happens when a real estate market that's been betting on future equity with risky (and sometimes fraudulent) mortgages collapses and sends the value of your average mortgage brokerage from triple-A to junk bond status. Well, that and the disappearance of billions in homeowner's equity that people were assuming they'd rack up over the past year or two. I'm not saying it's going to be raining day-traders on Wall Street or anything; I'm just saying it's one of those days where people are losing their asses.
It's also one of those days where you should be increasing your 401(k) or 403(b) contributions. You'll be able to get more for your money now than you could yesterday; which means you'll be holding more shares when the market comes back.
It's also one of those days where prospective home buyers should be taking stock of their finances. The next few months will usher in what could be the lowest price growth in recent memory. If you've got some cash to put down (because you can pretty much bet most of your Alt-A and no-doc loans aren't on the table anymore) you could really snatch up a deal from some poor bastard who locked in a 3 or 5-year ARM or a zero down loan that just hit it's final initial term. Said stupid bastard is now staring down the barrel of monthly payments that eat families whole, and has just enough equity in the house to sell it and break even. Just as an example, I know a guy who just bought a townhouse that's valued at $253k for $220k, with the seller paying all the closing costs. How bad would you need to be sweating before you'd sell your home for $30k under value and pay $10k in closing costs?
Oh, and I'm not a licensed financial advisor or anything; but I would like to point out that I'm not in any financial pinches either - quite the opposite in fact. So that should be worth something. Like maybe a free sandwich.
I've decided to make Today In History a regular feature. Not only because of it's immense popularity (the last one got almost 5 comments!), but also because it's so easy to write. I steal most of it from some website, which I don't link or give credit to, and then I make the rest of the shit up. Bang! Instant post.
When I say a regular feature I mean basically whenever I fucking feel like it. Some days in history are better than others. Take today in history for instance. Not a whole hell of a lot going on. For thousands of years the Earth has been gravitating around the moon and in all that time nothing really interesting happened on July 27th for some reason. However, for today's Today in History we'll focus on Michael Vick. That's correct, today is the day after the day Michael Vick was arraigned on Federal Dog fighting charges.
This has been well publicized so I won't go into all that here. Nor will I offer my opinion on his innocence or guilt. But here's my solution to the whole mess. Instead of a lengthy, circus-like trial, I propose that, on national TV, Michael Vick and the dogs he allegedly trained to kill, are put into a small room. Michael Vick is then covered in sirloin steaks:
If the dogs just eat the steaks and not Michael Vick, he's not guilty.
If they eat the steaks and Michael Vick, the evidence is inconclusive and it's declared a mistrial. In this event, a long, heartfelt apology will be read to his mother by the presiding judge. Also, a really, really talented mortician, like the Mexican guy from Six Feet Under, will try to put his severed limbs and head back together so they can have an open coffin. This wll be paid for by the state.
But if they ignore the steak and eat Michael Vick, he's guilty and gets the death penalty which obviously was already carried out during sentencing.
That's fair, no? And I'd pay to watch it.
Release the hounds!!!
I’ve been all over the world and I’ve eaten in some of the best restaurants. I’ve sampled the wares of many fine chefs, including the top pastry chefs on the business.
The best chocolate cake in the world is fucking Duncan Hines.
And you thought there were only supposed to be Four Horsemen.
Spice Girls Reunite For World Tour
"Hey everybody!! We're back!! Can you believe it!!" Ginger, Sporty, Posh, Scary and Baby Spice announced on their Web site.
Actually, I cannot believe it. In a world already turned upside down, God has to go and send us this?
The five-member band is the latest in a long line of pop acts to bury past differences and reform, hoping for success where many others have failed.
And why did they fail, you ask? Obviously, from a serious lack of GIRRRL POWA!
I liked this little bit at the bottom:
Meanwhile, Melanie "Scary" Brown largely disappeared from the public eye until a high-profile paternity case involving Hollywood star Eddie Murphy.
Earlier this month a DNA test confirmed Murphy as the father of Brown's newborn baby girl after he declined to publicly acknowledge paternity.
In the face of damnable evidence, even Eddie Murphy won't admit to hitting that.
Apparently, Apple has come out with a cell phone that is going to revolutionize...cell phoning. Or something.
It takes calls/photos/video, texts, and surfs the web. That way, you're never without your youtube collection of manualists farting their favorite tunes or animals doing stupid stuff; all on a tiny, grainy handheld screen. Thank God for Apple! Where would we be without these guys, eh?
And although texting is fun when you're drunk, I don't really see the point of it. You've got a cell phone, they've got a cell phone; and yet you're opting to push the tiny keys with your fat, dumb fingers. I think there might be an easier way to get in touch with someone in that circumstance.
How about a cell phone that never drops a call? Or a phone that's waterproof? You're telling me that they can put all manner of useless shit on a cell phone, but they can't make them affordably waterproof or aggregate their networks? That might actually be revolutionary. This shit they're trying to sell us is just another distraction for the gadgetry set to add to their collection.
If I can get a phone that does all kinds of circus tricks, why can't I get a phone that actually performs well as a phone?
I will always remember today as the day I have officially heard it all. Here's a link, if you dare.
Well, everyone else is doing those "get to know you" surveys, so why not follow them right off the cliff?
WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Not really. I have the same middle name as my mom and I've been through several last names (mom's issues, not mine!).
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Right before I took my boards. Mainly because I was sure someone was going to sabotage my chances of passing. And because, in my fragile mental state, when hubby mentioned my car was dirty, I was sure he hated me. Yeah, girls are a little nuts.
DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Nope. But it's better than some. There is a girl at the bar I work at that dots all her "i's" with hearts. It really annoys me for some reason.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Salami. Hard salami. None of that soft Genoa crap. I like the hard salami...
DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Do my farting, spilling, setting the house on fire husband and vomit machine cat count?
IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
I guess it depends if that other person was clincially insane as well. But yeah, I guess so.
DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
No, I pretty much just come out with both guns blazing. Hence the nickname "pretty bitch."
DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Nope. The docs got them when I was 3. This medical fact prompted my little bro to ask me "can you still play tonsil hockey?" My my, how much 4 year olds know!
WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Uhmm, I'm all talk. I'm always like "yeah, lets dooo-etttt" and then I puss out at the last minute. Plus, I work in a place where people regularly come in with all sorts of nasty head wounds and all I can think is "wow, it must have been fun until the rope snaped." (not the bar, a hospital)
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
I think my favorite is something like Lucky Charms or another sickly sweet kids cereal. However, I have only Kashi in my cupboard. Because I'm giving in to the societal pressure to not be disgustingly obese.
DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Nope. But then again, I really only wear flip-flops. I have at least 10 pairs. On rare sneaker wearing occasions, I just kick them off.
DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Physically, not really. I can carry a few cases of beer and move kegs, but not much beyond that. I'm working on it. But mentally, I'm...okay, I'm mediocre. Me and Freud have some work to do.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Eady's mint chocolate chip with rainbow sprinkles. I'm 5 years old again-such an easier time.
WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
I think their overall appearance. Are they all punk or thung? I think it comes from working at the bar and having to make quick judgements about the people that come in. Or I'm a judgemental bitch.
RED OR PINK?
Pink...like the bing on your cherry...
WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
My feet. They are huge! They are really wide and I have pudgy toes. I can also spread said toes into a fan, monkey style. The peeps at the bar call me "frodo toes."
WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
My JaJa. He was my granddaddy (JaJa is polish for grandfather). He was cool-always gave me candy corn and told me when "the neverending story" was coming on HBO.
WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
No shoes, just pink boy cut shorts. I just got out of bed.
WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Ham and cheese sammich, tortillia chips with hummus, and fruit salad.
WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
ER re-runs. They are like my crack.
IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
I've always thought this is a weird question. Like "if you could be any food, what would you be?" Gee, if I wanted someone to eat me, I'd like to be a burrito so they shit fire on my way out. But I guess if I had to choose, it would be Jungle Green. It sounds like a ferocious color, but it's actually a bright, happy green.
FAVORITE SMELLS?
My hubby's cologne, freshly bathed babies, fresh cut roses, ripe strawberries, the ocean, outside right before a thunderstorm hits.
WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
My brother in law; we had him on speaker phone and were hammering out trip details.
FAVORITE SPORTS?
Buffalo Bills Football. Is there any other sport?
HAIR COLOR?
Brown
EYE COLOR?
Varying shades of green. Sometimes brightened by the shade of eyeshadow or color of my shirt.
DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No. I have great vision. I'm supposed to wear reading glasses but I don't. Probably related to reading under the covers with a flashlight when I was a kid.
FAVORITE FOOD?
Hummus, filet mignon (medium rare), corn on the cob (grilled), crab legs, scallops, salad.
SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
I like scary movies, but lately all the "scary" ones turn into "how gruesome can death be" flix. I want to be scared, not puke up my popcorn. So I got to go with happy endings. They may be so sappy sweet I get cavities, but at least I'm not voming orville redenbacher.
LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Pirates of the Carribean: The End of the World. Three and a half hours but it was great!
WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Green bathrobe. Like I said, just got up.
SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer. My tan is much better, though I could do without the humidity. I like the snow, but I've never been much for frostbite.
HUGS OR KISSES?
Kisses. But not the wet sloppy kind. Unless their from a cute doggie.
FAVORITE DESSERT?
Chocolate anything. And creme brulee.
MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
To flowers and candles.
LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Slapping my leg with your manhood.
WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
I have several going right now. The Weatherman is one, the other is Emergency Nursing, 1998 version. A textbook, but still interesting. I'm kind of a geek.
WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
It's a dell pad that came with the puter. A corner is cut off because my cat used to chew on it and it was all bumpy and my mouse got stuck on it.
WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Last Comic Standing and a Dateline broadcast about Il Mostro, an italian serial killer. Last comic was hilarious, dateline disturbing. A great night of television!
FAVORITE SOUND?
Babies giggling, waves crashing on the beach, the doctor saying "your tests came back negative".
ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles. End of discussion.
WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Paris when I was 12. It was awesome. I could buy wine and they didn't even blink! Of course, I was terrified when I was going through customs on the way back.
DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Yes and it has caused people to remark "Wow, your husband must really love you!"
WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Buffalo, NY
WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Everyone. These are hokey but a good time killer!
From the Spinster, because I love doing these little questionnaire things.
From the Spinster. I had a dream about her last night.
WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
I was named after my grandfather. It’s a complicated naming tradition that goes back centuries. It starts to get messy after the third son and second daughter.
WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I don’t know. Maybe the Tony Romo incident.
DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
I block print and even that is illegible.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Prosciutto. After that, most other salt cured meats.
DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
I do.
IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Yes. I make no demands of people. I am an island.
DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
I’m more of a cynic.
DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Yes. I’ve never even met anyone who had them out. I think that who “get your tonsils out” thing is an urban myth.
WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
I don’t see the point. The risk vs. reward factor is horribly warped. Adventure is never fun while it’s actually happening.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Frosted mini wheats.
DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
For sneakers, no, but I untie them before I put them back on. I wear loafers a lot—no laces. I dislike people who call sneakers tennis shoes. How many people who wear sneakers play tennis? A very small percentage I’ll reckon.
DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Strong like a horse. I dislike hard labor, but I can hump heavy shit all day long if need be. If you mean gym strong, I don’t know.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
I can’t get that excited about ice cream. Chocolate? I do like when the cone gets all soggy with from the ice cream near the end though. One of life’s small pleasures. I’m also a fan of the waffle/ice cream sandwich.
WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
If their eyes are dead or alive. Some people look like the lights are on but nobody’s home, other people have expressive eyes… it looks like something’s going on in there.
RED OR PINK?
Green.
WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
I cab be picky and critical.
WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Charles Bukowski.
WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Kacki shorts. No shoes.
WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Cornflakes.
WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
Oliver’s Army.
IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
I dislike crayons. I dislike waxy stuff.
FAVORITE SMELLS?
Napalm? Actually, I like the smell of steaks cooking, new cars, fine leather, a baseball glove, and a woman wearing this. And the smell of Hawaiian Tropic gives me instant wood.
WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
It was a business call.
FAVORITE SPORTS?
Football. Beach volleyball. Football.
HAIR COLOR?
Dark brown.
EYE COLOR?
Hazel. I don’t even know if that’s a color, but that’s what I’m told.
DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No.
FAVORITE FOOD?
Pizza, calzones, fois gras, rabbit, venison, bouillabaisse, steaks.
SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
I’m a big fan of historical fare, when done right. And thrillers.
LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Oddly enough, Pleasantville.
WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Grey pocket T.
SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer. I like everything about it.
HUGS OR KISSES?
I prefer licks.
FAVORITE DESSERT?
Chocolate mousse.
MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
To genital caresses.
LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
To teeth on penis.
WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
The Pathfinder. James Fennimore Cooper.
WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
Crumbs.
WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Hells Kitchen. God, how I love that show. Screaming, insulting…
FAVORITE SOUND?
A turbo kicking in.
ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles, but I dearly love the Stones too.
WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
China.
DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I have this move that ends with a swirl. Actually, I have a gift for music and languages.
WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
NYC
WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, but I don’t think he’s a reader.
Global Warming = Cats Getting Lots of Ass
I gotta call shenanigans on this tripe. Cats balling other cats with abandon is not a function of global warming so much as it's a function of cat owners not following the advice of Bob Barker.
Sometimes, that HoverRound just ain't got enough balls.
Apparently, it's so boring in Paw Paw, Michigan (who woulda thunk it?) that wheelchair-bound guys are riding around mounted to the front grilles of passing trucks. Yee-Haw! I love how the dude isn't even phased; "It was quite a ride." That, my friends, is the statement of a repeat offender.
Paris Hilton, the human punchline.
Paris, probably the most widely despised criminal in recent history, has been sent home due to 'medical issues' after serving only 5 days of her (reduced) sentance of 23. Al Sharpton is all up in arms about racial and economic favoritism. Al, let's be honest here bro, exactly what in the hell did you think was going to happen? You can't honestly tell me you're suprised by this turn of events. Personally, I'm intensely curious about this generic 'medical problem'. Are we talking about simple Blackberry Withdrawal? Or the existing condition of, how do I say this, Chronic and Incapacitating Mental 'Lethargy' that Paris seems to suffer from? Or could it be that she just got the crap beat out of her so bad that she had to go home. My professional medical opinion is that a bar of soap and a tube sock would probably do considerable damage to someone who weighs in at roughly six and a half pounds.
Why I hate lawyers; reason number 56342.
From what I gather, a lawyer in DC was elected to the bench. On his first day he wanted to wear his special pants. I guess that’s like getting a new lunchbox for the first day of school. Unfortunately, the dry cleaners lost his special pants. So in the name of “"mental suffering, inconvenience and discomfort" he’s suing the dry cleaners for $67 million dollars. That must be some pair of pants.
He’s also suing for ten years of weekend rental cars to take his dry cleaning to another location. I don’t know what that’s got to do with a lost pair of pants. Regardless, the guy is calling 63 witnesses in the case. They didn’t call 63 witnesses in the fucking Manson trial. If you’re not feeling somewhat nauseous by this point you must be in law school.
According to calculations in the article, $67 million could buy this guy almost 85 thousand pairs of pants at $800 a pop. Apparently, lot’s of people think this is hysterically funny. Except the dry cleaner who broke down in tears during the interview. These poor bastards have been paying legal fees for two years already because of a pair of the special pants.
Eventually the dry cleaners offered him $3,000 which he would not accept. Then he offered $4,000, which was also declined. They then offered this guy $12,000 for the goddamned pants and the guy turned it down.
Apparently, there is a consumer protection law on the books that’s $1,500 per violation, per day. He also wants $500,000 in emotional damages and $542, 500 in legal fees, even though he is representing himself in court. All because of his special pants.
A couple of weeks after they lost the pants, the dry cleaner found them…matching ticket and everything, but the lawyer/judge claims they’re not the right ones.
I just don’t see the humor in this. The fact that a judge or lawyer or whatever the hell he is ought to know better than to clog up the courts with this shit. And the worst part is the case hasn’t been thrown out. So, lives of dry cleaner—ruined. Taxpayer money—wasted. The fact that this guy is an officer of the court and has done all this makes me sick.
Got into another fight today over the greatest movie ever made.
Citizen Kane, Gone With the Wind, On the Waterfront, The Godfather, et al.
I’m sorry. There all fine films and everything, but the greatest movie ever made is fucking Borat. It’s a goddamned masterwork. Anyone who can’t see that is too stupid to debate with.
Case closed.
Alerted to a forgotten state ban, Philadelphia authorities have closed at least 16 storefront fortune-tellers.
This is beautiful. And they never saw it coming? I go off on this a few times a year because I can’t believe the nitwits who fall for this shit.
Alerted to an obscure state law banning fortune-telling "for gain or lucre," the city's Department of Licenses and Inspections is closing storefront psychics, astrologers, phrenologists and tarot-card readers who charge money for their services.
I guess it’s cool if you’re not in it for the lucre. Can someone please explain to me why these “psychics” can’t pick red or black in a casino? Why they can’t pick the powerball numbers? Why they can’t pick a winning stock? Why don’t they live in Vegas and sit in the sports book all day? Oh wait, I think I know why. Because they’re crackpots, mental deficients, frauds, swindlers or any combination thereof.
Most so-called psychics, he said, "are not little old ladies with kerchiefs on their heads" but clever con artists capable of stealing large sums - even life savings - from grieving or otherwise vulnerable people.
No shit? There’s a palm reader on my way home from work and the parking lot is always full.
One guy they interviewed had this to say:
"They're discriminating against Gypsies," he said, although he said he was born and raised in Philadelphia. Finally, he noted that critics "considered that Jesus was a psychic, a fortune-teller, and they crucified him."
I don’t see the parallel. On this one I’m going to have to say…crackpot. No—mental deficient. Hell, I’m not sure.
But there was a time when Will and I told fortunes on our respective blogs. Go ahead; ask us a question about the future. We’re at your disposal. We’re okay because we’re not accepting lucre.
DATELINE: 3/27/2007 - Dykes Against The War Rally, Berkeley, CA
Part I
As much as it felt like that, it was actually an Indigo Girls concert in Norfolk, VA. I can't begin to describe the freakshow that I witnessed last evening. But before I begin, let me just say that I am not the slightest bit homophobic. Or is it lesbophobic? Whatever it is, I'm not. My sister is gay so I automatically get a pass. Plus, my sister is an acceptable lesbian in that she's attractive and has attractive partners that I would sleep with. That's my litmus test for "acceptable lesbians". If I'd sleep with them, they're okay.
The lesbians last night, I wouldn't even call lesbians. It was a Bull Dyke-fest. Big, fat, tattooed, pierced, scary, smelly Bull Dykes. And they were everywhere. I was the most effeminate person in the hall of 1000 people (shut up). At first, the freak-watching was interesting but then it just became obnoxious. Why do women who hate men go out of their way to look so much like us? If they're not big, scary Bull Dykes, they look just like 14 year old boys. With tattoos and face piercings of course. Everyone had either a stud through their eyebrow or through their lip. At one point, just to fit in, I wanted to rip off my shirt and scream, "Look at these, you freaks! One lousy eyebrow piercing??? I got two friggin' nipples mutilated!!" I didn't of course, because that might've caused the big 'Norfolk Lesbian Nipple Riot of '07'.
To be continued...
By now I’m sure everyone has seen the pics of that chick on American Idol that found their way on to the Internet. I’ve seen quite a few of them, including the ones of her posing in a bikini on the WWII Monument. In addition to that display of exceptionally poor judgment and taste, there were some other pics, allegedly of her, giving a hummer to someone. And, of course, a shot of her sitting on the toilet.
One of her friends came out to say that the more graphic shots are not really her. I think I even accept that as the truth. But here’s the best part from that article:
"It's the way this town is: Everybody knows everything about their friends," said Mark Dillon, 17. "At least half the people in this town have pictures of their friends on the toilet. I've personally seen at least 20. It's only because she's on TV that they're online."
Well, that sounds like quite a town. Somehow, in my long life, I have never seen shots of any of my friends sitting on the toilet. I was always a pretty popular guy too. Maybe it’s just this one particular town where toilet shots are mandatory. After all, this chap says he’s personally seen twenty of his friends in photos of them sitting on a toilet. And he’s only seventeen. Imagine how many toilet shots he will have seen if he lives a long healthy life in that town. Perhaps I’m missing something. Am I the only one not photographing people on the toilet?
And while I have no idea what type of person this girl is, I do take issue with her posing like a pin-up, in a bikini, on the WWII Monument. That’s just bad taste. Personally, I like chicks in bikinis, but posing on the WWII Monument is pretty insulting to what that monument stands for.
It doesn’t seem to bother some people, however:
"She's this attractive, talented girl who's also intelligent and knows where she wants to go," Reid said. "I consider her a role model for my daughter."
On a related note:
Her first performance on which viewers could vote, a rendition of Aerosmith's "I Don't Want To Miss A Thing," was roundly panned by the judges.
Read it and not be surprised.
The Tennessee Center for Policy Research, an independent, nonprofit and nonpartisan research organization, issued a press release late Monday:
“Last night, Al Gore’s global-warming documentary, An Inconvenient Truth, collected an Oscar for best documentary feature, but the Tennessee Center for Policy Research has found that Gore deserves a gold statue for hypocrisy.
Gore’s mansion, [20-room, eight-bathroom] located in the posh Belle Meade area of Nashville, consumes more electricity every month than the average American household uses in an entire year, according to the Nashville Electric Service (NES).”
This guy consumes more power in a month than most people do all year!
“In his documentary, the former Vice President calls on Americans to conserve energy by reducing electricity consumption at home.
The average household in America consumes 10,656 kilowatt-hours (kWh) per year, according to the Department of Energy. In 2006, Gore devoured nearly 221,000 kWh—more than 20 times the national average.
Last August alone, Gore burned through 22,619 kWh—guzzling more than twice the electricity in one month than an average American family uses in an entire year. As a result of his energy consumption, Gore’s average monthly electric bill topped $1,359.
Since the release of An Inconvenient Truth, Gore’s energy consumption has increased from an average of 16,200 kWh per month in 2005, to 18,400 kWh per month in 2006.
Gore’s extravagant energy use does not stop at his electric bill. Natural gas bills for Gore’s mansion and guest house averaged $1,080 per month last year.
“As the spokesman of choice for the global warming movement, Al Gore has to be willing to walk to walk, not just talk the talk, when it comes to home energy use,” said Tennessee Center for Policy Research President Drew Johnson.
In total, Gore paid nearly $30,000 in combined electricity and natural gas bills for his Nashville estate in 2006.”
What an asshole.
Britney Spears shaved her head.
Seriously, like we didn't see this one coming. Afterall, she's a middle child; and as such is predisposed to being an avid attention whore. So let's all gawk and stare at the crazy person.
5 to 1 her next album sells in packs of 15 as commemorative coasters. Takers?
No matter where I go I am assaulted by media reports regarding Anna Nicole Smith.
First off, I barely know who the hell she is. I think she’s some broad who married a 90 year old man, obviously for the checkbook. That’s about the extent of my knowledge. But judging by the media you’d think she split the fucking atom. Everywhere I turn it’s nothing but news about this woman. Does anyone give a shit?
Please stop the madness.
I gotta tell you, I’m just not buying it.
Yes, it's American Idol season again. You know, I usually don't watch the whole season, but I always tune in for the first few episodes. Maybe it's because I'm evil, and I have a soul that's blacker than sin itself; but at least I know I'm not alone: millions of people are watching with me.
I mean, the beginning is the best part. You get to watch all these people line up, illusions clutched tightly to their tuneless breasts; and sing at the top of their horribly cacophonous lungs. My God, and when they're told they suck; we get to witness one of two events:
1) The condescending insults of industry professionals who shatter said illusion in the immensely public arena of national television, somehow to the surprise of the contestant and/or
2) The determination to cling to said illusion and persist in now obvious and inarguable suckitude.
The whole thing is truly a testament to the hilarious depths to which a person will plunge themselves because, for no reason other than they believe, they believe.
I mean, do parents not tell their kids to 'Quit acting like a moron and grow up' anymore? Thank god my parents said that to me, or I'd probably be in my underwear on that damn show playing a set of LeCruset cookware with a pair of wooden spoons. I sure thought I was good at it as a child, until my parents told me to 'Quit acting like a moron and grow up'.
I mean, I'm sure most of us like the sound of our voice. Who doesn't sing to themselves every now and again, right? But just because I sound like Pavofrickinratti when I'm in the car with the windows rolled up and the stereo at 11, doesn't mean I'm going to get up on stage and start singing show tunes. Here's the thing - if you're really and truly good at some trade or another, then you've probably made money doing it. If you've never been on stage, never performed even at a local bar for tips, then you probably haven't got an infidel's chance in paradise of ever making it past the humiliation of the show's first episode.
In closing, I'll steal a quote:
"Life is hard. But it's harder when you're stupid."
Heap on the wood! - the wind is chill; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.
~ Sir Walter Scott
This was posted on my original blog, about a hundred years ago. I'm still haunted by this tale--ed.
When I was little kid, maybe four or five years old, my parents did something horrible to me. I still hold a grudge.
It was Christmas morning, circa 1967. I woke up and ran straight to the tree. And what I saw was too good to be true. There was a drum set. A sparkling red drum set. Santa left it for me.
I played those drums all day. It was fantastic. I played through lunch and dinner. I played until it was time to go to bed. I played until I was forced to stop.
The next morning I woke up early and ran straight for the drums, but when I got there the drums were gone. Vanished without a trace. I completely freaked out.
“Where are my drums!” I screamed. “They’re gone!”
My mother was standing over me. I knew something was terribly wrong.
“Santa came and took the drums away last night. He said you were too little to play them, and that he would bring them back when you get older.”
I began to shriek and wail. I cried and cried, while my mother just looked on. I was shocked that Santa would do something like this. It was horribly cruel. It was unjust.
Somehow, over the next ten years, I forgot about the incident.
Then one day I was up in the attic looking for something. I must have been around fifteen at the time. The attic was like a messy museum. To find anything you had to dig and explore, move boxes covered with dust and tightrope walk on the beams so you wouldn’t fall through the ceiling.
I had just moved a box and way in the back something caught my eye. I swept the flashlight beam in that direction. What I saw was astonishing. It was the red drum set.
I climbed back there at great personal risk and retrieved the drums and cymbals. The whole episode came back to me with remarkable clarity. I was very sad. However, my emotion soon turned to anger. I went downstairs and found my parents.
“I can’t believe what you did,” I said.
“What are you talking about?” my mother said.
“I found the drums! I found the goddamned drums from when I was five! Santa took them away, remember?”
“Oh, boy. Here we go,” she said.
“Yes. Here we go indeed. Do you know I thought I imagined all that? I can’t believe the cruelty.”
“Listen,” she said in a calm voice. “You banged away on those things for hours. You were driving us all nuts. It was so loud that we couldn’t have a conversation. The noise was terrible, we had to do something.”
I walked away from the conversation. I have never forgotten that episode. And every Christmas since then I have brought it up to my mother. It was 35 years ago and I’m still pissed off.
‘Tis the season.
Two days ago I was driving down the road and was passed by a car with flat tire. I did a double take, thinking I must be mistaken, but sure enough the right rear tire was flat and the old bastard just kept cruising on the rim. As if that was not strange enough, this morning I saw another car with a flat, not in the passing lane, but still, driving at about 40 MPH. Not a care in the world.
I went to get a new star for the top of the tree on Saturday and the place was a madhouse, full of insanely rude Christmas shoppers. Carts smashing into people, et al. Those people had murder I their eyes. It’s amazing the number of people who desperately need a lesson in humility—by way of a brutal beating.
Meanwhile the Christmas cards are pouring in and in a way they anger the hell out of me, as it’s a lot of work to pump these things out, and I know that we must diligently reciprocate. At the last minute obscure people always send cards and we need to scurry so we don’t go to hell or whatever. It’s getting to the point that when I hear Christmas music my natural reaction is to tense up all my muscles like I’m preparing to take a punch in the gut from Mike Tyson.
Tomorrow evening I’m expecting a guest. I have never met him, nor have I ever spoken to him on the phone. He will be spending the night and his name is Shank.
This is not a test.
The only thing I haven’t decided is who I’m going to have answer the door and say it’s me. I’m torn between a 400LB black man and a 94 LB Vietnamese guy with women’s glasses.
Maybe I’ll just do it myself in the nude. Decisions, decisions, decisions.
From the more great words in print series:
Somewhere in England a guy thought it would be a good idea to try and shoot fireworks out of his ass. The money line:
“He is now recovering in a Sunderland hospital after sustaining internal injuries including a scorched colon.”
A scorched colon. Speechless.
I normally don’t post or care about this kind of thing but this is just too good. Britney Spears told her swollen nard bag of a husband that she was divorcing him. Via a text message. The best part, however, is the quote:
“Federline, her former backing dancer, was later seen crouched in a corner crying.”
I guess I’m an ass, but there’s nothing I enjoy more than seeing something like that in print.
So I was wading through the detritus at CNN.com and found this snippet. The police chief in this small town was trying to tell his boys in blue that he'd like for them to shape up a little. He even gave a list of practical reasons for a healthy regimen of diet and exercise.
Apparently someone's feelings were hurt. Evidently the term 'jelly belly' hjas some serious cultural connotations, and using such an epithet got the chief booted.
To me it doesn't seem like the guy said anything too pointy; but maybe I'm too insensitive. I could be wrong here, but I see the police force structured in a similar fashion as the military. When the chief says "Gimme twenny!", you do it. You don't start whining about how the chief made you feel insecure about your weight. Mostly because that would make you a big fat pussy.
If you ask me, there must've been some preexisting issues in the department; and the disenfranchised parties saw this as an opportunity to remove an irritant.
And then there was this poor bastard at a Planet Fitness gym in another podunk town. His membership was revoked and he was escorted out of the facility. For what? For grunting.
Apparently grunting is overly intimidating and judgemental behavior, even if you are squatting 500lbs. Now, in every gym I've ever been to I've heard grunting; as well as all manner of macho posturing. I never saw it as intimidating though, I mostly found it intensely funny. Trying like hell to stifle my laughter for fear that they would drive me into the ground with their bare fists like some kind of human tent stake.
But seriously, people grunt when they're taking a shit. It seems only reasonable to expect a gym to have a couple grunters inside.
Can you believe this kind of shit happens, let alone makes the papers? I can see tomorrow's headline: "Little Johnny escorted to principal's office for throwing dirt on playground."
Last year the Dixie Chicks sent their radio play and CD sales into the shitter because they couldn’t just shut up and play music. Pearl Jam did the same thing, whining about politics at concerts. And now Roger Waters of Pink Floyd has decided to paint the ass of his giant pink pig with anti Bush/Blair stuff at concerts and even takes it a step further but I can’t bear to sort through it.
Yeah, we all need political advice from someone that has ingested more hallucinogens than Carlos Castaneda. On another note, why are there no fast Pink Floyd songs?
Somehow I got a trial subscription to Rolling Stone magazine. First issue I received had Justin Timberlake on the cover wearing a wet T-shit. Inside under album reviews, Paris Hilton’s album was given three starts.
Jesus wept.
My cohort has alerted me to the news that Bob Dylan’s new album is currently number one.
Being perfectly frank, I can only handle Dylan in very small doses. I like Desire, Blood on the Tracks, and Blonde on Blonde, but I can’t really listen to more than three Dylan songs in a row. And that could last me more than a year. But I’ve got a lot of respect for his songwriting which is brilliant.
I hear he’s got a show on satellite radio now, though I can’t imagine it. I haven’t heard the guy speak in years, but the last time I did I couldn’t understand a word he said. That’s not an exaggeration; I mean I literally couldn’t understand a single syllable. Might as well have been Klingon or Laotian.
Regardless, he’s got a number one album and I’ve reached the point where any album not recorded by a boy band or lip synching strumpet is a triumph. I have no use for house, techno, hip, hop or anything recorded by people who have gone to the “Creed” school of moan rock. I am old and jaded and I remember the days when people actually wrote their own songs. I remember the days when you put on an album and listened to the whole thing because it was good. The order of songs on an album was a big deal.
That’s no longer true because the music industry cultivates only the most processed shite and gang rap. There you have it, two choices; completely emasculating or violence inducing.
I take this Dylan thing as a sign, especially after the old bastard starting spouting off about how all music these days is crap. He may be unintelligible but he’s no dumbass.
I need to dig out my copy of Almost Famous tonight.
Seventy-five “leading scholars and professors” have gone off the deep end. They claim that 9/11 was an inside job to justify overtaking the muslim world.
Laugh if you like. I did at first, before I became enraged.
"We challenge this official conspiracy theory and, by God, we're going to get to the bottom of this."
I’d like to get to the bottom of a few things myself. Like finding out which universities in particular harbor these half-wits under the umbrella of tenure. I wish J. Edgar were still alive, because when he wasn’t wearing women’s clothes, he was all over shit like this.
I’m a big fan of Hoovers. He engaged in blackmailing notable public figures and other effective means of dealing with the unsavory elements.
Hoover habitually fired FBI agents, either randomly or by singling out those who "looked stupid like truck drivers" or had "pointy heads." (wikipedia)
What do these three things have in common?
Brit Rockers Attack Timberlake
MTV Awards Suffer Big Hit in Ratings
Banksy targets Paris Hilton
Could it be that people have finally had enough shit thrown at them? I know that the masses haven’t wised up—it would be absurd to think people finally woke up with some taste and intelligence. And the stepford factor runs deep; there’s no way to deprogram everyone. But at least there are signs of hope.
I have no idea who this British band is bashing Timberlake but they have my support and best wishes. If more people spoke up and called a spade a spade we wouldn’t be so tolerant of this type of shite. And that’s exactly what it is. Remember people, we once overthrew disco in a coup d'état started by the common man. Do you have to be kicked in the head by a mule to realize that this guy is to music what Sherwin-Williams is to art?
The fact that MTV lost 28% over last years ratings on the awards was also encouraging. It’s all become tiresome.
And last but not least, some idiot “artist” smuggled 500 doctored copies of Paris Hilton’s album into music stores throughout the UK where they are being sold without the shops knowledge. In place of her shitty music is a basic rhythm track with wacky sound bites of her stupidity dubbed over it and all the photos have been â€shopped to replace her head with her dog's, etc. The track listing on the back has been replaced with questions like, “Why am I famous?,” “What have I done?” and the classic, “What am I for?”
Momentum. We’re gaining momentum.
Tower Records has filed for bankruptcy and some people seem to get it:
“The collapse of Tower is a sign of the evolution of music," said Phil Leigh, senior analyst at Inside Digital Media, a market research firm. It's pretty clear that recorded music is going to Internet distribution and right behind it will be video entertainment."
CD sales fell 6% last year while digital music downloads increased 188%. But some people still have their heads in the sand.
Like this guy, who, apparently, gets paid for his opinion:
"The transition to digital music has not happened by any stretch of the imagination," Card said…
…"If I want to buy something cheap or try a new band, maybe I'll go for the cheapest which is digital, but all else being equal I'd rather have the physical product, and I'll pay a few dollars extra for it."
Really? I haven’t been in a conventional music store in two years and I buy LOTS of music. In fact I took an informal poll of my friends this morning and out of ten people not one of them had bought a hard copy of a CD through a conventional music store in the last year. Two people said that they’d ordered from Amazon, a few discs that were hard to come by, but most people simply downloaded what they wanted.
But a walk-in, brick and mortar music store? Unless you’re looking for the crap that is floating around on the Billboard top 100 you’re not going to find it. Inventory=bad, sales=good. That's how business works. Don’t get me started on inventory turns.
I don’t know if this guy is completely out of touch or if he’s just trying to spin this, but he continues with another, even more moronic statement:
"A store is a place where you can show things, make an entertainment experience. I believe music retail can make it if someone can put together a one-two punch with digital stores and physical products. For example, you could buy an album online and pick it up in the store."
I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in a long time. Someone should probably tell him that Eisenhower’s no longer in office.
Yes, the quality of music in general has not helped the business. It sucks, and record execs have put the gun in their own mouths. And yes, other forms of entertainment may have taken a bit away from music sales, but anyone who believes that digital music is not about to completely eclipse CDs probably still has some 8-tracks lying around.
So this frickin 8-yr old girl just blew up a Steinway. Blew that fucker up. Here I am , trying to enjoy a plate of nachos and some mindless, bullshit reality TV; and this wonder walks on stage and shatters the competition. She literally has more talent in her fingertips than the rest of the competition put together. I mean, I watch this show because I think it's funny what kind of panhandling, unoriginal, freakish bullshit passes for talent in this country and this girl shows up.
She should win. She may not, but she should.
...That soccer players are just as rowdy as the fans. Even the French ones, mind you.
Happy birthday America!
I hope you're all out there on the beach or barbecuing or shooting off those illegal fireworks. I love this country, and my family's shed blood on this land to ensure that it was not only ours, but free. As much as some of the people who live here annoy me, I wouldn't ever let my homeland leave my heart.
Further, to read words in this regard makes me want to dig out my grandfather's old hunting boots and go stomping a mudhole in someone's ass. Some people take everything for granted; to such an insane extent that as they curse their own nation, they don't realize that the great thing about their nation is that they're allowed to curse it in public.
To those little twats, I say: Pack your crap up and move. If you want to dish the poop out on my country on a day like today (or any damn day for that matter); then take your ass somewhere else that you think is better. Not only will you never find such a place; but when you come back, we all get to rochambeau you. Hey, them's the rules.
BRB, I gotta go 'slpode some stuff.
The reason that a lot of Europeans think little of Americans isn’t always based on politics. Sometimes the truth hurts a little. When you consider the fact that most Americans who travel to Europe are stupid fat people expecting everyone to speak English and have early bird specials at all the restaurants it’s really no wonder at all. Go to the mall and look around this weekend. Then imagine shipping them off to represent you in Europe or anywhere else and tell me you’re not a little apprehensive. Sorry, folks, don’t shoot the messenger.
Take a look at this jackass.
He checked into a hotel in Germany for the WC and after the game he couldn’t find his hotel. He wandered around for six hours aimlessly with no hope. He didn’t know the name of his hotel or anything else except it was near a park and a Mercedes dealership. Do you know how many Mercedes dealerships are in Germany?
By three in the morning he went to the cops and pleaded for help and they drove him around like a child for two hours looking for his hotel in city of 500,000.
Idiot.
If I could blog this good, I'd have a 'Beer Fund' tipping jar too. 50 trackbacks? When my ego has a wet dream it doesn't get that good. Some really wasted dude in Iowa is at a bar right now, telling all his friends about how he made beer money on the internet. So at least I know it's possible.
Well, another hurricane season is upon us; and with it no doubt will come all the frantic insanity and sensationalist hyperbole we should all expect from the media. Take Alberto, the storm's practically a flash in the pan and Drudge pulled out his flashing siren for it. I can fart harder than 70 mph; but I digress. Having lived in several hurricane-prone areas, and seen the extremes at both ends of the spectrum; I thought maybe I might have something to offer. As it turns out (and you may have guessed) I don't; so I asked Paul to add something to the post that might have merit. If you can tell who wrote which peices of advice, I'll send you a special gift in the mail; free of charge of course.
Gut Busting
A guy ate 47 grilled cheese sandwiches in ten minutes this weekend. No mention of if he’ll need to use blasting caps to take a dump in the coming days. I just don’t get it.
Sports
In soccer news, Persia got their asses kicked. I think they threw it. That skid mark of a president kept threatening to attend the games like Hitler at the 1936 Olympics. The big difference is that this guy likes to stir the pot at every opportunity and Hitler was less arm waving and more action. Give it time, I guess. This guy’s obviously a big fan of Der Führer and he needs to get whacked.
Terror
Al Qaeda in Iraq announced Zarqawi’s successor as if were a posting in the WSJ. I don’t know about you, but if I headed a terrorist organization I wouldn’t be announcing or posting promotions and roster changes. It just seems…like the stupidest thing I could ever imagine. If the guy exists at all and if he’s not a red herring.
Obits
The guy who wrote (I think) the theme to 2001: A Space Odyssey is dead. He did for kettle drums what Einstein did for physics.
Opinion
I’m having new flooring installed at the house and it’s been a goat-hump from the get-go. The thing I really don’t understand is why these people can’t just show up at the time they say they will? Is it really so hard?
When they do show up one of them stays on his cell phone the whole time, often disappearing for hours and the other guy doesn’t speak English. Or Spanish, German or French. I have no idea what it was but I couldn’t fucking parlay no matter how hard I tried. Am I expected to know Albanian or Serbo-Croatian or whatever it was? Meanwhile the work’s not getting done and I’m getting antsy and this bastard goes around my house fucking whistling all day. Literally. And I don’t want them using my toilet anymore.
Not much of a post, I know. Spare me the critique.
May 1 protest aims to "close" cities
"There will be 2 to 3 million people hitting the streets in Los Angeles alone. We're going to close down Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, Tucson, Phoenix, Fresno," said Jorge Rodriguez, a union official who helped organize earlier rallies credited with rattling Congress as it debates the issue.”
So basically, a large group of people who are here illegally are going to threaten us. Great strategy, huh? I don’t respond to threats well. I don’t know anyone who does.
One of my grandfathers came to this country from Europe with very little. He did it the legal way; waited, applied, got the paperwork, etc. When he got here he immediately went to work at General Motors and attended night school to learn English. When he finally became a US citizen he was the proudest man alive. He worked at that job until the day he dropped dead. He never used a government agency for anything, he was too proud.
Meanwhile, a group of haughty thugs run across the border and start making demands. Hanging the American flag upside down, under an American flag. Now they’re going to “teach us a lesson” by shutting down cities. I guess this is why the third world nations are so fucked up, because of this mentality.
If you read that paragraph I quoted you’ll also see the words “union official.” Go figure.
Apparently I’m not the only one who feels this way:
"It's intimidation when a million people march down main streets in our major cities under the Mexican flag," said Jim Gilchrist, founder of the Minuteman volunteer border patrol group. "This will backfire," he said.”
And the best part about this whole unbelievable fiasco? The California State Senate has given them their blessing.
I’m a middle of the road kind of guy, but this really pushes my buttons. This IS why the third world countries are so fucked up. This mentality is a fucking sickness.
Borders, Waldenbooks Won't Carry Magazine
Borders and Waldenbooks stores will not stock the April-May issue of Free Inquiry magazine because it contains cartoons of the Prophet Muhammad that provoked rioting, burning, et. al.
Here’s the good part:
"We absolutely respect our customers' right to choose what they wish to read and buy and we support the First Amendment," Bingham said. "And we absolutely support the rights of Free Inquiry to publish the cartoons. We've just chosen not to carry this particular issue in our stores."
That’s like a country club saying, “We totally believe in equality and human rights, and that’s why we’re happy to invite Blacks, Indians, Hispanics and Catholics to join. We’ve just chosen not to let the Jews in.”
I mean, it was inevitable that I would write an American Idol post. I got pretty drunk last night, bombed actually, and decided that American Idol was a good way to spend my time. It wasn't as increidbly gay as I thought it would be, but understand, that's how drunk I was. I wouldn't recommend trying this without supervision; the old lady was home and wasn't nearly as plastered as I was.
First, the judges. Randy is a sycophantic jerkoff. That guy tells everyone "It's not the best song you've sung, but I like it." What a limp noodle that guy is. Paula is just like Randy, but with smaller tits. A big ol' bag of clapping, head-nodding idiocy. Simon. I like Simon, much like myself he's almost always right. And, much like myself, he could probably stand to be less of a dick to absolutely everyone in the world. Guy needs to tone it down a few notches. Seacrest needs to be lit on fire during the season finale. I can't believe Simon's never jumped over the table and throttled that guy. He's such a corny, limp-wristed, plastic geek. I mean, they might as well just have a cardboard cutout of Ben Stein interviewing these people.
Mandisa - Despite her unfortunate name (which sounds like something one might call a crossdresser) and the unfortunate shape of her body, she's got awesome talent. And don't get me wrong about her body, I'm not saying she's too fat to win, I'm just saying her shape is odd. It's like one size above the waist, and a totally other size below. How does this chick find clothes? Anyways.
Bucky - What a fucking reject this guy is. Why are you even on the show? He's up there, singing like he's got a handful of marbles in his mouth and just in general looking like a complete tool. His hair is horrible too. Like I can't fucking tell you dye the shit when you've got Walter Matthau's eyebrows reincarnated on your forehead there.
Paris - This chick has style for miles.That's all I have written down on my notes. The word style over and over again. Must've been getting pretty wasted by this time. She did pull this 'Aw shucks' routine while talking to Seacrest (that insufferable side-alley glory hole) that I totally didn't believe. I think that's the chick whose family is in the biz, so I doubt she's one of these types who shufffles her feet and stares at the dirt.
Chris - You almost made me hate Johnny Cash, then I remembered it wasn't his fault you were encouraged to completely mutilate the song that would become his mantra. You're a fucking dick for singing 'Walk the Line' like some kind of Vegas lounge lizard. I hope Cash haunts your nightmares. If you want to sing like some soulless idiot, I'm sure Limp Bizkit could use a new frontman, or your local college band is scouting for some groupies to tour with. Unbelieveable man.
Catherine - Wow. This chick, besides being finer than frog's hair, can sing like only a couple other ladies on the show. She smolders like a smelt pot at a die-casting plant, and sings with real feeling. Granted, I think she missed a note in there somewhere, but it's not too often someone does justice to such a song.
Taylor - I love me a whiskey tenor. Besides the fact that this dude is old enough to have fathered the rest of the contestants and is still a contender, is the fact that he's got one of those rare gravelly tones that's still even. It's a difficult voice to sing with, and I'm not surprised he's so much older - probably took him that long to get it right.
Lisa - What a cornball this chick is. She's not unique, nor does she have any real outstanding appeal. I mean, she's up there obviously trying to be sexy, but it just looks like some highschool kid imitating Christina Aguilera or any of the other million pop princesses out there. Besides, she's oversinging the shit out of the song, and would be better singing show tunes.
Kevin - When this kid walked out, I had pretty much decided that I wasn't going to like him. I mean, he's dorky looking, young, starry eyed; and that shit is just the slippery slope to another one of these "Oh man, I never thought I'd make it to Hawllywood!" types. But he fucking nailed it. He could have so easily been corny and hokey, but he fucking nailed it. I was assuming he'd get out there and absolutely belt this tune out; loud long chords, just murdering the song. But his delivery was smooth and his own. Great. Now we just need to get him laid.
Elliot - Looks retarded. He's wearing a 'Striped Shirt!', untucked of course, a big fucking dorky yellow tie, and faded jeans. How obnoxious, he's dressed like Carrot Top or some shit. Where your props at dickface? Anyways, and he sings like a douche too. Barry Manilow even tried to coach you into not mauling the melody, but you went out there and rode the thing all over the stage. I can't believe Simon gave you the thumbs up, if I was there, I'd be throwing shit at the stage.
Kelly - I love the chick's backstory, very authentic; but she didn't sing the blues well. I don't know if she wasn't feeling it, or just didn't tap herself, but she's out here singing this blues song and I fell like I'm watching the Mickey Mouse Club or some shit. She's not dressed to sing the blues, not expressing the blues in her facial or body language. What gives girl?
Ace - Another unfortunate name. People name their pets Ace dude, I'm sorry. You have better intonation than that other long haired wanker, but you need to move from behind the mic. What are you hiding from back there dude? It's not your date man, quit trying to make out with the thing. Oh Christ. He's got sunglasses tucked into his pocket. Man, you're inside and it's nighttime. You sang well, but in the end, you looked like a bonehead. It's okay though, I'm sure your mommy still loves you.
Once a year I become so enraged over scientology that I post something. This shall be brief.
Comedy Central pulled a repeat of the South Park episode mocking scientology, purportedly after pressure from he who shall not be named who threatened Viacom, saying he’d pull out of the promotions for Mission Impossible 14.
I said I would keep this brief, so here’s the fundamental issue I have:
Crazy brainwashing cult created by a shitty science fiction writer. That’s it. The whole bushel of corn.
You’d think people would shy away from a “religion” that sprang up overnight from the mind of a shitty writer. You’d think that people might be wary about “religions” that charge exorbitant sums of money. You’d think that people would be hesitant about a “religion” where locking people in rooms is common practice.
You’d think people would just say no to a church who was FOUND GUILTY
of charges relating to infiltration of the Ontario government and 3 police forces in the 1970’s and fined $250,000.
You’d think a lot of things, but you’d be wrong. Because people are fucking nuts.
I’m done.
Best ever article on scientology, from Rolling Stone.
Short, fun article on scientology.
I’ve never been a big fan of St. Patrick’s day. Somehow, even though I’m a wee bit Irish, I can’t validate it as a holiday. I still have to go to work.
When I was a kid my Mom would bake Irish soda bread and we’d eat corned beef and cabbage and I’d hear tales of our earlier ancestors, who apparently brought nothing with them from Ireland except a foul mouth, which has become my only legacy.
“Our family came from County Cork,” my mother would say with pride, as if she could find it on a map. “Nanna used to say we were what’s known as shanty lace Irish.”
I believe that to mean that they didn’t have a pot to piss in but had notions of being more respectable. Sounds eerily familiar.
I’m a pretty fair genealogist and I’ve found that some of my Irish forefathers were tavern keepers in the 1870s. Sample rooms, tap rooms and taverns. They couldn’t have been very successful because they’re long gone now. Once on a trip back to where I grew up I went downtown to find the old addresses of a couple of these places. I wanted some photos but it didn’t turn out too good. What used to be a shitty Irish neighborhood one hundred years earlier was a full-fledged ghetto now, and once the first bottle bounces off the rental car I usually take the hint.
Maybe writing this post has had an effect on me as I suddenly feel the need to have a drink. I wouldn’t mind a Bushmills. Or some vanilla extract. Who’s kidding who, I’d drink cough syrup right now if I could get it.
This just in:
Twenty Major is live blogging from a pub in Ireland.
I’ve never given Denmark much thought. They seem innocuous enough. I get the Scandinavian and the Low Countries mixed up. Are they the folks with the windmills? Doesn’t matter. Anyway, they’ve got Saladin and his lot marching on them like the fucking Third Reich over these cartoons.
And if that’s not enough, now they’ve got Muslim agitators all over the globe stirring up more violence. It pains me to say this, but at least the hippies weren’t violent. Maybe if these guys hit the hookah a little more often we’d have less bellyaching from them.
I rarely post politics and I’m not starting now, but it’s painfully obvious to the sane people of the world that as a global collective we need to stop wiping the asses of these fucking extremists. Pretty soon it’s going to be “Step on a crack, break Mohammed’s back,” and they’ll be rioting and burning every time someone doesn’t say Mother, may I before they get on an eastbound freeway.
There is no reasoning with extremists.
Now maybe the rest of the world will wake up and see what’s coming down the pike in the long run—because it’s coming. Mark my words, there will be a day in the not-so-distant future where countries will be standing in line to be our allies.
Ancient History
First of all, who was Valentine? Nobody really knows. The Roman Catholic Church lists three St. Valentines, all of whom were martyred.
There’s a lot of legends and I guess if I gave a shit I could list some, but for the sake of brevity let’s keep the story moving. In ancient Rome, some fertility ritual or another took place around February 15th. They’d slaughter a goat and a dog and then dip strips of their hides into the blood. That’s when the fun began.
Then boys would run around the city slapping girls with the bloody hide in order to make them more fertile. Between that and all the drinking from lead pots it’s no wonder the Roman empire collapsed, but that’s another story.
I’m losing interest in this post, but if you want to have yourself a real Valentines celebration this year you’re probably going to jail for animal cruelty so it may be a good idea to just stick with a card and some flowers.
Modern History
Guys purchase gaudy lingerie and give it to their girlfriends. I don’t know what they’re thinking, but they do this. I’ve had conversations with guys over this before and there’s no getting through to them.
“That’s a gift for you dumbass. You’re supposed get a gift for them. No ulterior motives. You know…something romantic. What you’ve got there looks like a very cheaply made undergarment for an 1870s era prostitute.”
“No way, Dude. She’s going to be into this.”
I don’t know why people don’t listen.
Turns out more people watched the American Idol auditions last night than the Grammy awards.
I have little use for either show, but the Grammy’s annoy the shit out of me, much like the Oscars. I can’t understand America’s fascination with these self-indulgent bullshit festivals.
I have almost no respect for today’s music world. These hogs have been at the trough for a long goddamned time. Where’s the talent? Ah, don’t even get me started.
Anyway, American Idol swept the ratings and in doing so, poked a finger in the eyes of U2, Madonna and I imagine a great many rappers and breathy boy band style crooners. I wouldn’t know because I hold the whole music industry in contempt. I haven’t purchased a CD or song recorded in the last five years. And I still buy a shitload of music every week.
I’m absolutely thrilled that viewers would rather watch people embarrass and humiliate themselves on TV than tune in to watch more of these overblown windbags talk about how wonderful they all are as a collective.
Is anybody surprised by this? They have the mentality of little kids.
They never really evolved from Lord of the Flies.
Why civilization is crumbling— reason number 78,634:
…Today, men are buying themselves bracelets, rings and pendant necklaces with increasing frequency and wearing their bling with a confidence and flair heretofore unseen in the Western world, according to fashion experts and industry observers. ……"These super-masculine guys are saying, 'Jewelry's cool, and I'll show you why because I'll wear it.' So as a result, men are thinking, 'Hey, it's OK for me to wear this.' " …
No. No it’s not. I cannot abide a man wearing a shitload of jewelry. You know how men decorate apartments? A couple of cinder blocks and a plank for a couch?
Well, that how they pick jewelry too. I draw the line at a watch. And my weddin’ ring.
“Larry, stop pointin' that fuckin' gun at my Dad!”
….Nice Guy Eddie
Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Yesterday someone pointed out this story about a man who went missing on a Royal Caribbean cruise. Nothing strange about that really, it seems to happen once a month or so, and if I were an aspiring mobster I couldn’t think of a more cost-effective, low risk method of offing someone than taking them on a cruise and going for a midnight stroll.
But it gets better. It’s now been pointed out that absinthe, an illegal drink in many countries, was being consumed by everyone involved.
First of all, let’s talk about absinthe, which is all the rage these days. Absinthe is a vile tasting liquor that is illegal in America and many other locals because it contains wormwood, an herb that can cause hallucinations. Back in the day, absinthe was a favorite drink of Vincent Van Gogh, Oscar Wilde, Edgar Allen Poe and countless other artistic types.
"In large amounts it would certainly make people see strange things and behave in a strange manner," said Jad Adams, author of the book, "Hideous Absinthe: A History of the Devil in a Bottle." "It gives people different, unusual ideas which they wouldn't have had on their own accord because of its stimulative effect on the mind."
Not unlike vodka, Jägermeister, or shots of Patron Silver tequila.
“Oscar Wilde, one of many 19th-century artists and writers who enjoyed the drink, thought the floor was covered with flowers while drinking absinthe, Adams said.”
Fair enough, I suppose, but still nothing a good grain alcohol buzz couldn’t conjure at freshman mixer.
Anyway, you can buy absinthe today in England and many other places, but the laws require that they limit the amount of Wormwood that’s in the stuff, so essentially, it’s so pussified that it’s not really even absinthe anymore. In London bars they limit you to two shots, just in case. I guess they don’t want anybody pulling a Van Gogh or a Tell-Tale Heart episode.
But back to the cruise ship.
“Witnesses say Smith and his bride, Jennifer Hagel Smith, were heavily intoxicated and argued in the ship's bar the night Smith disappeared. Passengers say Smith called his wife names, and she responded by kicking him in the groin hard enough to double him over.”
It gets complicated after that, but the absinthe plays heavily into things.
"They drank the whole bottle," said Victorio Jove, a 25-year-old passenger from Mexico.”
So there’s the theory. The butler did it in the library with a bottle of shitty booze. I think it’s shite, personally. Shots of yacker-meister could easily provide the same effect as this watered-down version of absinthe only it wouldn’t be mysterious or newsworthy.
But back to the cruise. Today someone points me to this story about the same missing man and the same boat.
“Imagine boarding a pricey, 11-day cruise to sail around the Caribbean and into the Panama Canal only to find a small squadron of criminalists in navy-blue jump suits - "Forensic Lab" emblazoned in yellow on their backs - inching their way across a metal canopy over a stack of lifeboats. Yellow harnesses adorned their crime scene uniforms, to save them from a fall.”
Well, I hope that’s romantic enough for you. If not, here’s some more:
“Several balconies above, forensic lighting was beamed down from what had been the Smiths' stateroom in a search for latent blood and other evidence. From multiple balconies above, cruise patrons leaned over railings and took photographs of a vacation bonus that was by no means highlighted by Royal Caribbean.”
This is even better:
“Lee, wearing latex gloves, could be seen spraying a chemical that enhances the presence of bloodstains to the undersides of the stateroom balcony rail.”
I don't know what I'm getting at here, but can you imagine being a passenger on this fucking love boat of death?
Annoying someone via the Internet is now a federal crime
It's no joke. Last Thursday, President Bush signed into law a prohibition on posting annoying Web messages or sending annoying e-mail messages without disclosing your true identity.
…This ridiculous prohibition, which would likely imperil much of Usenet, is buried in the so-called Violence Against Women and Department of Justice Reauthorization Act. Criminal penalties include stiff fines and two years in prison.
I rarely comment on the news because too many people do it better than me, but these really got under my skin.
U.N. Temporarily Halts Caviar Exports
GENEVA - A U.N. panel ordered a temporary halt to caviar exports by the world's major producers Tuesday, buying time for experts to find ways to reverse dwindling populations of threatened sturgeon — whose eggs provide the culinary delicacy.
This the U.N. acts on?
Iran is now refining their own yellowcake, in North Korea there’s a nutcase with at least three mid-range nukes and a haircut worse than mine, and in Africa genocide has become the new Oktoberfest. And these assholes are fucking around with beluga? What a goddamned embarrassment.
On the lighter side:
Angry passengers sue after plane delay
BERLIN (Reuters) - Six German airline passengers who said they were being held against their will on an aircraft stuck on the runway for hours during a snowstorm have filed "false imprisonment" charges, German police said Saturday.
Passengers boarded the plane at Berlin's Tegel airport at 7 a.m. Thursday, but snow and ice delayed their takeoff. At 11:30 a.m. a man named Ingo Q. called a police emergency hotline on his cell phone and said he felt as if he was being "held hostage," the tabloid Bild reported Saturday.
These people sat on the runway for seven fucking hours. I’ve been in situations similar to this and let me tell you—you are being held hostage. It’s not like flights to London are scarce. Six people sued for false imprisonment and I hope to hell they win.
Welcome Christmas
While we stand
Heart to heart
And hand in hand
This year's naughty level is about 40%.
I’m starting to get a lot of emails about Christmas and nary a one has been positive. Christmas stress can be high level.
Trying to live up to past holidays. The huge expense and time commitments. Facing the holidays alone, losing relatives, owning up to failed relationships…it all adds up.
Most of my Christmases have been very good. Some were fantastic. Two of them were train wrecks beyond comprehension.
Last night I was forced to sit through an episode of America’s Next To Model. I was offended on so many levels.
I don’t know what the hell the world has come to but I’m embarrassed by it. And rather than waste my time and yours describing why I hate this show, I’ll simply make a better offer.
America’s Next Top Plumber.
Instead of being hosted by some daft model (I refuse to use the term supermodel) it will be hosted by a plumber. A really successful plumber, who will give the candidates advice on winning, and on plumbing in general. You know, so America’s young people know what to expect as they try to realize their dream, because plumbing is a cut-throat business.
“It’s all about how you load the truck, Bobby. You need to know exactly where those fittings are. You can’t just throw 2” fittings in with the 1” fittings. It just won’t work.”
And instead of getting runway instruction from a large black man dressed like a woman and wearing a hat constructed from waxed fruit, the contestants will be given help in specific areas of plumbing application and general public courtesies. The contestants will visit a uniform consultant and will be fitted for appropriate work clothing. Butt cracks will be eliminated. Tools must be kept clean. Taking sports action from customers would be frowned upon.
Weekly competitions will vary, but may include:
Proper installation (and pronunciation) of a bidet
Changing out a residential toilet
Commercial urinal replacement
Snaking a line clogged up by tampons
Septic tank leak repair
I don’t know if I could actually sell this treatment to network, but I’m certain that I could sell my next idea. That entail’s combining the two shows. You’d have some hot chicks learning how to install copper pipe. Tyra Banks would get to stay on as co-host. She could make sure the girls use the right kind of eye makeup and how to up-sell decorative faucets and sinks. On the flip side, we’ll get a top-notch plumber that can really show these girls around a shitter. How to adjust a ball float, replacing the tank gaskets and changing-out the flapper.
I’m thinking Fox would be all over this.
Man, do I hate Ashton Kutcher.
Once in a blue moon I’ll try to sit through an episode of Punk’d when the remote is out of reach. I find it unbearable. How many times can they threaten to tow somebody’s car?
My dream is that someday when he comes running out at the end, grinning like a fucking idiot, the “celebrity” won’t know or care who he is and proceeds to beat the living shit out of him. I’m talking on the ground, trying to cover his face and head while somebody’s posse keeps on kicking and kicking him.
At least I’m honest.
I see there’s a fight on to come clean and call a Christmas tree a Christmas tree.
“If it's a spruce tree adorned with 10,000 lights and 5,000 ornaments displayed on the Capitol grounds in December, it's a Christmas tree and that's what it should be called, says House Speaker Dennis Hastert.”
Well said. It’s time to stop the bullshit and call it what it is.
Some of my best friends are Pagans.
Last month my five year old took part in a book parade at school. They were supposed to dress up in a costume as a character from any book. They then walked in a parade carrying the book they choose the costume from. They were to wear the costume all day, and after the parade they had a party. The date of this “parade” was October 31st.
Some years ago it was decided, by whom I don’t know, that it was verboten to use the word terms Christmas tree, Christmas party, Christmas vacation, ad nausuem. I understand the premise. Not everyone is Christian. Well, it is what it is. It’s a Christmas tree. If we don’t want to have Christmas trees, ban the trees not the name. Is it any less insulting by changing the name? If I were really disturbed by this, changing the name and continuing the practice would piss me off even more.
A few years ago at work I was in a meeting and someone brought up the annual Christmas party. One of the VP’s said that we could no longer call it a Christmas party. He leaned in close to me and said in a low voice, “Some people are Jewish.” It was almost a whisper. No shit? I felt like screaming, “They know they’re Jewish! What's it to you, anyway?”
I’m not Jewish but a lot of my friends are. I’ve lived in areas where Christians are a minority. My neighbors are Jewish and they love coming over at Christmas. I have two Jewish friends who have Christmas trees every year. A few years ago I was Christmas shopping in the Fairfax district in Los Angeles. People were wishing me “Happy Hanukah” left and right. Do you know what my response was? “Same to you!” If I didn’t want to be surrounded by Jewish people I wouldn’t be there.
And just for the record, I’m Godless. That doesn’t mean I want “In God we trust taken off the dollar bill.” In fact I’m pissed off that people are actually trying to do that.
I’d like to know where all this over-the-top political correctness came from? Who the hell started it, and why has it been pushed this far down everyone’s throat?
Other points of view are welcome.
***Update***
Here’s an article from the Boston Globe that has a few gems in it:
It's discriminatory, too. Hanukkah menorahs are never referred to as ''holiday lamps" -- not even the giant menorahs erected in Boston Common and many other public venues each year by Chabad, the Hasidic Jewish outreach movement. No one worries that calling the Muslim holy month of Ramadan by its name -- or even celebrating it officially, as the White House does with an annual ''iftaar" dinner -- might be insensitive to non-Muslims. In this tolerant and open-hearted nation, religious minorities are not expected to keep their beliefs out of sight or to squelch their traditions lest someone, somewhere, take offense.
This article centers on major retail outlets and the choices they’ve made. Seperation of church and retail. Check out the poll.
I really can’t believe the war that’s going on over this. Someone is out to steal Christmas and I’m not fucking having it. The only problem is, I don't like the people I'm in bed with over this thing.
What did the pilgrims and Indians eat on the first Thanksgiving?
Much of what we consider standard Thanksgiving fare is based on supposition, conjecture and myth, but there are two first hand accounts of the first Thanksgiving that shed some light on what they really ate.
Edward Winslow's account was written in a letter dated December 12, 1621.
Our corn [i.e. wheat] did prove well, and God be praised, we had a good increase of Indian corn, and our barley indifferent good, but our peas not worth the gathering, for we feared they were too late sown. They came up very well, and blossomed, but the sun parched them in the blossom. Our harvest being gotten in, our governor sent four men on fowling, that so we might after a special manner rejoice together after we had gathered the fruit of our labors. They four in one day killed as much fowl as, with a little help beside, served the company almost a week. At which time, amongst other recreations, we exercised our arms, many of the Indians coming amongst us, and among the rest their greatest king Massasoit, with some ninety men, whom for three days we entertained and feasted, and they went out and killed five deer, which they brought to the plantation and bestowed on our governor, and upon the captain and others. And although it be not always so plentiful as it was at this time with us, yet by the goodness of God, we are so far from want that we often wish you partakers of our plenty.
The second account was written by William Bradford in his History of Plymouth Plantation. Oddly, this account was pilfered by the British during the Revolutionary war and rediscovered in 1854. This account gives us the turkey thing.
They began now to gather in the small harvest they had, and to fit up their houses and dwellings against winter, being all well recovered in health and strength and had all things in good plenty. For as some were thus employed in affairs abroad, others were exercising in fishing, about cod and bass and other fish, of which they took good store, of which every family had their portion. All the summer there was no want; and now began to come in store of fowl, as winter approached, of which this place did abound when they came first (but afterward decreased by degrees). And besides waterfowl there was great store of wild turkeys, of which they took many, besides venison, etc. Besides they had about a peck of meal a week to a person, or now since harvest, Indian corn to that proportion.
So there we have it. The pilgrims spent three days partying with 90 wild Indians. Too bad the peas didn’t turn out. I plan to point out all the flaws in our meal this Thanksgiving, so if peas are served I’m going to demand we throw them away.
There was probably pumpkin pudding on the first Thanksgiving, sweetened with honey and perhaps similar to pumpkin pie filling, but there would have been no crust. So when the pie comes out this year I’m going to scoop out the filling and plop it on a plate and throw the crust away. If anyone tries to stop me they’ll get an earful.
Cranberries were available, but not sugar, so no cranberry sauce was on the menu. In addition to Cod, they also ate a lot of eels, so if you want to make your Thanksgiving authentic, make sure you get plenty of eels. Mmm. Eels.
There were no potatoes or sweet potatoes either. They were not native to or introduced to the area yet. And there was no ham. The pilgrims didn’t have pigs with them, unless you count Bradford.
Apropos of nothing, in 1623, Winslow wrote that eagle tasted just like mutton. Just so you know.
Aude sapere
Here’s a headline from AP this morning:
Wilma Roars Toward Yucatan, Southern Fla.
As of this writing, the fucking thing is wobbling around at seven MPH. Seven MPH is not roaring. It’s also nowhere near Florida, it’s currently not heading towards Florida, and I suspect that these pinheads have no idea where it’s going to end up.
I even have some proof.
For the past three days I’ve heard and seen nothing but one forecast track, the published conglomeration of models interpreted and published by NOAA. Last night’s 5:00PM discussion, which can be found archived here, shows not only the unpredictability of hurricanes, but the ineptitude of forecasters. Witness, then, what happens when they throw their hands into the air:
“AGREEMENT AMONG THE TRACK GUIDANCE MODELS...WHICH HAD BEEN VERY GOOD OVER THE PAST COUPLE OF DAYS...HAS COMPLETELY COLLAPSED TODAY. THE 06Z RUNS OF THE GFS...GFDL...AND NOGAPS MODELS ACCELERATED WILMA RAPIDLY TOWARD NEW ENGLAND UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF A LARGE LOW PRESSURE SYSTEM IN THE GREAT LAKES REGION. ALL THREE OF THESE MODELS HAVE BACKED OFF OF THIS SOLUTION...WITH THE GFDL SHOWING AN EXTREME CHANGE...WITH ITS 5-DAY POSITION SHIFTING A MERE 1650 NMI FROM ITS PREVIOUS POSITION IN MAINE TO THE WESTERN TIP OF CUBA.”
Emphasis mine.
Today they’re back to the old track, most likely because they have no clue and are afraid to say so.
Wouldn’t it be better if they just were honest about it? Just once I’d like to hear them say, “Look, man, this thing’s heading west right now, but we don’t where it’s going or when it’s going to get there. Our educated guess says it hits the Yucatan on Thursday, but after that we just shake the magic eight ball.”
I bet that any one of us could predict where this thing lands with as much accuracy as the National Hurricane Center.
"ALBUQUERQUE, N.M. - The author of a new state law that allows felony charges against owners of dangerous dogs was hospitalized over the weekend after his own dog attacked him."
I rarely laugh out loud.
Drudge, who gets more pathetic with each passing day, gives us this:
MADONNA WARNS: ALL WILL GO TO HELL IF DON'T TURN FROM WICKED BEHAVIOR
Not much of a story, really. Three lines about the old trollop turned Nostradamus. He also adds, “Developing.” Yeah, you definitely want to keep your eye on that one.
Twenty seconds of my life, gone the way of the dodo.
Mofo.
After reading this I had an inspired idea on how to improve the show Iron Chef America.
Currently, they have three judges. Two are usually food critics of some sort, and the third is usually some minor celebrity. On my version of the show, they’ll have six judges. Three will be proven food people. The other three? Hobos.
Surely they can find three hobos who can use a hundred bucks and meal. Meanwhile, the entertainment value goes up tenfold. There’s no reason why hobos can’t be food critics and just think of the potential. You’ll have some world class chefs being judged, likely harshly, by bums. Those fragile egos will be put to a serious test.
Maybe they can give the bums each a new suit of clothes, a bath and a shave so that they don’t stink the place up too bad and then let them comment and fill out scorecards like the other judges. It would be interesting and probably hysterically funny to see hobos critique and articulate their views on haute cuisine. I’m telling you, this would be huge, especially if they start hollering and have bad table manners.
The chefs, for they’re part, will have to satisfy both astute food industry people and the hobos.
Maybe I’m just fascinated by hobos put into close contact with “the beautiful people.” Is that wrong? I mean, it’s not like I’m calling them vagrants or anything.
I was in a position to watch a great number of people this weekend, being in a very crowded place, and I’m sorry to report that the incidents of inappropriate attire people don for public display has not lessened.
I witnessed several instances of heavy women wearing low rise jeans or shorts with a skimpy top that bares the midriff. The problem with this particular style of dress on a heavy woman is that when they squeeze into those jeans, the fat gets pushed up and over the waistband creating a “muffin top.” I had no idea there was a specific term for this until my old lady enlightened me whilst pointing one out.
She elaborated.
“The problem is, almost everything is cut to low rise for women nowadays,” she said. “But you have to have a great body to pull off the bare midriff without the muffin top. That’s why a lot of girls wear a top that covers it. As you can see, some people either don’t know or don’t care about the muffin top.”
It was enlightening.
Aside from the muffin tops, I saw a lot of other disturbing attire. Guys wearing Capri pants. I wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it. Someone needs to explain to me to me how a guy can walk around in Capri pants and not feel like a total dickwad—because the guys I saw looked like total dickwads.
Some people wear what I like to call the “designer costume”. That’s where every piece of clothing they wear has DKNY or Hilfiger stamped all over it. I’m not a fan of obviousness. Guy’s do this more than girls and it makes me cringe.
Then there’s “the juicy chicks.” Women who wear shorts with the word “juicy” written prominently across their ass. While that may work for women in decent shape, the majority of women I saw should really know better than to draw attention to their fat asses by boldly printing slogans across it. Some of these broads could have a whole paragraph written back there. What could they possibly be thinking?
Don’t think I’m against heavy people… that’s not the case at all. I’m against heavy people wearing clothing that’s clearly inappropriate. If I had a big beer gut, I wouldn’t wear tight fitting shirts or take my shirt off at every available opportunity. For some reason fat guys love to take their shirts off.
On the bright side, I saw a hot chick wearing some kind of spandex, half body suit that fit like a second skin. It was black and red and I didn’t see her until my kid pointed and called out, “There’s Mrs. Incredible!” And that’s exactly what she looked like. Yes, one could say it was inappropriate attire, but at least it didn’t repulse me.
I miss Bill. His curmudgeonry was legendary, and his absolute contempt for just about everyone around him was an inspiration to the misanthrope community. However, there's something about Bill that he hasn't been telling us. Maybe because he's embarrassed (I know I would be), and maybe because it shows a side of him that others might see as weak. But we're all real people here Bill, and we all have little things about us that make us look stupid.
Below the fold, for the not so faint of heart.
I rarely bring up politics or world events, but I may have stumbled on to something quite by accident.
From here:
“A man holds a woman by the hand and dances with her in front of everyone. Does that serve the national interest?”
Who gives a shit? Nothing these assholes do serves any real national interests. I think the reason these people are so full of hate is because they’re not getting laid. They’re so repressed by Stone Age beliefs that they probably need to be taught masturbation.
After controversies when a Hamas-led council halted a dance festival and Islamist gunmen stopped a rap band performing in Gaza, Dr Zahar defended the enforcement of a strict interpretation of Islam.
Okay, so they’re not into hip-hop. I can’t fault their judgment on that, but they need to loosen up. Let’s face it, we’ve seen this all before. Remember Footloose? Kevin Bacon wasn’t having any of that no dancing bullshit, and he taught that town a valuable lesson.
Don’t you think these people want to make out? I mean, if a guy’s got his arm around a chick and he’s trying to get his other hand up under there it’s hard to hold to a rifle. If given a choice between making a bomb or maybe getting to third base with some chick at a party, who the hell would choose the bomb? I think what the majority of these people want is a six pack of beer and a box of rubbers. Kevin Bacon may be the answer to this entire problem.
As if the world needed it, here's yet another reason to hate the French. Here in the South, that kind of behavior is reprehensible, consider most of us prefer the company of a Black Lab or a Redbone Hound to that of just about any person. But damn, those French fishermen are fucked up.
If all elephants are large, and some elephants are pink, are all pink elephants large?
The answer, of course, is yes.
Let’s try another one.
If Sean Penn roams New Orleans in a sinking johnboat with his photographer and press people, does that make him a flaming asshole?
And if, on top of that, he â€comes ashore’ and roams the streets carrying a loaded shotgun like a wild buccaneer, does that upgrade his status to “one incredibly fucked-up individual nearing the level of political omnipresence only previously held by Bono”?
Yes. Yes, it does.
Does he look bat-shit crazy or what?
h/t: Drudge
I’ve been around the block a few times, but never in my life have I seen someone get handed their ass more completely. Sweet Jesus!
It seems there’s a key element missing from the martial law in New Orleans. You can’t declare martial law when there’s no actual martial aspect. That’s the key element. It’s like calling out “Bingo!” when you haven’t actually filled your card.
“Storm victims were raped and beaten, fights and fires broke out, corpses lay out in the open, and rescue helicopters and law enforcement officers were shot at as flooded-out New Orleans descended into anarchy Thursday.”
I don’t know how many hours it’s been since this catastrophe started but it looks like they're edging closer to Lord of the Flies every day.
Rape? All I can say is that I’ve never seen a more comprehensive advertisement for gun ownership in my life. The scariest part of this whole thing is how many days have gone by with no law and order.
I’ve never been a moving to Montana kind of guy, but seeing how the government (at every level) has handled this fiasco I might have to do a re-think. What if this was dirty bomb? It’s become quite clear that in times of desperation you should be prepared to protect your family because no one will do it for you.
And while most of us are civilized people who respect our neighbors and our community, it’s clear that not all of our society has reached that plateau. We obviously have members of society who are parasites, void of all decency and human compassion. Animals who would take advantage of a desperate situation and prey on others at levels beyond comprehension.
I can’t help but think what would happen if a small nuke went off somewhere in America. Right now I’m wondering what the response time would be if we were invaded by a hoard of Canadian coin collectors, and if they’d be able to take several states before FEMA, the Feds and Barney Fife collaborated on a plan to stop the carnage.
I know that among the cops and guardsmen on the scene there are probably many fine men, heroes even, who are going above and beyond their duty. I know there are citizens who are helping their neighbors. Good men standing tall. But I’m not too impressed with the people running the show.
I fully realize that the media is showcasing the bad news. But if you’re one of those people who believe that when a catastrophe strikes in America, 10,000 navy seals led by John Rambo will immediately swoop from the sky carry your ass to a nice cozy B & B with fluffy pillows--you’re delusional.
More:
• Police snipers were stationed on the roof of their precinct, trying to protect it from armed miscreants roaming seemingly at will.
• "They have quite a few people running around here with guns," he said. "You got these young teenage boys running around up here raping these girls."
• Charity Hospital, one of several facilities attempting to evacuate patients, was forced to halt the effort after coming under sniper fire.
Convinced yet?
Anybody had word whether people in other countries give two shits about the worst disaster to strike America in the last hundred years or so?
***Update***
Of course I've donated. You?
I’ve avoided saying anything about New Orleans since the ordeal has actually taken place but I have to voice an opinion here before I have a stroke over it.
It’s quite simple really. Death to all looters. I’ve been through hurricanes, including Andrew--a category five storm. I’ve been without power for weeks, had nothing to eat, the whole nine yards. However, as miserable as that was for me, I had a lot going for me. I still had a structure to live in. Damaged, to be sure, but I still had most of my possessions and a leaky roof over my head.
These poor bastards on the gulf coast have nothing left in many, many instances. Nothing. The sum total of their lives has been wiped fucking clean. They have nowhere to go and no hope for the foreseeable future. And anyone who would take advantage of a situation like this is beyond my contempt.
Looters have already shot a cop in the head in New Orleans. I would have no problem executing these savages with no remorse.
From here:
“A giant new Wal-Mart in New Orleans was looted, and the entire gun collection was taken, The Times-Picayune reported. "There are gangs of armed men in the city moving around the city," said Ebbert, the city's homeland security chief. Also, looters tried to break into Children's Hospital, the governor's office said.”
My response would be to end this problem right now. I’m a martial law kind of guy. One warning shot below the waist before I unload a clip.
I’ve never been big on leniency.
Next time you visit a “blogspot” blog you’ll notice a new little flag you can click if you find the content objectionable. They claim on the site that they’re not endorsing censorship and even add the line, “…we prefer to keep in mind that one person's vulgarity is another's poetry.”
Fair enough. Maybe.
“We track the number of times a blog has been flagged as objectionable and use this information to determine what action is needed.”
Now I have to ask, wouldn’t the world at large benefit more if they had a flag to click if the content just plain sucked? Or the blogger was an asshole? Because I’m here to tell you, I really see more potential in going that route.
The best idea I’ve heard in a while, courtesy of the Borowitz Report:
“ARMY TO RECRUIT AT MTV MUSIC AWARDS
Rappers Could Skip Firearms Training, Pentagon Believes
He said that by recruiting soldiers at the MTV Music Awards, the Army would be gaining a pool of enlistees who would require no firearms training whatsoever, saving the Pentagon and U.S. taxpayers billions of dollars a year.
“Teaching these guys how to use a gun would be a serious waste of time,” Mr. Rumsfeld said. “It would be like teaching Courtney Love how to snort powder up her nose.”
While the Defense Secretary would not specify how the Army would induce rappers to enlist, he told reporters, “We are fully prepared to offer them a Cadillac Escalade, and we may throw in a ho or two as well.”
Meanwhile, I've got nothing.
My old lady and I are both addicted to French Market brand coffee. It’s from New Orleans and quite simply, no other coffee will do.
Over the weekend the old lady started to comb all the local grocery stores and buy as many cans of the stuff as she could get her hands on. She’s afraid that if the hurricane hits New Orleans we could be without our beloved French Market coffee for months. Moments ago, I received this email from my wife:
“I bought two more cans at the store today (all they had) and I plan to continue cleaning out the other stores for all I can find. I hope I can beat others to it. I’m sure that most normal people are still worried about the loss of life and destruction of property. I’m worried about that too, of course, but I’ve been addicted to this coffee for over a decade. I don’t know if I can live without it. You could say that I am also worried about the destruction of property, it’s just that I’m concerned with one specific place: The French Market Coffee Company.”
Emphasis mine.
I live for stuff like this. Some wack-job broke into a house five nights in a row to steal a woman’s panties. The woman’s husband was understandably pissed off and set up a home made alarm with a bra, string and coffee cup. When the thief set off the alarm the husband beat the living shit out of him with a wooden leg from his child’s crib. The affidavit makes for an entertaining read. And of course, there’s a picture of the thief all beat to hell.
Oh, I forgot, and the perv kept his collection of panties in a lunchbox next to his bed.
Sorry I haven't been blogging lately, but I've been in the hospital. It's nothing serious, I've just been reading too much news lately. See, I was perusing my favorite stock market site the other day and found out that apparently, there's no reason for oil prices to be so high. According to that guy they're inflated. Hmph.
Then over the next few days some big oil company's turn in earnings. Marathon doubles their earnings this year, Exxon's increase by a third, then Shell does them one or two better. It's good to know that when I pay $2.36 a gallon at the pump that it's not all going straight into some fatcat's pocket right? How much have gas prices increased in the past year? Little over a third right? The frustration begins to set in.
Then I click on over to CNN, where I read that a bill has just been passed that "sends billions of dollars in tax breaks and subsidies to energy companies, but is expected to do little to reduce U.S. oil consumption or dampen high energy prices." Sa-weet!
So while I'm paying out my broke ass for gasoline, it's not because supply is shortening or internal costs are increasing; it's because these fat oil bastards are eating so much Alaskan crab and Crystal that their Armani suits don't fit anymore and they've got to get new ones stiched every month or so. And when these rich big oil motherfucks do their taxes at the end of the year, they get to write of billions. What the fuck is going on? That's when the doc said the aneurysm hit. I passed out in my chair, my head went forward onto the desk table, and I suffered a mild concussion. Good thing I was surfing the net at work, or I probably would've never been found.
So, the Islamists really did a number this time in London hey? Speaking of numbers, which they seem so fascinated with, how 'bout these numbers. July 7th, 1940 was the day Hitler chose to begin his London Blitz. I'm sure those cheeky fucks sat aroung their Afghan cave chuckling to eachother about the irony of the day they chose to inflict terror on the British people.
Well, you friggin knuckleheads, in your effort to be all...numerical and cipher-oriented and shit, you forgot one thing about history in general. It tends to repeat itslef and if memory serves, London couldn't be broken by the barrage the Luftwaft unleashed on them, so I seriously fucking doubt a few mujihadeen with Jansports full of pipe bombs is going to bring a people like that to their knees. Even the IRA, after thirty years of bombing, has decided to take a more diplomatic route.
Furthermore, these British people are crazy. Maybe you guys haven't ever heard of rugby, but it's kind of a cross between ice hockey and boxing, but without all the pansy-ass pads and gloves. And these people do that for fun. You thought it sucked when the US started bombing your ass into the stone age, wait 'til the fucking Manchester United fans get a hold of you. I once partied with some of them after a soccer match, and they had a glass-eating contest. Two guys would face off, slam their pints, smash the glass on the other's forehead and eat the shards that were stuck in his dome. First one to clean his plate gets a free round. And that was after a winning match mind you. I'm telling ya, they're nuts. Good luck with that.
So, I was driving home Friday night and I stopped at the gorcery store to pick up some beers. I came out of the grocery store parking lot and hopped onto the main road. Maybe a second later I see those old familiar blue lights flashing in my rearview. Fuck
Fuck 1) because I hate getting pulled over. I have a great driving record and it seems like cops know that and they try to fuck it up all the time. Fuck 2) because I had four drinks in the past 80 minutes or so.
I pull over immediately, flick on the dome light, and start fishing for my registration. Cop walks up and syas something obligatory. I ask what's up, I know I wasn't speeding. "Well, you blew the stop sign pulling out of the Food Lion back there," he says it like I did it to tease him.
"Oh damn. Honestly, I didn't even know there was one there."
"Have you had anything to drink tonight?"
Shit. I sigh. "Yeah, had four drinks."
"When was the last one?"
"Ah, 'bout fifteen minutes or so ago."
"Mind if I ask you to take a breathalyzer test?"
Shit. I sigh. "I guess not, no." I breathe into the tube, he says, "Well, looks like you blew a .09; right above the legal limit."
I die inside.
"But since you just had your last drink, I'm going back to the car and I'll be back in a few minutes." He returns to the cruiser.
So I'm sitting in my car, reviewing the scenarios sprinting through my mind; wondering why the hell he didn't show me the breathalyzer. I scrape my tongue, swear under my breath, check the rearview. Shit.
Cop comes back, I breathe. "Still showing a .09 pal." Fails again to show me the breathalyzer. "But by the time I get you downtown, you'll be below the legal limit, and you're less than a mile from home. I'll cut you a deal here sir. You get out of the car, walk home, and I'll just give you the ticket for running the stop sign. I've got to run, but I don't want to see you driving this car."
"Thank you officer." I'm releived, confused, but glad that my life hasn't been screwed up. I grab the beers, a few items from the car, lock it up and begin the short walk home.
Now, after getting home and reviewing the events and checking my ticket out; I come to some weird conclusions:
1. The back of the ticket is not filled out. It doesn't say if I have to appear in court, fines, court costs; nothing. I remember him saying I had to go to court, but the entire back side of the ticket was left blank.
2. I never saw the breathalyser results. I've never had to take one without the cop showing me my results.
3. There's no stop sign pulling out of the grocery store and onto the main avenue. I went back the next day just out of curiosity and there's nothing.
I talked to a few lawyer friends and they think I should take a few pics and fight the ticket. I wonder if I could just mail the ticket in with a picture in the envelope. Case closed right?
When your neighbor has so many sexual encounters that he keeps them catalouged in the thousands by sexual encounter, personality type, and hair color; you know he's gotta be a pimp. Or a felony child abuser.
What I though was interesting was the way the article described repeat child abusers. People who use their power and position to lure needy or easily corruptable children into easily controllable situations. And this guy's been doing it for like 30 years or something without every registering as a sex offender. I mean, what's it going to take to put a child molester away? Do we have to wait until my kid comes back from the playground walking crooked or what?
I told you , you fuckers. She was brain dead. Couldn't see shit, didn't know shit, didn't care. And you wanted to keep her alive, against her wishes. You bleeding heart pussies.
So last night there was this thing on TV called "48 Hours: Mysteries'. The episdoe they did was on a guy named Michael Blagg who was convicted of murdering his wife and daughter. Without any hard evidence or even eyewitness testimony.
Apparently, he wife was shot in their home, taken to a dump, and left there wrapped in a tent. his daughter was never found. Blagg's alibi is that he was at work that day; he even left voicemail messages for his wife and child on their home answering machine.
They never matched the bullet in the wife to a gun owned by Blagg. They never said his alibi wasn't true. I mean, if he was at work, people would remember it, the timeclocks and surveillance video would prove it. The neighbors don't remember hearing a gunshot in the iddle of the night, or seeing the family van leave at odd hours. There is nothing connecting this man to his wife's murder except circumstantial bullshit.
The best part is, a witness for the prosecution (the wife's mother no less); admits to making shit up on the stand. She got up there and made up her testimony as it popped into her head, saying that Blagg choked his wife once. She continues to go on saying she never reported the incident, and has never spoken about it until that very moment in the courtroom. She got up on the stand and was allowed to make an unbased, unverifiable testimmony of something that may or may not have happened years ago. Shitty.
The media made him out to be a cheating (a claim later revealed to be completely unfounded and untrue) porn addict. The media reported all this shit for a year or something until the trial date, inundating this small community with all sorts of fucked up opinions. Needless to say, by the time jury selection came around everyone had already made up their minds. The public defender didn't stand a chance against such fools, and he went to jail.
I can't imagine coming home from work to find your wife and child dead. I can't imagine not being able to join the searches for them because the media made people think it would be a conflict of interest. I can't imagine being sentanced to life in prison with no hope of parole, when the two people you love most in the world aren't even alive to come visit you. It's like a fucking horror story.
Honestly, I'd kill myself before I'd ever go to jail for some shit I didn't do.
Michael Jackson. What can I say - luckiest child molester I know.
1. Has America made such idols of it's celebrities that we cannot convict them of any misdeeds? See also, O.J., Robert Blake.
2. There is a difference between doubt and reasonable doubt. I guess defense attorneys have done such a great job blurring the line between the two, that they are now interchangeable terms. If a man allows young boys to drink alcohol in his presence, shows this his porno stash, and then asks them to join him in bed; how can you possibly reasonably doubt what his intentions are? If I did the same to a woman my age my intentions would be pretty damn clear, and I would assume if I did the same to a child my inetions would get my happy ass sent to jail.
3. Even if Michael is suffering from some sort of advanced Peter Pan Syndrome, why would he be interested in sex, porn, and alcohol? These are all things that adults become interested in. If his aim was purely to find a playmate, why would he sleep with them? How many of the fellas out there had sleepovers where you got into daddy's liquor cabinet, looked through his porno, and then all climbed in bed together?
He's a sick fucker, and he should have at least gone down for attempt to molest and the alcohol charges. It's a complete boondoggle; and I hope we see him in court again.
And did anyone get a load of those damn jurors? What a bunch of fucktards
