I've just submitted my roster for the 2005 Dead Pool, which is almost identical to my 2004 roster; my only correct pick through 12/29/04 was Marlon Brando. Anyway, game on!. Oh, and I'm offering a bonus prize this year to help drum up interest in the game. Be sure and check out the rules for this year's Dead Pool.
I plan on winning this year. My roster contains old, feeble and mostly unknown celebrities/athletes/politicians. I'll wager than about half my picks will end up as Solo Shot opportunities.
This week's Carnival of the Recipes is simmering nicely over at Prochein Amy. And she's done some pretty good work renaming all of the submissions so that they're funny. This humor thing is quite interesting. I will have to find some for myself in 2005.
Update: Shameless self-promotion: I'll be the host for next week's Carnival.
I haven't posted about the tsunami disaster or the relief efforts mainly because others have been doing yeoman's work and they all receive far more traffic than I do. However, if you follow the links to the sites I've listed above, you will find many places where you can send money to help. And kudos to that stingy company Amazon for putting a special disaster fund tip jar. The total has already topped $7,000,000 as I type this. The generosity of people in this miserly, Scrooge-like nation of ours never ceases to amaze me.
Update: Chuck Simmins has more details regarding us stingy Americans.
Look, I know that not everyone likes the same food, enjoys the same musics, or finds humor in the same places. But how in the world do you NOT think that Animal House is funny? Dated? Sure, but it's aged like a fine wine. Okay, there is a counter argument to be made against Animal House as a comedy. In fact, I've made it myself: I truly believe that the movie falls more into the documentary category. Even so, it's still a damn funny movie.
Received via email today. A moldy oldie, but still a goody:
A Minneapolis couple decided to go to Florida to thaw out during a
particularly icy winter. They planned to stay at the same hotel where
they spent their honeymoon 20 years earlier.
Because of hectic schedules, it was difficult to coordinate their
So, the husband left Minnesota and flew to Florida on Thursday, with
his wife flying down the following day.
The husband checked into the hotel. There was a computer in his room,
so he decided to send an email! to his wife.
However, he accidentally left out one letter in her email address, and
without realizing his error, sent the email.
Meanwhile, somewhere in Houston, a widow had just returned home from
her husband's funeral. He was a minister who was called home to glory
following a heart attack.
The widow decided to check her email expecting messages from relatives
After reading the first message, she screamed and fainted.
The widow's son rushed into the room, found his mother on the floor,
and saw the computer screen which read:
To: My Loving Wife
Subject: I've Arrived
Date: October 16, 2004
I know you're surprised to hear from me. They have computers here now
and you are allowed to send emails to your loved ones. I've just
arrived and have been checked in. I see that everything has been prepared for
your arrival tomorrow. Looking forward to seeing you then! Hope your
journey is as uneventful as mine was.
P.S. Sure is freaking hot down here!
Pretty soon, it'll rank up there with Fahrenheit 9/11 in terms of accuracy. The increasingly misnamed Kerry Spot has the scoop. Excerpt:
Finally, according to the editor, Coleman's false assertion that he didn't know and we didn't say whether we might be on the take from some campaign, political party or anonymous benefactor, appeared to violate no Star Tribune standard. In his meeting with Coleman after my discussion with the editor yesterday morning, Coleman had told the editor that he "assumed" we received a stipend from the Claremont Institute. (Wrong. As we expressly stated here in response to Coleman's slander earlier this month, "we are not paid by anyone" for our work on the site. What part of "not" doesn't Coleman understand?)
I asked the editor what standards Coleman's column was subject to at the Star Tribune. He said he didn't know; he would have to research the answer to that question and get back to me. But they do have standards, which is of course a relief!
I could write this as a work of fiction and it would get rejected by every publisher on the grounds that even fiction has to be somewhat believable.
No I don't, and don't call me Shirley.
I was perusing the Carnival of the Cats FAQ when I came across this little snippet:
I like cats, but I hate the nasty and vile rhetoric of "This Blog Is Full Of Crap." How can I just see the cat posts?
"Hate the nasty and vile rhetoric"? That's the only reason I read the damn thing. Eesh. There's just no pleasing some people.
So Al Franken is in Iraq, entertaining the troops. Huh? Which leads to the latest assignment: Why is Al Franken in Iraq?
1) He's building up frequent flyer miles, which can be redeemed for cash, to fund Air America for another year.
2) Al will finally give in to his long suppressed "love that dare not speak its name" towards camels.
3) Franken wanted to deliver his resume to Al Jazeera in person.
And this week, it'll be hosted ay Prochein Amy's place. My turn will come the week of January 7. Stay tuned.
I received a couple of gifts this year that I have to mention:
1) Lileks latest book is full of images that would normally cause my most recent meal to swim upstream. Fortunately, I've been laughing too hard at the commentary for nausea to set in.
Update: I neglected to mention that I also received this collection of essays by Bill Whittle. It should have been in every American's stocking this year. Okay, not Barbara Streisand or Alec Baldwin; the words would be unreadable to them.
And be labeled a heretic
Sounds like fun to me. Anyway, Dean has a good post discussing some of the questions that aren't being asked by many about the HIV-AIDS connection. Of course, no one actually wants to have this discussion, do they? Be sure to read the comment thread. Quite interesting.
Update: Dean continues leading people to certain death. At least, that's what you would think after reading some of the commenters to his posts on this subject.
As a scientist myself, I have to admit that the ad hominem attacks against HIV dissenters have been quite troubling these last 10-15 years. I can remember only one other scientific theory that was as discredited before it was tested: cold fusion. For what it's worth, research on that topic continues today. Excerpt:
Other researchers are finally beginning to explain why the Pons-Fleischmann effect has been difficult to reproduce. Mike McKubre from SRI International, in Menlo Park, Calif., a respected researcher who is influential among those pursuing cold fusion, says that the effect can be reliably seen only once the palladium electrodes are packed with deuterium at ratios of 100 percent—one deuterium atom for every palladium atom. His work shows that if the ratio drops by as little as 10 points, to 90 percent, only 2 experimental runs in 12 produce excess heat, while all runs at a ratio of 100 percent produce excess heat.
And scientists are beginning to get a better handle on exactly how the effect occurs. Stanislaw Szpak and colleagues from the Space and Naval Warfare Systems Command have taken infrared video images of palladium electrodes as they produce excess energy. It turns out that the heat is not produced continuously over the entire electrode but only in hot spots that erupt and then die on the electrode surface. This team also has evidence of curious mini-explosions on the surface.
Sure, these guys are just huckters and snake oil salesmen. Right?
Looks like rats can really start swinging now.
This story is near and dear to my heart. Back when I was a materials engineer, I worked on the team that developed a new alloy used on the external tank of the space shuttle. The metal was much lighter than ones previously used, and this allowed more cargo to be carried inside the shuttle. Very cool project. However, the reality is that the shuttle technology is 20+ years old. It's time to modernize the space program. And let's actually get back into space. We've been low-orbit bound far too long. Back to the moon, and on to Mars.
And double crap. I always enjoyed watching Jerry Orbach, whether on the big screen or the small. So long, Jerry. You will be missed.
And this time, it's Motrin(ibuprofen). Blindness? Stevens-Johnson Syndrome/Toxic Epidermal Necrolysis? Ugh. And remember when Reyes Syndrome caused people to stop taking aspirin? Or maybe most of you aren't old enough to remember actually taking aspirin.
Aspirin. Naproxen. Ibuprofen. As soon as they discover something untoward about acetaminophen, we'll all be able to enjoy pain-filled lifes. Yippee.
A man goes to the hospital with an infected leg. In fact, the infection is so severe that amputation becomes necessary. So the doctor lops off the other leg.
Really. Just shut your ever loving pie-hole, you political agenda driven mental effing midgets. Heat wave? Global warming. Cold snap? Global warming. Earthquake? Global warming. Socks don't match? Global warming. Your favorite NFL team loses? Global warming. Martha Stewart? A morality tale of capitalism taken to its logical conclusion. Which causes global warming.
Right after I heard about the tsunami disaster, I predicted to my wife that global warming, and therefore the US, would be blamed for the earthquake. My wife, sweet, trusting person that she is, thought I was full of crap. Okay, she has a point, but I was correct. History books are being re-edited right now and a new entry is being added: "George Bush responsible for 60,000 deaths around the Indian Ocean."
I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue.
Update: Dean has a more reasoned response, but the gist is the same.
It might be a while before I go back.
Steven Taylor links to a story that calls into question the sanity of the people and the legislators in that state. I can't decide which bothers me more: the fact that noodling was actually illegal(I figure it's natural selection at work if you grab snakes with your bare hands) or the fact that the state took the time to deliberate this issue.
Anheuser Busch sues for being excluded due to their product not actually being beer
A study at Tuft's University has determined that drinking beer can help bone density. Excerpt:
“[Tufts’ Katherine] Tucker recently participated in a study that showed beer, either dark or light, protects bone mineral density,” reported The Harford Courant.
According to Tucker – associate professor of nutrition at the Friedman School of Nutrition Science and Policy – the alcoholic beverage contains high levels of an ingredient which allows the deposit of calcium and other minerals into bone tissue.
“The reason, we think, is that beer is a major contributor to the diet of silicon,” the Tufts expert, who is director of the nutritional epidemiology program at the Friedman School, told the Courant.
And protecting bones may not be the only health benefit of beer. Another recent study found that moderate consumption of dark beer – which contains antioxidants that help prevent clogged arteries -- may reduce risk of heart disease.
"Honey, I'm not brewing beer; I'm creating the elixir of life." Yeah, that'll work.
Thanks to TMQ for providing the link.
Because Zima gave the cows diarrhea.
Time for the nation's dairy farmers to get with the program. Imagine Guinness flavored milk, straight from the tap(so to speak). Agricultural colleges would see a huge spike in their attendance.
Apparently, Christopher Lee knows. Doctor Suarez has the scoop, which sadly I won't see until after Christmas; I know for a fact that I'm getting the Extended DVD edition of "The Return of the King" on December 25. Anyway, excerpt:
As Jackson directed Lee on how to perform the scene, Lee had to intervene (paraphrased):
"That's not what it sounds like when a man is stabbed in the back"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well, when I was serving in British Intelligence during the war, you often had to sneak up on a German, and when you stab the chap, it's more of a gasp than a--"
"Okay! Uh, great. Do it your way" (Backs off slowly)
Voice like a cello. A brother in tall-dom. A true Tolkien fan that puts poseurs like me to shame. And now, someone who may have killed a fascist with his own hands. That's the kind of actor we need.
You will be missed.
So I finally started catching up on the backlog of blogs I read when I discovered this post over at Rishon's place. The comments she displayed from this Europundits's post explains a lot. I won't do pity, and not just because Steven doesn't want any. I can do sympathy, though. My niece's brother-in-law just buried his second child at the tender age of 4 months; their first child survived until the age of 6 months. Both children suffered from a terminal genetic disease which caused all of their muscles to degenerate at an extremely rapid pace. Children diagnosed with that disorder rarely celebrate their first birthday, and never the second. On a less somber note, my brother-in-law's mother-in-law suffers from MS. Debilitating, of course, but not lethal. At least, not for her. And she doesn't want pity, either.
I remember stumbling onto USS Clueless via Asparagirl's old site. My first thoughts upon seeing the Star Trek-like header weren't positive; then I started reading. It was like a breath of fresh air. At work, I'm surrounded by people who have only a tenuous relationship with facts and logic. Reading den Beste always brightened my day, even when I disagreed with him. Especially so on those occasions. In any event, I will miss reading his words. Take care, Steven.
In honor of the first snowfall in the Richmond area this year, I give you the following re-post:
Snow... Snow... Snow... Snow... * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Diary of a Snow Shoveler
December 8: 6:00 PM. It started to snow. The first snow of the season
and the wife and I took our cocktails and sat for hours by the window
watching the huge soft flakes drift down from heaven. It looked like
a Grandma Moses Print. So romantic we felt like newlyweds again. I
December 9: We woke to a beautiful blanket of crystal white snow
covering every inch of the landscape. What a fantastic sight! Can there
be a more lovely place in the Whole World? Moving here was the best
idea I've ever had. Shoveled for the first time in years and felt like a
boy again. I did both our driveway and the sidewalks. This afternoon the
snowplow came along and covered up the sidewalks and closed in the
driveway, so I got to shovel again. What a perfect life.
December 12: The sun has melted all our lovely snow. Such a
disappointment. My neighbor tells me not to worry, we'll definitely
have a white Christmas. No snow on Christmas would be awful! Bob says
we'll have so much snow by the end of winter, that I'll never want to see
snow again. l don't think that's possible. Bob is such a nice man I'm glad
he's our neighbor.
December 14: Snow lovely snow! 8" last night. The temperature
dropped to -20. The cold makes everything sparkle so. The wind took my
breath away, but I warmed up by shoveling the driveway and sidewalks. This is
the life! The snowplow came back this afternoon and buried everything
again. l didn't realize I would have to do quite this much shoveling,
but I'll certainly get back in shape this way. I wish l wouldn't huff and puff so.
December 15: 20 inches forecast. Sold my van and bought a 4x4
Blazer. Bought snow tires for the wife's car and 2 extra shovels. Stocked the
freezer. The wife wants a wood stove in case the electricity goes out.
I think that's silly. We aren't in Alaska, after all.
December 16: Ice storm this morning. Fell on my ass on the ice in the
driveway putting down salt. Hurt like hell. The wife laughed for an
hour. Which I think was very cruel.
December 17: Still way below freezing. Roads are too icy to go
anywhere. Electricity was off for 5 hours. I had to pile the blankets
on to stay warm. Nothing to do but stare at the wife and try not to
irritate her. Guess I should've bought a wood stove, but won't admit
it to her. God I hate it when she's right. I can't believe I'm freezing
to death in my own living room.
December 20: Electricity's back on, but had another 14" of the damn
stuff last night. More shoveling. Took all day. Goddamn snowplow came
by twice. Tried to find a neighbor kid to shovel, but they said they're
too busy playing hockey. I think they're lying. Called the only
hardware store around to see about buying a snow blower and they're
out. Might have another shipment in March. I think they're lying. Bob
says I have to shovel or the city will have it done and bill me. I think he's lying.
December 22: Bob was right about a white Christmas because 13 more
inches of the white shit fell today, and it's so cold it probably won't
melt till August. Took me 45 minutes to get all dressed up to go out to
shovel and then I had to piss. By the time I got undressed, pissed and
dressed again. I was too tired to shovel. Tried to hire Bob who has a
plow on his truck for the rest of the winter; but he says he's too busy.
I think the asshole is lying.
December 23: Only 2" of snow today. And it warmed up to 0o. The wife
wanted me to decorate the front of the house this morning. What is she
nuts!!! Why didn't she tell me to do that a month ago? She says she
did but I think she's lying.
December 24: 6". Snow packed so hard by snowplow, l broke the
shovel. Thought I was having a heart attack. If I ever catch the son of a
bitch who drives that snowplow, I'll drag him through the snow by his balls.
I know he hides around the corner and waits for me to finish shoveling
and then he comes down the street at a 100 miles an hour and throws snow
all over where I've just been! Tonight the wife wanted me to sing Christmas
carols with her and open our presents, but I was busy watching for the
December 25: Merry Christmas. 20 more inches of the !=3D@x@!x!x1
slop tonight. Snowed in. The idea of shoveling makes my blood boil. God
I hate the snow! Then the snowplow driver came by asking for a donation
and I hit him over the head with my shovel. The wife says I have a bad
attitude. I think she's an idiot. If I have to watch "It's a Wonderful
Life" one more time, I'm going to kill her.
December 26: Still snowed in. Why the hell did I ever move here? It
was all HER idea. She's really getting on my nerves.
December 27: Temperature dropped to -30o and the pipes froze.
December 28: Warmed up to above -50. Still snowed in. THE BITCH is
driving me crazy!!!!!
December 29: 10 more inches. Bob says I have to shovel the roof or it
could cave in. That's the silliest thing I ever heard. How dumb does
he think I am?
December 30: Roof caved in. The snow plow driver is suing me for a
million dollars. The wife went home to her mother. 9" predicted.
December 31: Set fire to what's left of the house. No more
January 8: I feel so good. I just love those little white pills they
keep giving me. Why am I tied to the bed?
* * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *
I finally watched part of The Hulk last night. Not the best movie I've ever seen. However, it did have something going for it, or rather, someone: Jennifer Connelly. I've had a crush on her since she was the pretty girl in Labyrinth; she's matured into a simply gorgeous woman. Evidence provided in the extended link below.
I warned you. Stop fucking hot-linking to this site. The next picture that gets hotlinked will be renamed and replaced with a pile of dogshit. So cut it out.
Update: Original images below.
A jumper cable walks into a bar. The bartender says, "I'll serve you, but
don't start anything."
Two antennas meet on a roof, fall in love and get married. The ceremony
wasn't much, but the reception was excellent.
Two hydrogen atoms walk into a bar. One says, "I've lost my electron." The
other says, "Are you sure?" The first replies, "Yes, I'm positive..."
A sandwich walks into a bar. The bartender says, "Sorry we don't serve
food in here."
A dyslexic man walks into a bra.
A man walks into a bar with a slab of asphalt under his arm and says: "A
beer please, and one for the road."
Two cannibals are eating a clown. One says to the other: "Does this taste
funny to you?"
"Doc, I can't stop singing 'The Green, Green, Grass of Home.'"
"That sounds like Tom Jones Syndrome."
"Is it common?"
"It's Not Unusual."
An invisible man marries an invisible woman. The kids were nothing to look
Deja Moo: The feeling that you've heard this bull before.
A man takes his Rottweiler to the vet and says, "My dog's cross-eyed, is
there anything you can do for him?"
"Well," says the vet, "let's have a look at him." So he picks the dog up
and examines his eyes. Finally, he says, "I'm going to have to put him down."
"What? Because he's cross-eyed?"
"No, because he's really heavy."
I went to buy some camouflage trousers the other day but I couldn't find
I went to the butcher's the other day to bet him 50 bucks that he couldn't
reach the meat off the top shelf. He said, "No, the steaks are too high."
A man woke up in a hospital after a serious accident. He shouted, "Doctor,
doctor, I can't feel my legs!" The doctor replied, "I know you can't - I've cut off your arms!"
I went to a seafood disco last week and pulled a mussel.
Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly; but when they lit a fire in
the craft, it sank, proving that you can't have your kayak and heat it too.
What do you call a fish with no eyes? A fsh.
Two termites walk into a bar. One asks, "Is the bar tender here?"
Wolcott never had a chance. If you're going to start a battle of wits with James Lileks, it's best not so show up unarmed. I know that Wolcott thinks he's being witty; he's only half right.
I failed to mention how some French teenagers beat up a Santa Claus, mainly due to the fact that nothing about the French surprise me anymore. Okay, I raise my eyebrows when they actually bathe themselves, but that's about it. Anyway, a friend of mine made the following observation, which I believe is quite accurate:
The teens were probably upset with him since Santa surrenders items just once a year.
Dean discusses how the swastika wasn't always associated with Nazi Germany. I mentioned this to some people at work the other day and most of them thought that I was making it up; Googling the issue cured most of their skepticism. Anyway, Dean provides some useful links amongst his observations. It's well worth checking out. Go forth and seek knowledge.
I'm married; this isn't even on my Santa list. Okay, it was for our military personnel, not for me. But I still like it. A lot. Click the extended entry below.
Update: Looks like our boys in uniform appreciated Rachel's gift to them.
Update: Stop hot-linking me, assholes. You want to show the picture, upload it to your own fucking server.
But what if you don't want to be plugged in?
Eat what you want, when you want, and maybe weigh less anyway. Or maybe weigh more. I'm still confused by this story, and my undergraduate degree is in physics. However, since John Anderson hasn't figured out the problem after working on it for 20 years, I don't feel so bad.
Medal of Honor en route
I read this story twice and I still don't get it. A cripple threatens you with scissors? Unless he's sitting within stabbing distance, or used to be a knife thrower in the circus, you can defend yourself by stepping away from the would be assailant. Tasering him seems to be a bit of overkill, but that's just me.
In fact, it's always been in. You didn't think that the Democrats would actually allow actual votes to determine the election in Washington state, did you? Neal Boortz has the lowdown:
TRYING TO STEAL ANOTHER ELECTION
There is still one unresolved election that's been too close to call since November 2nd: the Washington state's governor's race. It's become quite the little drama, with the Democratic candidate taking a page from Al Gore's 2000 Florida. The story is the same: the Republican won the initial count and has won the recount. Now the Democrats are trying to steal the election.
Republican Dino Rossi won the first count by 261 votes. He won a machine recount by 42 votes. Refusing to concede, Democrat Christine Gregoire demanded a hand recount. That's right...a hand recount of 2.9 million votes. The results of that hand recount are in, and naturally, Gregoire won. Her margin of victory?
8 votes. That's right, 8 votes. But that's not all....once the latest recount was underway, election workers "found" another 700 ballots in (surprise!) heavily Democratic King County. Rossi didn't stand a chance....the left rigged the recount from the start.
The state Supreme Court is scheduled to hear case involving the 700 "missing" ballots. It used to be that what liberals couldn't win at the ballot box, they tried to legislate from the bench. Now it seems they are resorting to cutting out the middle man and stuffing the ballot box.
So now the Democratic party is trying to steal the election for governor in Washington state. Keep an eye on this one. Meanwhile ... which Democrat do you believe is now in the dog house in Florida for failing to "find" the "missing" ballot box there?
I get tired of bashing the Republicans for being, well, stupid. What fatigues me the most, though, are the never-ending attempts by the Democrats to thwart, overturn, or just plain ignore the results in an election that don't go their way.
I have some questions for you honest Democrats out there(and I believe that you still constitute the majority of your party): Is there anything that your party leaders can do that will make you publicly disavow their actions as dishonest and/or illegal? Or do you think that "winning" trumps all other concerns? I'm just curious.
Do you Hear What I Hear?
MULTIPLE PERSONALITY DISORDER:
We Three Queens Disoriented Are.
I Think I'll Be Home for Christmas.
Hark the Herald Angels Sing About Me.
Deck the Halls and Walls and House and Lawn and
Streets and Stores and Office and Town and Cars and
Busses and Trucks and Trees and Fire Hydrants and...
Santa Claus is Coming to Get Me.
You Better Watch Out, I'm Gonna Cry, I'm Gonna Pout, Maybe
I'll tell you Why.
Silent Anhedonia, Holy Anhedonia, All is Flat, All is Lonely.
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell,
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell
Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell,
Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell,
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock,
Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell Rock, Jingle Bell, Jingle Bell, Jingle
Bell Rock, .......(better start again)
On the First Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me (and
then took it all away).
BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER:
Thoughts of Roasting on an Open Fire.
A man and his wife were having some problems at home and were giving each other the silent treatment. Suddenly, the man realized that the next day, he would need his wife to wake him at 5:00 AM for an early morning business flight. Not wanting to be the first to break the silence (and LOSE), he wrote on a piece of paper,"Please wake me at 5:00 AM." He left it where he knew she would find it.
The next morning, the man woke up, only to discoverit was 9:00 AM and he had missed his flight. Furious, he was about to go and see why his wife hadn't wakened him, when he noticed a piece of paper by the bed. The paper said, "It is 5:00 AM. Wake up."
Men are not equipped for these kinds of contests.
And ugly, too.
Received the following trash this morning in an email. Remember: I'm just the messenger here:
Energizer Bunny arrested; charged with battery.
A man's home is his castle, in a manor of speaking.
A pessimist's blood type is always b-negative.
My wife really likes to make pottery, but to me it's just kiln time.
Dijon vu: the same mustard as before.
I fired my masseuse today. She just rubbed me the wrong way.
Shotgun wedding: A case of wife or death.
I used to work in a blanket factory, but it folded.
I used to be a lumberjack, but I just couldn't hack it, so they gave me the ax.
If electricity comes from electrons, does that mean that morality comes from
A hangover is the wrath of grapes.
Corduroy pillows are making headlines.
Sea captains don't like crew cuts.
A successful diet is the triumph of mind over platter.
Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
A gossip is someone with a great sense of rumor.
Without geometry, life is pointless.
When you dream in color, it's a pigment of your imagination.
Reading whilst sunbathing makes you well-red.
When two egotists meet, it's an I for an I.
Excerpt from the caption:
Miami Dolphins (news) quarterback A.J. Feeley (news) celebrates after throwing a touchdown during the final minutes of the game against the New England Patriots (news) at Pro Player Stadium in Miami Monday, Dec. 20, 2004.
I'm just pleased that the touchdown pass was to a Miami Dolphin this time. Finally something that I can celebrate about during this horrible season.
Update: I had forgotten that Val Prieto was a Miami fan. He's also pretty happy today.
Something that's woefully lacking in today's society.
Embryonic stem cell research has morphed from a scientific debate into a religious one. Some people simply will not be persuaded that ESC aren't the Holy Grail of modern medicine, despite plenty evidence to the contrary. Michaal Fumento investigates the matter further:
Ironically, some of the diseases we're told ESCs may conquer are already being treated with ASCs. Groopman specifically mentions Fanconi's Anemia, but this blood illness was first treated (though not cured) with umbilical-cord stem cells back in 1988. He also mentions ALS (Lou Gehrig's disease). While ESCs might some day ride to the rescue of those with this terrible illness, a consultation of both PubMed and the ALS Association website indicates that there's much encouraging animal stem-cell research for the disease, but that only one study has involved the embryonic variety.
Meanwhile, we've recently heard about the South Korean woman, paralyzed 19 years ago in an accident and unable to even stand up, who is now shuffling back and forth after having umbilical-cord stem cells injected into her spine. Had Christopher Reeve sought the same therapy instead of being a strident supporter of ESCs, he might also be walking. Instead, he died of complications from bed sores. Ironically, he must have known about the promise of ASCs for paralysis since some of the rodent studies that led to the Korean miracle were funded by the Christopher Reeve Paralysis Foundation.
Lots of useful information to peruse.
And yes, this photo is real.
Steve has made some women laugh and horrified some others with this post, and this one, too. Normally I would refrain from such conversation because... who in Hell am I kidding? I know more anti-female jokes than the average fan of Andrew Dice Clay. I used to repeat them a lot, too, before I lucked into marriage with one of the women that didn't make Steve's list. Anyway, just because I used up several lifetimes worth of karma by somehow fooling my wife into marrying me doesn't mean that I can't join in on the fun. I give you a little film that I stumbled across which I'm sure will piss off the womenfolk while making the men laugh like hyenas. I give you Life As A Guy.
You like snow? You think that snowmen are cute? Check out this link before sending your children out to play in the snow.
Go to this site. Click on each deer going up one side of the roof and down the other until you have an entire orchestra. Go back and click on each one again to stop.
At least, for those of you that voted for Bush.
Just received an email from a friend of mine that works in downtown Richmond which made me laugh. A lot. Excerpt:
In a great move, the Boy Scouts are out selling popcorn on 6th street. Right in front of the building the ACLU has their offices in. I had to go and buy some.
Update: Apparently WND is on the case as well.
Update: Click on this link to buy some stuff. Enter key #TE3Y29 to give the credits to Troop 828, which is now selling directly outside of ACLU headquarters.
Maralyn Lois Polak discovered, much to her horror, that some companies actually ::gasp:: supported Republicans during this last election cycle. Obviously there are companies that donated money to Democrats as well, but those don't really seem to bother her. Hey, it's her money and she can do with it what she damn well pleases. Here's the part that chapped my ass:
Read my lips: Can you spell B-O-Y-C-O-T-T?
Not to put too fine a point on it, but Boo. Fucking. Hoo. Grow up, you pissy little panty waist. I shop where I please, buy what I want and usually ignore which political party a company supports. Hey, I use Windows on my computer at home, even though I'm aware that the candidates Microsoft supports are usually from the Dean/Schumer/Kucinich nutjob wing of their party. Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream gives a portion of their profits to causes I probably wouldn't give to if my hair were on fire, but I sure do like their ice cream. I don't drink coffee from Starbucks, but that's because I don't drink coffee at all. I happen to believe that the money a company earns belongs to it, and it can damn well give money to whatever effing political party it wants. Sure, if I found out that they were investing in child pornography or more episodes of Cop Rock, that would be a different matter; I'd be lighting the torches and sharpening the pitchforks myself. But this obsession with inserting politics into everything has become ridiculous. Here's an FYI: politics ain't life.
It's funny, though. I've been reading Polack's columns at WND for years and she used to be pretty reasonable about most things. Lately, well, she's become unglued. And I can pretty much tell when her brain left the building: when Bush won the 2000 presidential election. Some formerly sensible people became raving, frothing at the mouth loons simply because the guy that they voted for lost. Grow up, you pansies. Lots of people I've voted for have lost; many others have won. When I didn't like the result, I started working towards the next election cycle to try and figure out a way to win. I guess that that is too much like work for some of you. Grabbing your ball and heading home to whine appears to be your favorite modus operandi. Thanks for the heads up; I like to know what kind of people I'm dealing with. Knowing in advance that some of you are children, and whiny brattish ones at that, makes dealing with you a lot simpler. Now go to your chair; you're in timeout.
Rachel Lucas is back in business. She stated that she would no longer censor herself; then she woke up.
And there was much rejoicing: yaaayy.
Merry Christmas. And before anyone tells me in the comments, yes, I am aware that I've greased the skids to Hell. At least the handbasket's ride is less bumpy now.
And here's one that you won't want to see.
Posting this last year garned me my first(and last) link from Vox. His comment? "The X Files: gone, but not forgotten." Anyway, here it is. Again.
57 ELM STREET BETHLEHEM, PA. 11:51 P.M., DECEMBER 24TH
Mulder: We're too late. It's already been here.
Scully: Mulder, I hope you know what you are doing.
Mulder: Look, Scully, just like the other homes: Douglas fir, truncated, mounted, transformed into some sort of shrine; halls decked with boughs of holly; stockings hung by the chimney, with care.
Scully: You really think someone's been here?
Mulder: Someone or some THING.
Scully: Mulder, over here -- it's fruitcake.
Mulder: Don't touch it! Those things can be lethal.
Scully: It's O.K. There's a note attached: "Gonna find out who's naughty and nice."
Mulder: It's judging them, Scully. It's making a list.
Scully: Who? What are you talking about?
Mulder: Ancient mythology tells of an obese humanoid entity who could travel at great speed in a craft powered by antlered servants. Once each year, near the winter solstice, this creature is said to descend from the heavens to reward its followers and punish its disbelievers with jagged chunks of anthracite.
Scully: But that's legend, Mulder -- a story told by parents to frighten children. Surely, you don't believe it?
Mulder: Something was here tonite, Scully. Check out the bite marks on this gingerbread man. Whatever tore through this plate of cookies was massive -- and in a hurry.
Scully: It left crumbs everywhere. And look, Mulder, this milk glass has been completely drained.
Mulder: It gorged itself, Scully. It fed without remorse.
Scully: But why would they leave it milk and cookies?
Mulder: Appeasement. Tonight is the Eve, and nothing can stop its wilding.
Scully: But if this thing does exist, how did it get in? The doors and windows were locked. There's no sign of forced entry.
Mulder: Unless I miss my guess, it came through the fireplace.
Scully: Wait a minute, Mulder. If you are saying some huge creature landed on the roof and came down the chimney, you're crazy. The flue is barely six inches wide. Nothing could get through there.
Mulder: But what if it could alter its shape, move in all directions.
Scully: You mean, like a bowl full of jelly?
Mulder: Exactly. Scully, I've never told anyone this, but when I was a child my home was visited. I saw the creature. It had long white strips of fur surrounding its ruddy, misshapen head. Its bloated torso was red and white. I'll never forget the horror. I turned away, and when I looked back it had somehow taken on the facial features of my father.
Mulder: I know what I saw. And that night it read my mind. It brought me a Mr. Potato Head, Scully. IT KNEW I WANTED A MR. POTATO HEAD.
Scully: I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're asking me to disregard the laws of physics. You want me to believe in some supernatural being who soars across the skies and brings gifts to good little girls and boys. Listen to what you are saying. Do you understand the repercussions? If this gets out, they'll close the X-files.
Mulder: Scully, listen to me: It knows when you are sleeping. It knows when you're awake.
Scully: But we have no proof.
Mulder: Last year, on this exact date, S.E.T.I. radio telescopes detected bogeys in the airspace over twenty-seven states. The White House ordered a Condition Red.
Scully: But that was a meteor shower.
Mulder: Officially. Two days ago, eight prized Scandinavian reindeer vanished from the National Zoo in Washington, D.C. Nobody - not even the zookeeper - was told about it. The government doesn't want people to know about Project Kringle. They fear that if this thing is proved to exist, then the public would stop spending half its annual income in a holiday shopping frenzy. Retail markets will collapse. Scully,they cannot let the world believe this creature lives. There's too much at stake. They'll do whatever it takes to insure another silent night.
Scully: Mulder, I --
Mulder: Sh-h-h! Do you hear what I hear?
Scully: On the roof. It sounds like . . . a clatter.
Mulder: The truth is up there. Let's see what's the matter.
IS THERE A SANTA CLAUS? As a result of an overwhelming lack of requests, and with research help from that renown scientific journal SPY magazine (January, 1990) - I am pleased to present the annual scientific inquiry into Santa Claus. 1. No known species of reindeer can fly. But, there are 300,000 species of living organisms yet to be classified, and, while most of these are insects and germs, this does not COMPLETELY rule out flying reindeer (which only Santa has ever seen). 2. There are 2 billion children (persons under 18) in the world. But, since Santa doesn't (appear) to handle the Muslim, Hindu, Jewish and Buddhist children, that reduces the workload to 15% of the total - 378 million according to the Population Reference Bureau. At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that's 91.8 million homes. One presumes there's at least one good child in each. 3. Santa has 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth; assuming he travels east to west(which seems logical). This works out to 822.6 visits per second. This is to say that, for each Christian household with good children, Santa has 1/1000th of a second to park, hop out of the sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left, get back up the chimney, get back into the sleigh and move on to the next house. Assuming that each of these 91.8 million stops are evenly distributed around the earth, (which, of course, we know to be false, but for the purposes of our calculations we will accept) we are now talking about .78 miles per household, a total trip of 75-1/2 million miles, not counting stops to do what most of us must do at least once every 31 hours, plus feeding and etc. This means that Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second - 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man-made vehicle on earth, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second -a conventional reindeer can run, tops, 15 miles per hour. 4. The payload on the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium-sized Lego set (2 pounds), the sleigh is carrying 321,300 tons, not counting Santa (who is invariably described as overweight). On land, conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that "flying reindeer" (see point #1) could pull TEN TIMES the normal amount, we cannot do the job with eight, or even nine. We need 214,200 reindeer (a rounded figure). This increases the payload - not even counting the weight of the sleigh - to 353,430 tons. Again, for comparison, this is four times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth (the ship, not the monarch). 5. 353,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second creates an enormous amount of heat when you factor in the air resistance - this will heat the reindeer up in the same fashion as a spacecraft re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer will absorb 14.3 QUINTILLION (14,300,000,000,000,000) joules of energy. Per second. Each! In short, they will burst into flame almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them and create deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team will be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second. Santa, meanwhile, will be subjected to forces 17,500.06 times greater than gravity. A 250-pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim) would be pinned to the back of his sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds of force. In conclusion - If Santa ever DID deliver presents on Christmas Eve, he's dead now. -------------------------------------------------------------- The response ------------- The analysis you sent me about the death of Santa Claus, based on classical physics, is seriously flawed owing to its neglect of quantum phenomena that become significant in his particular case. As it happens, the terminal velocity of a reindeer in dry December air over the Northern Hemisphere (for example) is known with tremendous precision. The mass of Santa and his sleigh (since the number of children and their gifts is also known precisely, ahead of time, and the reindeer must weigh in minutes before the flight) is also known with tremendous precision. His direction of flight is, as you say, essentially east to west. All of that, when taken together, means that the momentum vector of Mr Claus and his cargo is known with incredible precision. An elementary application of Heisenberg's uncertainty principle yields the result that Santa's location, at any given moment on Christmas Eve, is highly imprecise. In other words, he is "smeared out" over the surface of the earth, analogous to the manner in which an electron is "smeared out" within a certain distance from the nucleus in an atom. Thus he can, quite literally, be everywhere at any given moment. In addition, the relativistic velocities which his reindeer can attain for brief moments make it possible for him, in certain cases, to arrive at some locations shortly before he left the North Pole. Santa, in other words, assumes for brief periods the characteristics of tachyons. I will admit that tachyons remain hypothetical, but then so do black holes, and who really doubts their existence anymore?A friend just sent me this link which contains lots and lots of rebuttals. People with less of a life than me. Go figure.
Some people have no clue. Excerpt:
But Times polling has shown the unpopularity of gay marriage and driver's licenses for illegals. A February survey found that 32% of California voters thought same-sex couples should be allowed to marry, 40% supported civil unions without marriage and 23% favored neither.
A Times poll in October found that 63% of voters supported Schwarzenegger's veto of a driver's license bill.
Voters also have spoken directly: In 2000, 61% approved an initiative declaring that only marriage between a man and a woman is valid in California. In 1994, 59% voted for an initiative to bar illegal immigrants from nonemergency public services, although much of that measure was scuttled by courts.
But the champions of these causes are undeterred.
I'm sure that they are.
Apparently there's a new Rottweiler in town, and this time it's one of the feline persuasion.
I've been very lax about updating the MuNu pulldown menu over in my gutter. However, I believe that it is now up to date. Any MuNuvians who think I've missed them, drop me a line and I will add you.
Harvey will remember this one from last year. It still warms the icy cold cockles of my heart when I read it. ::sniff::
My Christmas Story
Late last week, I was rushing around trying to get some last minute shopping
done. I was stressed out and not thinking very fondly of the Christmas
season right then. It was dark, cold, and wet in the parking lot as I was
loading my car up with gifts that I felt obligated to buy. I noticed that I
was missing a receipt that I might need later. So mumbling under my breath,
I retraced my steps to the mall entrance.
As I was searching the wet pavement for the lost receipt, I heard a quiet
sobbing. The crying was coming from a poorly dressed boy of about 12 years
old. He was short and thin. He had no coat. He was just wearing a ragged
flannel shirt to protect him from the cold night's chill. Oddly enough, he
was holding a hundred dollar bill in his hand. Thinking that he had gotten
lost from his parents, I asked him what was wrong.
He told me his sad story. He said that he came from a large family. He had
three brothers and two sisters. His father had died when he was nine years
old. His mother was poorly educated and worked two full time jobs. She made
very little to support her large family. Nevertheless, she had managed to
save two hundred dollars to buy her children Christmas presents. The young
boy had been dropped off on the way to her second job. He was to use the
money to buy presents for all his siblings and save just enough to take
the bus home.
He had not even entered the mall, when an older boy grabbed one of the
hundred dollar bills and disappeared into the night.
"Why didn't you scream for help?" I asked. The boy said, "I did." "And
nobody came to help you?" I wondered. The boy stared at the sidewalk and
sadly shook his head. "How loud did you scream?" I inquired. The soft-spoken
boy looked up and meekly whispered, "Help me!"
I realized that absolutely no one could have heard that poor boy cry
So, I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.
And another from the not-so-wayback machine. For the record, I LIKE to kick 'em while they're down.
No holiday season would be complete without swatting the smug grin off of Martha Stewart's face. I give you the following:
When you read or listen to Martha Stewart's hints and advice, do you think to yourself "I could do that"? Then, you follow that thought with "What is wrong with me? Am I just a waste of good air?"
If this is you, then read on ...
MARTHA STEWART'S HOLIDAY CALENDAR
Blanch carcass from Thanksgiving turkey. Spray paint gold, turnupside
down and use as a sleigh to hold Christmas Cards.
Have Mormon Tabernacle Choir record outgoing Christmas message for
Using candlewick and handgilded miniature pine cones, fashion
cat-o-nine tails. Flog Gardener.
Repaint Sistine Chapel ceiling in ecru, with mocha trim.
Get new eyeglasses. Grind lenses myself.
Fax family Christmas newsletter to Pulitzer committee for
Debug Windows '98
Decorate homegrown Christmas tree with scented candles handmade with
beeswax from my backyard bee colony.
Record own Christmas album complete with 4 part harmony and all instrument
accompaniment performed by myself. Mail to all my friends and loved
Align carpets to adjust for curvature of Earth.
Lay Faberge egg.
Erect ice skating rink in front yard using spring water I bottled
Open for neighborhood children's use. Create festive mood by
handmaking snow and playing my Christmas album.
Collect Dentures. They make excellent pastry cutters, particularly
for decorative pie crusts.
Install plumbing in gingerbread house.
Replace air in mini-van tires with Glade "holiday scents" in case
tires are shot out at mall.
Child proof the Christmas tree with garland of razor wire.
Adjust legs of chairs so each Christmas dinner guest will be same
height when sitting at his or her assigned seat.
Dip sheep and cows in egg whites and roll in confectioner's sugar to
add a festive sparkle to the pasture.
Drain city reservoir; refill with mulled cider, orange slices and
Float votive candles in toilet tank.
Seed clouds for white Christmas.
Do my annual good deed. Go to several stores. Be seen engaged in last
minute Christmas shopping, thus making many people feel less
inadequate than they really are.
Bear son. Swaddle. Lay in color-coordinated manger scented with
Organize spice racks by genus and phylum.
Build snowman in exact likeness of God.
Take Dog apart. Disinfect. Reassemble.
Hand sew 365 quilts, each using 365 material squares I weaved myself
used to represent the 365 days of the year. Donate to local
Release flock of white doves, each individually decorated with olive
branches, to signify desire of world peace.
New Year's Eve! Give staff their resolutions. Call a friend in each
time zone of the world as the clock strikes midnight in that country.
I rarely ask for much. This year is no exception. I don't need diamond earrings, handy slicer-dicers or comfy slippers. I only want one little thing, and I want it deeply. I want to slap Martha Stewart.
Now, hear me out, Santa. I won't scar her or draw blood or anything. Just one good smack, right across her smug little cheek. I get all cozy inside just thinking about it. Don't grant this wish just for me, do it for thousands of women across the country. Through sheer vicarious satisfaction, you'll be giving a gift to us all. Those of us leading average, garden variety lives aren't concerned with gracious living. We feel pretty good about ourselves if our paper plates match when we stack them on the counter, buffet-style for dinner. We're tired of Martha showing us how to make centerpieces from hollyhock dipped in 18 carat gold. We're plumb out of liquid gold. Unless it's of the furniture polish variety. We can't whip up Martha's creamy holiday sauce, spiced with turmeric. Most of us can't even say turmeric, let alone figure out what to do with it.
OK, Santa, maybe you think I'm being a little harsh. But I'll bet with all the holiday rush you didn't catch that interview with Martha in last week's USA Weekend. I'm surprised there was enough room on the page for her ego.
We discovered that not only does Martha avoid take-out pizza (she's only ordered it once), she refuses to eat it cold (No cold pizza? Is Martha Stewart Living?) When it was pointed out that she could microwave it, she replied, "I don't have a microwave." The reporter, Jeffrey Zaslow, noted that she said this "in a tone that suggests you shouldn't either."
Well lah-dee-dah. Imagine that, Santa!
That lovely microwave you brought me years ago, in which I've learned to make complicated dishes like popcorn and hot chocolate, has been declared undesirable by Queen Martha. What next? The coffee maker?
In the article, we learned that Martha has 40 sets of dishes adorning an entire wall in her home. Forty sets. Can you spell "overkill"? And neatly put away, no less. If my dishes make it to the dishwasher, that qualifies as "put away" in my house!
Martha tells us she's already making homemade holiday gifts for friends. "Last year, I made amazing silk-lined scarves for everyone," she boasts. Not just scarves, mind you. Amazing scarves. Martha's obviously not shy about giving herself a little pat on the back. In fact, she does so with such frequency that one has to wonder if her back is black and blue.
She goes on to tell us that "homemaking is glamour for the 90s," and says her most glamorous friends are "interested in stain removal, how to iron a monogram, and how to fold a towel." I have one piece of advice, Martha: "Get new friends." Glamorous friends fly to Paris on a whim. They drift past the Greek Islands on yachts, sipping champagne from crystal goblets. They step out for the evening in shimmering satin gowns, whisked away by tuxedoed chauffeurs. They do not spend their days pondering the finer art of toilet bowl sanitation.
Zaslow notes that Martha was named one of America's 25 most influential people by Time magazine (nosing out Mother Theresa, Madeline Allbright and Maya Angelou, no doubt).
The proof of Martha's influence: after she bought white-fleshed peaches in the supermarket, Martha says, "People saw me buy them. In an instant, they were all gone." I hope Martha never decides to jump off a bridge!
A guest in Martha's home told Zaslow how Martha gets up early to rollerblade with her dogs to pick fresh wild blackberries for breakfast. This confirms what I've suspected about Martha all along: She's obviously got too much time on her hands. Teaching the dogs to rollerblade. What a show off.
If you think the dogs are spoiled, listen to how Martha treats her friends: She gave one friend all 272 books from the Knopf Everyman Library. It didn't cost much. Pocket change, really. Just $5,000. But what price friendship, right? When asked if others should envy her, Martha replies, "Don't envy me. I'm doing this because I'm a natural teacher. You shouldn't envy teachers. You should listen to them." Zaslow must have slit a seam in Martha's ego at this point, because once the hot air came hissing out, it couldn't be held back. "Being an overachiever is nothing despicable. It is only admirable. Never lower your standards," says Martha. And of her Web Page on the Internet, Martha declares herself an "important presence" as she graciously helps people organize their sad, tacky little lives.
There you have it, Santa. If there was ever someone who deserved a good smack, it's Martha Stewart. But I bet I won't get my gift this year. You probably want to smack her yourself.
A Hopeful "Child"
As the parent of a thriving 2 month old girl, I almost wept when I read this article. This poor girl was born without most of the bones in her face, meaning she will undergo more than 30 operations during which surgeons will try to construct a face for her. Anyway, the family has set up a savings account to help defray the prohibitive costs of the medical bills. Give if you see fit; it is the season, after all.
Donations can be made at ANY Vystar Credit Union to Juliana Wetmore at member number 2102465.
Direct donations can be sent to:
3018 Hickory Glenn Dr.
Orange Park, FL 32065
Well, I can't get the images to tile the way I want them to, so I'll post them in as they are.
Update: This OTB post has nothing in common with the twisted images above. I'm just hoping that some of James' readers will stop by. Huzzah for the Beltway Traffic Jam!
Don't say I didn't warn you:
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And the recipe comes from a most unlikely source: Paula Deen of Paula's Home Cooking. The first-and only- time I watched her show, I became convinced that the main ingredients for all of her recipes consisted of salt, salt, salt and fat. She made Steve look a vegetarian by comparison. Proving that a blind, fat, needs-an-angioplasty squirrel can find a nut when she really needs to, Paula created the recipe that follows. Trust me: you won't go back to garden-variety banana pudding ever again.
2 bags Pepperidge Farm Chessmen cookies(as much as I love Nilla Wafers, this is an upgrade)
6 to 8 bananas, sliced
2 cups milk
1 (5-ounce) box instant French vanilla pudding
1 (8-ounce) package cream cheese, softened
1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk
1 (12-ounce) container frozen whipped topping thawed, or equal amount sweetened whipped cream
Line the bottom of a 13 by 9 by 2-inch dish with 1 bag of cookies and layer bananas on top.
In a bowl, combine the milk and pudding mix and blend well using a handheld electric mixer. Using another bowl, combine the cream cheese and condensed milk together and mix until smooth. Fold the whipped topping into the cream cheese mixture. Add the cream cheese mixture to the pudding mixture and stir until well blended. Pour the mixture over the cookies and bananas and cover with the remaining cookies. Refrigerate until ready to serve.
Everyone knew that this was coming, even the dishonest dicks claiming that it would never happen.
Suffice it to say that working 2 jobs during the Christmas season, with 2 small children in the house, takes quite a bit of my time and attention. Sure, I've posted a bunch lately, but it's almost all bee retreads of my earlier work. What little original material I've created has been snuck in during lunchtime. Anyhoo, whilst my attention was elsewhere, Andrew Sullivan decided to take whatever goodwill people had thought about giving him and tossed it into the toilet. I'm not linking to the post in question because I'm not giving that once-inspired-writer-turned-whiny-hack whatever pitiful traffic I could send his way. Gerard weighs in on the subject in his usual eloquent manner; Spoons has more here and here.
I'm sorry that it's come to this. Andrew has been one of my mainstays since I first stumbled onto blogs via the Corner. No more, though. One benefit is that I'll have more time to read better writers.
Emily just turned 32. Okay, it was yesterday; I'm running behind in my blog reading. Stop by and congratulate her. Also, she's included a handy-dandy link so that you can send her a virtual beer. Hmm. I wonder if she likes homebrewed beer?
How ice cream cones are really made:
The punchline is obvious, but it still made me laugh. Check this out.
Bashing the French:
"France has neither winter nor summer nor morals.
Apart from these drawbacks it is a fine country.
France has usually been governed by prostitutes."
"I would rather have a German division in front of me
than a French one behind me."
--- General George S. Patton
"Going to war without France is like going deer
hunting without your accordion."
"We can stand here like the French, or we can do
something about it."
"As far as I'm concerned, war always means failure"
---Jacques Chirac, President of France; and...
"As far as France is concerned, you're right."
The only time France wants us to go to war is when
the German Army is sitting in Paris sipping coffee."
--- Regis Philbin
"The French are a smallish, monkey-looking bunch and
not dressed any better, on average, than the citizens of
Baltimore. True, you can sit outside in Paris and drink
little cups of coffee, but why this is more stylish than
sitting inside and drinking large glasses of whiskey I
--- P. J. O'Rourke (1989)
"You know, the French remind me a little bit of an
aging actress of the 1940s who was still trying to
dine out on her looks but doesn't have the face for it."
---John McCain, U. S. Senator from Arizona
"You know why the French don't want to bomb
Saddam Hussein? Because he hates America, he
loves mistresses and wears a beret. He is French,
"I don't know why people are surprised that France
won't help us get Saddam out of Iraq. After all,
France wouldn't help us get the Germans out of
"The last time the French asked for 'more proof' it
came marching into Paris under a German flag."
How many Frenchmen does it take to change a light
bulb? One. He holds the bulb and all of Europe revolves
French Army tanks have five gears: four in reverse,
and one forwards, in case the enemy attacks from the rear.
Next time there's a war in Europe, the loser has to
France announced today that it plans to ban fireworks
at Euro Disney, following last night's display that caused
soldiers at a nearby French army garrison to surrender.
Update: Looks like I'm not the only that ::cough::loves::cough:: the French. Mheh.
Not only did I post this last year, I've sent it out via email for more than 10 years. I promised you old and stale, and I've delivered ancient and decayed. No thanks are necessary.
December 14, 1972
My dearest darling John:
Who ever in the whole world would dream of getting a real Partridge
in a Pear Tree? How can I ever express my pleasure. Thank you a
hundred times for thinking of me this way.
My love always,
December 15, 1972
Today the postman brought your very sweet gift. Just imagine two
turtle doves. I'm just delighted at your very thoughtful gift. They
are just adorable.
All my love,
December 16, 1972
Oh! Aren't you the extravagant one. Now I must protest. I don't
deserve such generosity, three French hens. They are just darling
but I must insist, you've been too kind.
All my love,
December 17, 1972
Today the postman delivered four calling birds. Now really, they are
beautiful, but don't you think enough is enough. You are being too
December 18, 1972
What a surprise. Today the postman delivered five golden rings, one for
every finger. You're just impossible, but I love it. Frankly, all
those birds squawking were beginning to get on my nerves.
All my love,
December 19, 1972
When I opened the door today there were actually six geese laying on my
front steps. So you're back to the birds again huh? These geese are huge.
Where will I ever keep them? The neighbors are complaining and I can't
sleep through the racket. Please stop.
December 20, 1972
What's with you and those freaking birds?? Seven swans a swimming. What
kind of damn joke is this? There's bird poop all over the house and they
never stop the racket. I can't sleep at night and I'm a nervous wreck. It's
not funny. So stop those freaking birds.
December 21, 1972
I think I prefer the birds. What the hell am I going to do with 8
maids a milking? It's not enough with all those birds and 8 maids a
milking, but they had to bring their damn cows. There is manure all over the
lawn and I can't move in my own house. Just lay off me, smartass.
December 22, 1972
What are you.....some kind of sadist? Now there's nine pipers
playing. And Christ do they play. They've never stopped chasing
those maids since they got here yesterday morning. The cows are
getting upset and they're stepping all over those screeching birds.
What am I going to do? The neighbors have started a petition to evict
You'll get yours !
December 23, 1972
You rotten prick:
Now there's ten ladies dancing. I don't know why I call those sluts
ladies. They've been balling those pipers all night long. Now the
cows can't sleep and they've got diarrhea. My living room is a river
of shit. The Commissioner of Buildings has subpoenaed me to give cause
why the building shouldn't be condemned. I'm calling the police on you !
December 24, 1972
What's with those eleven lords a leaping on those maid and ladies?
Some of those broads will never walk again. Those pipers ran through the
maids and have been committing sodomy with the cows. All twenty-three
of the birds are dead. They've been trampled to death in the orgy. I hope
you're satisfied, you rotten vicious swine.
You're sworn enemy,
December 25, 1972
This is to acknowledge your latest gift of twelve fiddlers fiddling
which you have seen fit to inflict on our client, Miss Agnes
McHolstein. The destruction, of course, was total. All
correspondence should come to our attention. If you should
attempt to reach Miss McHolstein at Happy Dale Sanitarium,
the attendants have been instructed to shoot you on sight.
With this letter please find attached a warrant for your arrest.
Law Offices of Badger, Bender and Chole
FROM: Ms.Pat Smith, Human Resources Director
RE: Christmas Party
DATE: December 1
I'm happy to inform you that the office Christmas Party will
take place on December 22, starting at noon in the banquet
room at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue. No-host bar, but plenty of
eggnog! We'll have a small band playing traditional carols...
feel free to sing along. And don't be surprised if our General Manager shows up dressed as Santa Claus!
FROM: Pat Smith, Human Resources Director
DATE: December 4
RE: Christmas Party
In no way was yesterday's memo intended to exclude our Jewish
employees. We recognize that Chanukah is an important holiday
which often coincides with Christmas, though unfortunately not
this year. However, from now on we're calling it our "Holiday Party."
The same policy applies to employees who are celebrating Kwanzaa
at this time. Happy now?
FROM: Pat Smith, Human Resources Director
DATE: December 5
RE: Holiday Party
Regarding the note I received from a member of Alcoholics Anonymous
requesting a non-drinking table...you didn't sign your name. I'm happy
to accommodate this request, but if I put a sign on a table that
reads,"AAOnly," you wouldn't be anonymous anymore. How am I
supposed to handle this? Somebody?
FROM: Pat Smith, Human Resources Director
DATE: December 6
RE: Holiday Party
What a diverse company we are! I had no idea that November 27
was the beginning of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which
forbids eating, drinking and intimacy during daylight hours. There
goes the party! Seriously, we can appreciate how a luncheon
this time of year does not accommodate our Muslim employees beliefs.
Perhaps Luigi's can hold off on serving your meal until the end of the
party, or else package everything for take-home in little foil swans.
Will that work? Meanwhile, I've arranged for members of Overeaters
Anonymous to sit farthest from the dessert buffet and pregnant
women will get the table closest to the restrooms. Did I miss anything?
FROM: Pat Smith, Human Resources Director
DATE: December 7
RE: Holiday Party
So December 21 marks the Winter Solstice...what do you expect me
to do, a tap-dance on your heads? Fire regulations at Luigi's prohibit
the burning of sage by our "earth-based Goddess worshipping"
employees, but we'll try to accommodate your shamanic drumming
circle during the band's breaks. Okay???
FROM: Pat Smith, Human Resources Director
DATE: December 8
RE: Holiday Party
People, people, nothing sinister was intended by having our GM
dress up like Santa Claus! Even if the anagram of "Santa" does
happen to be Satan," there is no evil connotation to our own
"little man in a red suit." It's a tradition, folks, like sugar shock
at Halloween or family feuds over the Thanksgiving turkey or
broken hearts on Valentine's Day. Could we lighten up?
FROM: Pat Smith, Human Resources Director
DATE: December 11
RE: Holiday Party
Vegetarians!? I've had it with you people! We're going to keep
this party at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue whether you like it or not,
so you can sit quietly at the table furthest from the "grill of death,"
as you so quaintly put it, and you'll get your #$%^&*! salad bar,
including hydroponic tomatoes...but you know, they have feelings,
too. Tomatoes scream when you slice them. I've heard them scream,
I'm hearing them scream right now!
FROM: Karen Jones, Acting Human Resources Director
DATE: December 12
RE:Ms. Pat Smith and Holiday Party
I'm sure I speak for all of us in wishing Pat Smith a speedy recovery
from her stress-related illness and I'll continue to forward your cards
to her at the sanitarium. In the meantime, management has decided
to cancel our Holiday Party and give everyone the afternoon of the
22nd off with full pay.
Helen has posted another gem, and this time it's about the need to believe in Santa Claus. I believe that this editorial should have put that question to rest, permanently. Thank you, Virginia O'Hanlon:
Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus
Editorial Page, New York Sun, 1897
We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:
I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a sceptical age. They do not believe except what they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours, man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.
He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The external light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies. You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if you did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived could tear apart. Only faith, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, Virginia, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus?Thank God he lives and lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay 10 times 10,000 years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!!
I'm certain that I will repeat this story many times to my newborn daughter, who coincidentally is named Virginia. Yes, I believe, too.
A cure for beal: reposting old stuff from last year. Sure saves me a lot of effort...
Rudolph was a four-hoofed ungulate, who, incidentally, possessed
a nasal appendage of a maroon luster. Consequently, if
circumstances were to present themselves that he ever came into
your view, you would most undoubtedly remark at to its luminary
The multitude of other members of the population in his
ecological community had previously teased, chuckled
boisterously, and dubbed him unspeakable pseudonyms -- the
objective of which was to lower his self-esteem and make him
miserable. They also excluded him from participation in leisure
activities consistent with their species.
However, on the twenty-fourth of December in an unspecified year,
a mythological, supernatural being inherent to western culture
(who symbolizes the Christmas attitude and allegedly brings gifts
to children) arrived through the supersaturated, humid air, spoke
to Rudolph and formally invited him, due to his extraordinary
nasal characteristic to stand at the forefront of his snow
vehicle with the express purpose that he navigate through the
At that point, the multitude of other members of the population
in his ecological community who had previously teased, chuckled
boisterously, and dubbed him unspeakable pseudonyms, reversed
their disposition toward Rudolph to a more congenial, amicable
relationship. They consequently exclaimed with great exaltation
and fervor, "Rudolph, the antlered mammal with a maroon nasal
appendage, you shall most certainly be recorded in the annals of
time, and your memory will be preserved for posterity!
Quite an interesting comment thread going on over here. The artist formerly known as The Creator of Worlds passes along some insights on what drives someone to quite blogging, which I greatly fear may come to pass at Protein Wisdom. The whole thread is worthwhile, but here are a couple of wheat grains hidden in the chaff:
Well, YJP, in the blogosphere (and Christ, there’s a word I hate—like “fisking"), higher rankings mean better ad revenue, and rankings are a product of more than just quality product. I wish it weren’t so, but it is.
I blew off the Washington Post awards and, from the perspective of building a readership, that was a mistake.
Re: these contests. Well, you and I have talked about this before, so you know I hate these things. But I’m terrible at marketing, and these things are ways to market the site. So as much as I hate it, I have to do it.
Makes me sick to ask people to go vote for me everyday. Seriously. I feel dirty. But if I am unable to make this thing pay for itself, I can’t justify doing it daily. So I’m learning to whore myself a little bit. Reluctantly.
Right now I’m at that, “hey, you don’t look that slutty in fish nets” point.
Posted by Jeff Goldstein
And this one:
It took Allah almost ten months to totally burn out and quit blogging after winning last year, Jeff.
No, it took Allah three months to totally burn out. The seven months after that were a mix of shitty, boring Photoshops and straightforward snoozefest warblogging to keep up my traffic.
Here’s how it’s gonna go down, Jeff. Sometime in April or maybe early May, you’re going to be sitting there with that Martha Stewart diary template open, your mind a complete blank. And suddenly you’ll think, “I’ve done it. I’ve done every muff-dive joke known to man. There’s nowhere left to go.” So you’ll say ah, well, fuck it, no more Martha Stewart ‘shops. But then here’s what’ll happen: Martha will get paroled or she’ll get in a fight in the prison commissary or something, and suddenly everyone and their fucking mother will be e-mailing you saying, “Dude, you HAVE GOT to ‘shop this. The earth itself cries out for it.” And you’ll start sweating again ‘cause just about the last fucking thing in the world you’ll want to do at that point is tap out another Stewart piece. Maybe you’ll do it anyway. Or, just maybe, you’ll start wondering the same thing I wondered when I eventually got to this point: namely, could booting up the old Sega and replaying Sonic The Hedgehog all the way through really be a worse use of my time than this? And the answer is: no. No, it could not.
The moment I finally knew for sure that quitting was the right thing to do was when Arafat was in that he’s dead/he’s not dead limbo. The demand for agonizingly cliched Arafat/"Weekend at Bernie’s” ‘shops was at an all-time high. And you know and I know and everyone else knows damn well who would have been expected to provide the supply, were he still blogging at the time. The horror. The horror.
I want to assure you that when your Sonic The Hedgehog moment comes, I’ll be there for you. Game paddle in hand.
Posted by Allah
The above comment prompted this reply from Jeff:
That’s beautiful, Allah. But c’mon—how does one ever run out of muff diving jokes? Seriously. It that even possible?
Posted by Jeff Goldstein
CHRISTMAS INFO MEMO 12/21
IT CAME UPON A SERVER CLEAR...
Archaeologists working in the Holy Land have discovered an ancient
diskette mixed up with the Dead Sea Scrolls.
Here is what they found on the diskette:
Date: Mon, 2 Dec
Subject: Taxes, Census
I decree that all the inhabited world shall be counted and taxed. You must
every one go unto your own city.
Date: Wed, 4 Dec
Please reserve room for two, perhaps three, for December 24 to
Date: Fri, 6 Dec
Subject: RE: Reservations
Sorry, no room available. We've got the Hanukkah rush and the census crowd.
Thank heaven Athens beat us out for the Olympics this year! Why not come in
the off-season and get our special rate? Anyway, if you have a forms-capable
browser, you can register for the census and pay your taxes on the Med Wide Web
Date: Sun, 8 Dec
Subject: RE: RE: Reservations
Forms-capable browser? You must be kidding! It'll probably take
Galilee OnLine a couple of thousand years to work out access like
that. Please place us on waiting list for room.
Date: Mon, 23 Dec
Subject: Temporary Permit
Due to the crush of taxpayers and holiday visitors, you are hereby
granted a permit to use your stable, barn, or any agricultural outbuildings
for temporary lodging or shelter for up to 30 days from this date.
Address any appeals to:
ATTN: Manger Manager
Date: Wed, 25 Dec
Subject: It's a boy!
Unto us a son is born.
Let the family know. He came upon a midnight clear, away in a manger.
Hope to upgrade room.
Date: Wed, 25 Dec
Tidings of great joy: Unto you is born this day in the city of David
Date: Wed, 25 Dec
Subject: Praise the Lord ...
Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward
Date: Wed, 25 Dec
Subject: ... and Pass the Admonition
If ye do not act now, rates for heavenly hostingWeb sites will go up
January 1. Sign up now to lock in current prices, so ye can make known
abroad (at our famous low rates) the saying which was told you
concerning this child, glorifying and praising God for all the things
that ye have heard and seen, as it was told unto you.
Date: Wed, 25 Dec
Subject: RE: ... and Pass the Admonition
Angels we have heard on high. We'll sign up, but only if you can get
us the domain name we want: FirstNoel.com.
Date: Wed, 25 Dec
Subject: Star sighting
We've seen the light! Heading your way. May take a few days. Caspar wants
to pick up some gold, frankincense, and myrrh before leaving. And for some
reason, everything seems to be closed today. Also, transportation is heavily
booked westward leading, still proceeding. We just got bumped off a caravan
because Balthazar wanted a non-smoking camel. See you January 6 or so.
Sorry we'll miss the bris. So, what are you going to name the kid, anyway?
And his name shall be called Jesus.
That's what this is all about...
Copy, paste, repeat:
I think Santa Claus is a woman....
I hate to be the one to defy 'sacred' myth, but I believe he's a she. Think about it. Christmas is a big, organized, warm, fuzzy, nurturing social deal, and I have a tough time believing a guy could possibly pull it all off!
For starters, the vast majority of men don't even think about selecting gifts until Christmas Eve. It's as if they are all frozen in some kind of Ebenezerian Time Warp until 3 p.m. on Dec. 24th, when they -- with amazing calm -- call other errant men and plan for a last-minute shopping spree. Once at the mall, they always seem surprised to find only Ronco products, socket wrench sets, and mood rings left on the shelves. (You might think this would send them into a fit of panic and guilt, but my husband tells me it's an enormous relief because it lessens the 11th hour decision-making burden.) On this count alone, I'm convinced Santa is a woman. Surely, if he were a man everyone in the universe would wake up Christmas morning to find a rotating musical Chia Pet under the tree, still in the bag.
Another problem for a he-Santa would be getting there. First of all, there would be no reindeer because they would all be dead, gutted and strapped on to the rear bumper of the sleigh amid wide-eyed, desperate claims that buck season had been extended. Blitzen's rack would already be on the way to the taxidermist.
Even if the male Santa DID have reindeer, he'd still have transportation problems because he would inevitably get lost up there in the snow and clouds and then refuse to stop and ask for directions. Add to this the fact that there would be unavoidable delays in the chimney, where the Bob Vila-like Santa would stop to inspect and repoint bricks in the flue. He would also need to check for carbon monoxide fumes in every gas fireplace, and get under every Christmas tree that is crooked to straighten it to a perfectly upright 90-degree angle.
Other reasons why Santa can't possibly be a man:
- Men can't pack a bag.
- Men would rather be dead than caught wearing red velvet.
- Men would feel their masculinity is threatened...having to be seen
with all those elves.
- Men don't answer their mail.
- Men would refuse to allow their physique to be described even in
jest as anything remotely resembling a "bowlful of jelly."
- Men aren't interested in stockings unless somebody's wearing them.
- Having to do the Ho Ho Ho thing would seriously inhibit their
ability to pick up women.
- Finally, being responsible for Christmas would require a commitment.
I can buy the fact that other mythical holiday characters are men...
Father Time shows up once a year unshaven and looking ominous. Definite Guy.
Cupid flies around carrying weapons. Definite Guy.
Uncle Sam is a politician who likes to point fingers. Definite Guy.
Any one of these individuals could pass the testosterone screening test. But not St. Nick. Not a chance. As long as we have each other, good will, peace on earth, faith and Nat King Cole's version of "The Christmas Song," it probably makes little difference what gender Santa is.
I just wish she'd quit dressing like a guy!!!
Holiday Diet Tips
1. If no one sees you eat it, it has no calories.
2. If you drink a diet soda with a candy bar, they cancel each other out.
3. When eating with someone else, calories don't count if you both eat the same amount.
4. Foods used for medicinal purposes have no calories. This includes any chocolate used for energy, brandy, Sara Lee cheesecake (eaten whole), and Haagen-Dazs ice cream.
5. Some foods are much lower in calories simply because they are a part of the entertainment experience and not part of one's personal fuel. This includes Milk Duds, popcorn with butter, Junior Mints, Snickers, and Gummi Bears.
6. Cookie pieces contain no calories because the process of breakage causes calorie leakage.
7. If you eat the food off someone else's plate, it doesn't count.
8. If you eat standing up the calories all go to your feet and get walked off.
9. Food eaten at Christmas parties has no calories, courtesy of Santa.
10. STRESSED is just DESSERTS spelled backward.
Downsizing At Christmas
The usual large flamboyant typeface associated with the seasons
greetings has been downsized this year commensurate with the trend
toward corporate downsizing. And the fact that SMTP does not support
typeface control. The recent announcement that Donner and Blitzen have
elected to take the early reindeer retirement package has triggered a
good deal of concern about whether they will be replaced, and about
other restructuring decisions at the North Pole.
Streamlining was appropriate in view of the reality that the North
Pole no longer dominates the season's gift distribution business. Home
shopping channels and mail order catalogues have diminished Santa's
market share and he could not sit idly by and permit further erosion
of the profit picture. The reindeer downsizing was made possible
through the purchase of a late model Japanese sled for the CEO's annual trip.
Improved productivity from Dasher and Dancer, who summered at the
Harvard Business School, is anticipated and should take up the slack
with no discernible loss of service. Reduction in reindeer will also
lessen airborne environmental emissions for which the North Pole has
been cited and received unfavorable press.
I am pleased to inform you and yours that Rudolph's role will not be
disturbed. Tradition still counts for something at the North Pole.
Management denies, in the strongest possible language, the earlier leak
that Rudolph's nose got that way not from the cold, but from substance
abuse. Calling Rudolph "a lush who was into the sauce and never did
pull his share of the load" was an unfortunate comment, made by one
of Santa's helpers and taken out of context at a time of year when he
is known to be under executive stress.
As a further restructuring, today's global challenges require the
North Pole to continue to look for better, more competitive steps.
Twelve Days of Christmas Restuctured
Effective immediately, the following economizing measures are being
implemented in our "Twelve Days of Christmas" subsidiary:
1) The partridge will be retained, but the pear tree, which never
produced the cash crop forecasted, will be replaced by a plastic
hanging plant, providing considerable savings in maintenance;
2) Two turtle doves represent a redundancy that is simply not cost
effective. In addition, their romance during working hours could not
be condoned. The positions are, therefore, eliminated...doves are
3) The three French hens will remain intact. After all, everyone
loves the French things;
4) The four calling birds will be replaced by an automated voice
mail system, with a call waiting option. An analysis is underway to
determine who the birds have been calling, how often and how long
5) The five golden rings have been put on hold by the Board of
Directors. Maintaining a portfolio based on one commodity could
have negative implications for institutional investors. Diversification
into other precious metals, as well as a mix of T-Bills and high technology
stocks, appear to be in order;
6) The six geese-a-laying constitutes a luxury which can no longer
be afforded. It has long been felt that the production rate of one
egg per goose per day was an example of the general decline in
Three geese will be let go, and an upgrading in the selection procedure by
personnel will assure management that, from now on, every goose it
gets will be a good one;
7) The seven swans-a-swimming is obviously a number chosen in
better times. The function is primarily decorative. Shrimp ponds
are on order. The current swans will be donated to county jails;
8) As you know, the eight maids-a-milking concept has been under
heavy scrutiny by the EEOC. A male/female balance in the workforce
is being sought. The more militant maids consider this a dead-end
job with no upward mobility. Automation of the process may permit
the maids to try a-mending, a-mentoring or a-mulching;
9) Nine ladies dancing has always been an odd number. This
function will be phased out as these individuals grow older and
can no longer do the steps;
10) Ten Lords-a-leaping is overkill. The high cost of Lords, plus
the expense of international air travel, prompted the Compensation
Committee to suggest replacing this group with ten out-of-work
congressmen. While leaping ability may be somewhat sacrificed,
the savings are significant as we expect an oversupply of
unemployed congressmen this year;[Ed note: we can only hope]
11) Eleven pipers piping and twelve drummers drumming is a simple
case of an out of date band getting too big. A substitution with a
string quartet, a cutback on new music, and no uniforms, will
produce savings which will drop right to the bottom line;
Overall we can expect a substantial reduction in assorted people,
fowl, animals and related expenses. Though incomplete, studies
indicate that stretching deliveries over twelve days is inefficient.
If we can drop ship by UPS in one day, service levels will be improved.
Regarding the lawsuit filed by the Bar Association seeking expansion
to include the legal profession ("thirteen lawyers-a-suing"), a
decision is pending.
Deeper cuts may be necessary in the future to remain competitive.
Should that happen, the Board will request management to scrutinize
our Snow White Division to see if seven dwarfs ..sleeping, sneezing,
grumping, etc. are in line with our overall projections.
All repeats, all the time!
I wud like a kool toy space ranjur fer Xmas. Iv ben a gud
boy all yeer.
Nice spelling. You're on your way to a career in lawn care.
How about I send you a fucking book so you can learn to read and
write? I'm giving your older brother the space ranger. At least HE
I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is
peace and joy in the world for everybody!
You're parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they?
I don't know if you can do this, but for Christmas, I'd like for my
mommy and daddy to get back together. Please see what you can do.
Look, your dad's banging the babysitter like a screen door in a
hurricane. Do you think he's gonna give that up to come back to your
frigid mom, who rides his ass constantly? It's time to give up that
dream. Let me get you some nice Legos instead.
I want a new bike, a Playstation, a train, some G.I. Joes, a dog, a
drum kit, a pony and a tuba.
Who names their kid "Damien" nowadays? I bet you're gay.
I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots
for your reindeer outside the back door.
Milk gives me the runs and carrots make the deer fart in my face
when riding in the sleigh. You want to do me a favor? Leave me a bottle
What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy
All the toys are made in China. I have a condo in Vegas, where I
spend most of my time making low-budget porno films. I unwind
by drinking myself silly and squeezing the asses of cocktail waitresses
while losing money at the craps table. Hey,you wanted to know.
Do you see us when we're sleeping, do you really know when we're
awake, like in the song?
Are you really that gullible? Good luck in whatever you do. I'm
skipping your house.
I really really want a puppy this year. Please please please PLEASE
PLEASE could I have one?
That whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap
doesn't work with me. You're getting a sweater again.
We don't have a chimney in our house, how do you get into our house?
First, stop calling yourself "Joey", that's why you're getting your
ass whipped at school. Second, you don't live in a house, you live in a
low-rent apartment complex. Third, I get inside your pad just like
all the burglars do, through your bedroom window.
Dear Darling Son and That Person You Married,
Merry Christmas to you, and please don't worry. I'm just fine considering I can't breathe or eat. The important thing is that you have a nice holiday, thousands of miles away from your ailing mother. I've sent along my last ten dollars in this card, which I hope you'll spend on my grandchildren. God knows their mother never buys them anything nice. They look so thin in their pictures, poor babies.
Thank you so much for the birthday flowers, dear boy. I put them in the freezer so they'll stay fresh for my grave. Which reminds me, we buried Grandma last week. I know she died years ago, but I got to yearning for a good funeral so Aunt Berta and I dug her up and had the services all over again. I would have invited you, but I know that woman you live with would have never let you come. I bet she's never even watched that videotape of my hemorrhoid surgery, has she?
Well son, it's time for me to crawl off to bed now. I lost my cane beating off muggers last week, but don't you worry about me. I'm also getting used to the cold since they turned my heat off and am grateful because the frost on my bed numbs the constant pain. Now don't you even think about sending any more money, because I know you need it for those expensive family vacations you take every year.
Give my love to my darling grandbabies and my regards to whatever-her-name-is, the one with the black roots in her hair who stole you screaming from my bosom. Merry Christmas.
Saw another article on the Hardee's Monster Thick Burger, which contained the following blurb:
The Center for Science in the Public Interest, a Washington-based advocate group, dubbed the Thickburgers "food porn," the Monster "the fast-food equivalent of a snuff film."
This print phenomenon is sometimes known as "Hyper-activist Overzealous Reactionary Syndrome w/ Hyperbole-Inflamed Text" (aka HORSHIT)
Sleep all the time and lose weight. Now there's a plan that I get behind.
Found via Nealz Nuze:
My boyfriend gave me a mood ring. When I'm in a good mood, it makes a green color. When I'm in a bad mood, it makes a red mark on his forehead.
And just because I've found a joke to piss off women and people of Asian descent, I give you the following:
A woman was very distraught at the fact that she had not had a date or any sex in quite some time. She was afraid she might have something wrong with her, so she decided to seek the medical expertise of a sex therapist. Her doctor recommended that she see, the well-known Chinese sex therapist, so she went to see him.
Upon entering the examination room, Dr. Chang said, "OK, take off all you crose." The woman did as she was told.
"Now, get down and craw reery, reery fass to odder side of room." Again, the woman did as she was instructed.
Dr. Chang then said, "OK, now craw reery, reery fass back to me." So she did.
Dr. Chang shook his head slowly and said, "Your probrem vewy bad. You haf Ed Zachary Disease. Worse case I ever see. Dat why you not haf sex or dates."
Worried, the woman asked anxiously, "Oh my God, Dr. Chang, what is Ed Zachary Disease?" Dr. Chang looked the woman in the eye and replied, "Ed Zachary Disease is when your face rook Ed Zachary rike your ass."
Yes, I posted this last year. I did warn you....
Barbie's Letter To Santa
Listen you fat little troll, I've been helping you out every year,
playing at being the perfect Christmas Present, wearing skimpy bathing
suits in frigid weather, and drowning in fake tea from one too many tea
parties, and I hate to break it to ya Santa, but IT'S DEFINITELY PAY
BACK TIME! There had better be some changes around here this Christmas,
or I'm gonna call for a nationwide meltdown (and trust me, you won't
wanna be around to smell it).
So, here's my holiday wish list for 1998, Santa.
1. A nice, comfy pair of sweat pants and a frumpy, oversized sweatshirt.
I'm sick of looking like a hooker. How much smaller are these bathing
suits gonna get? Do you have any idea what it feels like to have nylon
and velcro up your butt?
2. Real underwear that can be pulled on and off. Preferably white. What
bonehead at Mattel decided to cheap out and MOLD imitation underwear to
my skin?!? It looks like cellulite!
3. A REAL man... maybe GI JOE. Hell, I'd take Tickle-Me-Elmo over that
wimped-out excuse for a boy toy Ken. And what's with that earring anyway?
If I'm gonna have to suffer with him, at least make him (and me)
4. Arms that actually bend so I can push the aforementioned Ken-wimp
away once he is anatomically correct.
5. Breast reduction surgery. I don't care whose arm you have to twist,
just get it done.
6. A jog-bra. To wear until I get the surgery.
7. A new career. Pet doctor and school teacher just don't cut it. How
about a systems analyst? Or better yet, a public relations senior
8. A new, more 90's persona. Maybe "PMS Barbie", complete with a
miniature container of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and a
bag of chips; "Animal Rights Barbie", with my very own paint gun,
fitted with a fake fur coat, bottle of spray on blood and handcuffs;
or "Stop Smoking Barbie," sporting a Nicotrol patch and equipped with
several packs of gum.
9. No more McDonald's endorsements. The grease is wrecking my vinyl.
10. Mattel stock options. It's been 37 years-I think I deserve it.
Okay Santa, that's it. Considering my valuable contribution to society, I
don't think these requests are out of line. If you disagree, then you can
find yourself a new bitch for next Christmas. It's that simple.
Ken's Letter To Santa
I understand that one of my colleagues has petitioned you
for changes in her contract, specifically asking for anatomical and
career changes. In addition, it is my understanding that disparaging
remarks were made about me, my ability to please, and some of my
fashion choices. I would like to take this opportunity to inform you
of some issues concerning Ms. Barbie, and some of my own needs and
First of all, I along with several other colleagues feel
Barbie DOES NOT deserve preferential treatment - the bitch has
everything. Along with Joe, Jem, Raggedy Ann & Andy, I DO NOT have
a dream house, corvette, evening gowns, and in some cases the ability
to change our hair style. I personally have only 3 outfits which I am
forced to mix and match at great length.
My decision to accessorize my outfits with an earring was my
decision and reflects my lifestyle choice.
I too would like a change in my career. Have you ever considered
"Decorator Ken", "Beauty Salon Ken", or "Out Of Work Actor Ken"? In
addition, there are several other avenues which could be considered such
"S&M Ken" , "Green Lantern Ken", "Circuit Ken", "Bear Ken", "Master Ken".
These would more accurately reflect my desires and perhaps open up new
markets. And as for Barbie needing bendable arms so she can "push me
away," I need bendable knees so I can kick the bitch to the curb.
Bendable knees would also be helpful for me in other situations - we've
talked about this issue before.
In closing, I would like to point out that any further concessions
to the blond bimbo from hell will result in action be taken by myself and
others. And Barbie can forget about having Joe - he's mine, at least that's
what he said last night.
Submitted by: Name withheld to protect the quilty.
It's a matter of my opinion that Yule love the game we're about to
play. In each sentence below, fill in the blank or blanks with an
expression commonly used at Christmastide. Answers repose at the
end of this column.
1. On December 24, Adam's wife was known as _____ _____.
2. In Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol, Scrooge was
visited by the ghost of _____ _____.
3. An opinion survey in Alaska is called a _____ _____.
4. What does Santa Claus do with his three gardens?
_____, _____, _____
5. What Christmas message is conveyed by these letters?:
ABCDEFGHIJKMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ. _____, _____
6. When the salt and the pepper say "Hi!" to each other,
they are passing on _____ _____.
7. A holy man bereft of change could be called _____ _____.
8. When you cross a sheep with a cicada, you get a _____ _____.
9. A quiet medieval armor-wearer is a _____ _____.
10. A cat walking on the desert is bound to get _____ _____.
11. People who tell jokes on December 25 might be called _____ _____.
12. An airplane disaster in Israel is a _____.
13. Actor O'Connor and actress Channing are known on
December 25 as _____ _____.
14. What do Spanish sheep says when they wish each
other a Merry Christmas? _____ _____.
Meretricious to all! And don't forget that There's
No Plate Like Chrome for the Hollandaise.
1. Christmas Eve
2. Christmas Present
3. North Poll
4. Hoe, hoe, hoe.
5. Noel, Noel (no l, no l)
6. seasons' greetings.
7. St. Nickleless.
8. Bah! (or Baa!) Humbug!
9. silent knight
10. sandy claws
11. Christmas cards
13. Christmas Carols
14. Fleece Navidad!
Tell me if you see a problem here:
A group of seniors were sitting around the bridge table talking about all their ailments.
"My arms have gotten so weak I can hardly lift this cup of coffee," one said.
"Yes, I know," said another. "My cataracts are so bad I can't even see my coffee."
"I couldn't even mark an 'X' at election time, my hands are so crippled," volunteered a third.
"What? Speak up, I can't hear you," said a fourth.
"I can't turn my head because of the arthritis in my neck," said a fifth, to which several nodded weakly in agreement.
"My blood pressure pills make me so dizzy I can hardly walk," exclaimed another.
"I forget where I am and where I'm going," said an elderly gent.
"I guess that's the price we pay for getting old," winced an old man as he slowly shook his head.
The others nodded in agreement.
"Well, count your blessings," said a woman cheerfully. "THANK GOD WE CAN ALL STILL DRIVE!"
And it's posted, not surprisingly, by Andrea. I had mulled over the idea of responding to this load of poop after reading it yesterday. Turns out that some people had already weighed in on the subject using their best Adult Voice™, meaning that the discussion had ended. Anyway, I'm glad that I held off on writing my post because Andrea did a far better job than I could have making mincemeat of the opposition. Excerpt:
Now, I’d like to know what mainline branch of Christianity is refusing to admit cripples, minorities, and gays into its churches to worship merely for being what they are. I do think the answer to that is “none,” and I am sure that the creators and approvers of this ad knew that full well. Just as I am sure that they also know full well that Christ’s commandment to “go forth and sin no more” didn’t mean “go back to whatever bad thing you were doing because now that I’m here nothing is bad anymore!” The ad misrepresents the Christian religion and the aim of its believers in a very basic way that can only undermine the church, though perhaps it will briefly increase its member rolls.
The sin referred to in that particular passage in the Bible was adultery. This is a behavior, not an involuntarily-inherited physical characteristic like skin color over which human beings have no control. A sin is a behavior that is wrong. The use of the minority and handicapped characters in the ad implying that there is some sort of impetus running through modern society to think it’s a sin to be crippled or any other color of skin but that underdone toast color known as “white” would be bizarre if it wasn’t obvious (to me, anyway, though it seems to have passed under Jarvis’ radar) that they were being used as a blatant diversion from the real focus of the ad, which was on the two “gay” men who weren’t allowed to pass the velvet rope.
That brings me belatedly to the subject of Jarvis’ post, which is about a Methodist minister who was relieved of her position of authority after not only admitting to having engaged while in this position of authority in behavior her church has condemned as sinful but openly flaunting it as something wonderful. Now I have no beef with people “coming out” as gay to their friends, family members, coworkers, and the general public, but I do have an issue with people expecting to have their cake and eat it too – expecting to still be able to keep the perks of the position whose rules they flouted.
Read it all.
Well, this can't be good. Excerpt that pertains to me:
Pisces (February 19 - March 20)
Today you will suddenly realise how sensuous pudding can be. This will mark a turning point in your life.
Be afraid; very afraid.
Because I just haven't pissed off enough women this weekend:
1. Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.
2. Movie nudity is virtually always female.
3. You know stuff about tanks.
4. A five day vacation requires only one suitcase.
5. Monday Night Football.
6. You don't have to monitor your friend's sex lives.
7. Your bathroom lines are 80% shorter.
8. You can open all your own jars.
9. Old friends don't give you crap if you've lost or gained weight.
10. Dry cleaners and haircutters don't rob you blind.
11. When clicking through the channels, you don't have to stall on
every shot of someone crying.
12. Your ass is never a factor in a job interview.
13. All your orgasms are real.
14. A beer gut does not make you invisible to the opposite sex.
15. Guys in hockey masks don't attack you.
16. You don't have to lug a bag of useful stuff around everywhere you go.
17. You understand why "Stripes" is funny.
18. You can go to the bathroom without a support group.
19. Your last name stays put.
20. You can leave a hotel bed unmade.
21. When your work is criticized, you don't have to panic that everyone
secretly hates you.
22. You can kill your own food.
23. The garage is all yours.
24. You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.
25. You see the humor in Terms of Endearment.
26. Nobody secretly wonders if you swallow.
27. You never have to clean the toilet.
28. You can be showered and ready in 10 minutes.
29. Sex means never worrying about your reputation.
30. Wedding plans take care of themselves.
31. If someone forgets to invite you to something, he or she can still
be your friend.
32. Your underwear costs $10 for a three-pack.
33. The National College Cheerleading Championship
34. None of your co-workers have the power to make you cry.
35. You don't have to shave below your neck.
36. You don't have to curl up next to a hairy ass every nite.
37. If you're 34 and single nobody notices.
38. You can write your name in the snow.
39. You can get into a nontrivial pissing contest.
40. Everything on your face stays its original color.
41. Chocolate is just another snack.
42. You can be president.
43. You can quietly enjoy a car ride from the passenger seat.
44. Flowers fix everything.
45. You never have to worry about other people's feelings.
46. You get to think about sex 90% of your waking hours.
47. You can wear a white shirt to a water park.
48. Three pair of shoes are more than enough.
49. You can eat a banana in a hardware store.
50. You can say anything and not worry about what people think.
51. Foreplay is optional.
52. Michael Bolton doesn't live in your universe.
53. Nobody stops telling a good dirty joke when you walk into the room.
54. You can whip your shirt off on a hot day.
55. You don't have to clean your apartment if the meter reader is
56. You never feel compelled to stop a pal from getting laid.
57. Car mechanics tell you the truth.
58. You don't give a rat's ass if someone notices your new haircut.
59. You can watch a game in silence with your buddy for hours without
even thinking "He must be mad at me"
60. The world is your urinal.
61. You never misconstrue innocuous statements to mean your lover is
about to leave you.
62. You get to jump up and slap stuff.
63. Hot wax never comes near your pubic area.
64. One mood, all the time.
65. You can admire Clint Eastwood without starving yourself to look
66. You never have to drive to another gas station because this one's
just to skeevy.
67. You know at least 20 ways to open a beer bottle.
68. You can sit with your knees apart no matter what you are wearing.
69. Same work....more pay.
70. Gray hair and wrinkles add character.
71. You don't have to leave the room to make an emergency crotch
72. Wedding Dress $2000; Tux rental $100.
73. You don't care if someone is talking about you behind your back.
74. With 400 million sperm per shot, you could double the earth's
population in 15 tries, at least in theory.
75. You don't mooch off others' desserts.
76. If you retain water, it's in a canteen.
77. The remote is your's and your's alone.
78. People never glance at your chest when you're talking to them.
79. ESPN's sports center.
80. You can drop by to see a friend without bringing a little gift.
81. Bachelor parties whomp ass over bridal showers.
82. You have a normal and healthy relationship with your mother.
83. You can buy condoms without the shopkeeper imagining you naked.
84. You needn't pretend you're "freshening up" to go to the bathroom.
85. If you don't call your buddy when you say you will, he won't tell
your friends you've changed.
86. Someday you'll be a dirty old man.
87. You can rationalize any behavior with the handy phrase "F*ck it!"
88. If an other guy shows up at the party in the same
outfit, you might become lifelong buddies.
89. Princess Di's death was almost just another obituary.
90. The occasional well-rendered belch is practicallyexpected.
91. You never have to miss a sexual opportunity because you're not in
92. You think the idea of punting a small dog is funny.
93. If something mechanical didn't work, you can bash it with a hammer
and throw it across the room.
94. New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet.
95. Porn movies are designed with your mind in mind.
96. You don't have to remember everyone's birthdays and anniversaries.
97. Not liking a person does not preclude having great sex with them.
98. Your pals can be trusted never to trap you with: "So... notice
100. There is always a game on somewhere.
A lot of the posts the rest of this year may look familiar to those who visited my old site. Well, they seem worth revisting. To me, anyway. Even though I'm having trouble decorating this blog for the holidays, I can at least post lame holiday humor. Here goes the first in a series of repeats:
Not long ago and far away, Santa was getting ready for his annual trip. But there were problems everywhere. Four of his elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule. Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more. When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where. More Stress. Then when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards cracked and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys. So frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey. When he went to the cupboard, he found the elves had hid the liquor and there was nothing to drink. In his frustration, he dropped the coffee pot and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw it was made from. Just then the doorbell rang and Santa cussed on his way to the door. He opened the door and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said: "Where would you like to put this tree Santa?" And that my friend, is how the little angel came to be on top of the Christmas tree.
Not long ago and far away, Santa was getting ready for his annual trip. But there were problems everywhere. Four of his elves got sick, and the trainee elves did not produce the toys as fast as the regular ones so Santa was beginning to feel the pressure of being behind schedule.
Then Mrs. Claus told Santa that her mom was coming to visit. This stressed Santa even more. When he went to harness the reindeer, he found that three of them were about to give birth and two had jumped the fence and were out, heaven knows where. More Stress.
Then when he began to load the sleigh one of the boards cracked and the toy bag fell to the ground and scattered the toys. So frustrated, Santa went into the house for a cup of coffee and a shot of whiskey. When he went to the cupboard, he found the elves had hid the liquor and there was nothing to drink. In his frustration, he dropped the coffee pot and it broke into hundreds of little pieces all over the kitchen floor. He went to get the broom and found that mice had eaten the straw it was made from. Just then the doorbell rang and Santa cussed on his way to the door. He opened the door and there was a little angel with a great big Christmas tree. The angel said: "Where would you like to put this tree Santa?"
And that my friend, is how the little angel came to be on top of the Christmas tree.
This snippet of an email that Jonah posted in the Corner reminded me of a conversation at the family "Thanksgiving two days late" feast concerning the Epsicopal hierarchy appointing an active homosexual as bishop. My wife's sister-in-law mentioned that her mother's church had left the Episcopalian diocese and become part of the worldwide Anglican church. Of course, this led to the endless discussion about what minister was gay, what bishop had been gay, etcetera. Since I preferred peace at this time, I bit my tongue. However, I really wanted to make some points and ask some questions, much like I did to my in-laws. Blank looks don't make my day, though, which is why I held my tongue. Anyway, here's some of what I wanted to say:
1) When someone reads scripture during an Episcopal service, the officiant and congregation say "the word of God". If you really believe that, why are you rewarding someone who actively flouts that Word? If not, why bother with the pretense?
2) If a heterosexual minister had left his wife and was shacking up with a 20 year old, including an active sex life, would the Episcopal Church nominate that person to be a Bishop in the church? If not, why not? If so, how can you claim that the Church is there to provide spiritual and moral guidance when the leaders exhibit neither of those qualities? See question #1.
Anyway, I remember a conversation with my father-in-law where he mentioned that the church needed to work on topics that had some relevance to him. I called this boutique Christianity, where you pick and choose what you like and ignore the rest. Jonah received an email from a minister wherein he describes this particular folly:
I appreciated your abbreviated g-file on belief in God. I am a minister, so it is my business to ask people (although not necessarily public figures like you) what they think about God, beyond what they practice. In my case, however, most people don't think I am being rude, they just think I am doing my job. I do believe that there is an unhealthy interest in what people believe, especially when you are in no position to enter into an ongoing conversation on the topic.
Now, to Sheilaism. Your disgust at people picking their favorite items off salad bar of religious belief is right-on. It is really a way of saying, "I only believe in anything, but I do pick and choose the best of everything to create a religion that fits my lifestyle." Last time I checked, any faithful religious observance (no matter the religion or tradition) shapes one's life, not the other way around. You are not the first to dislike or observe this phenomenon. Robert Bellah in Habits of the Heart written in the 1980's interviewed a woman who described her religion as "Sheilaism," which was a smattering of all the things that she thought were most true and fit her own outlook.
I thought that you might like to know the technical term and where it came from.
Dr. Calvin Rickson, a scientist from Texas A&M University has invented a bra that keeps women's breasts from jiggling and prevents the nipples from pushing through the fabric when cold weather sets in.
At a news conference announcing the invention, a large group of men took Dr. Rickson outside and kicked the shit out of him.
You're crowding our planet, so get the Hades off of it before you REALLY piss us off. Pissant.
You are a twit. You're a fraidycat. You're a sniveling little sissy with less balls than a castrated gnat. You can dish it out, but you sure as Hell can't take it. You're a pathetic excuse for a human being, a spineless blob of protoplasm, a pouting little pussy, a nancy-boy, an insignificant imbecile, a gargantuan embarrassment around the base of which lesser embarrassments gather to worship, the High Priest in the Cathedral of Cowardice, a hypocrite of such magnitude that it almost requires a new dictionary definition, an invertebrate milksop and, worst of all:
You're crowding our planet, so get the Hades off of it before you REALLY piss us off.
Welcome back Misha, in all your invective glory.
Aaron being hit by the Corner for Blogopoly, and it is generating a lot of traffic over here. Woo hoo! Welcome, welcome, welcome. Pull up a keyboard and grab a beer. Stay awhile.
Happy Days flashback:
Accountant: ::indignant:: " I don't drink beer." Fonzie: "Get this nerd away from me!"
Fonzie: "Do you drink beer from a glass or out of the bottle?"
Accountant: ::indignant:: " I don't drink beer."
Fonzie: "Get this nerd away from me!"
This, I loved:
Translation to follow upon request.
Update: One of my commenters requested the Taylor series expansion for the natural log. Behold:
Substitute "1" for x and there you have it.
Hey, I got this stuff from my mother. Don't blame me...
Car dealerships become easier places to shop.
Working with computers becomes more enjoyable.
Comments about women drivers become a thing of the past.
Home repairs are now a snap.
You can now participate fully in boys' night out.
The bathroom becomes a more pleasant place to visit.
And finally, men and women will now share a communal experience.