Physics Geek

A heart-warming Christmas story (repost)

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
forhelp.

So, I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.

Word

Harvey is onto something here.

And please, Lord, make people stop saying #10.

A beer lover's diet

Are you doing the "Beer-Me" Diet plan year 'round to lose weight?

What do you mean, you aren't familiar with that particular diet? Look no further than below...
========================================
The "Beer-Me" Diet

It seems that a lot of people are dieting recently, trying everything from an all-carbohydrate to an all-protein mix. I have another suggestion, one that has worked through the ages: the "Beer-Me" diet. Personally, I have a "liquid dinner" every time I go to the club on Friday night!

• Fact: A lite beer has between 70 and 100 calories, is almost all water, and the part that isn't water is almost pure carbohydrates.
• Fact: The average diet recommends a daily caloric intake of 1,200 calories for women, 1,500 for men, if you want to lose the medically safe two to three pounds a week. On the "Beer-Me" diet, that equates to at least 12 beverages a day for women, and 15 for men. A measurable goal.
• Fact: The alcohol in beer is a diuretic, which causes the water to flush out almost immediately, leading to a consistent workout regimen including deep knee bends (getting out of the chair), fast walking (very good for your heart) and squats (as the case may be).
• Fact: Drinking beer actually helps you sleep-even when you aren't necessarily tired. All that added rest is certain to help any problems you may have experienced in sleep deprivation, counting calories on those other fad diets. In addition, you may experience the occasional "How did I get here?" when you wake up, which always makes for lively conversation, and possibly additional exercise if you have to sneak out and run home.
• Fact: The "Beer-Me" diet is good for your heart. After just one day of consuming your required 12-15 beers, you will certainly want to consume some aspirin, which is medically proven to help prevent heart attacks.
• Fact: On the "Beer-Me" diet you can eat anything you want. The only rule is that you cannot consume any food until you have consumed at least half of the day's required beers. This way the food will probably only stay in your body a short time, until you again exercise the deep knee bends, quick walk and, this time, the "lean-over-and-hurl" stomach crunches.
• Fact: Beer drinking is often done in bars, where other forms of exercise are common. Dancing, for example, is a good way to build up a thirst, as is chasing members of the opposite sex. If you really want to maximize your workout, try actually walking up to the bar, versus using a waitress. To take this to the extreme, you could even get up and get someone else a beer-perhaps someone who is newer to the diet plan than yourself.
• Fact: Beer is cheaper than Jenny Craig.

Based on these facts, let's run through a given scenario for diet implementation.

Caution: This is a weekend diet plan, and should be attempted during the work week by only the staunchest of dieters.

• Monday through Thursday: Eat junk food, and basically be a slob.
• Friday: Feeling "huge," swing by the liquor store and stock up. Go to favorite place of beer drinking and begin the consumption process (remember 12 for women, 15 for men).
• Saturday: Wake up (as required) and lounge around all day, feeling slightly smaller after expunging any food that you may have accidentally consumed (particularly if it involved beef jerky from the 7 Eleven). Take aspirin. Notice that you have absolutely no interest in food, anyway.
• Saturday (p.m.): Restart cycle, noticing that your appetite has still not returned. Perhaps only meet half of your consumption goal due to an ongoing discussion with "the dog t 364 hat bit you." This is a good thing, as only half-consumption means less than 1,000 calories for the day, and you still don't feel hungry.
• Sunday (a.m.): Wake up for mandatory sports day. This is a very convenient diet during football season, but it can be successfully implemented year-round. There is some major professional sport being played every day of the year except the day before and the day after the Major League All-Star game (fact-look it up). Consumption on this day should be paced to cover the entire day-you don't want to peak too soon. Again you notice a lack of appetite, and are feeling thinner all the time. Don't forget the aspirin.
• Monday: Return to work, feeling thinner, well rested, and surprisingly mellow. Mark your log book, and begin preparation for the upcoming weekend.

What if Santa answered his letters truthfully?

All repeats, all the time!
=========================================

Deer Santa,
I wud like a kool toy space ranjur fer Xmas. Iv ben a gud
boy all yeer.
Yer Frend,
BiLLy

Dear Billy,
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
can spell!
Santa

Dear Santa,
I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is
peace and joy in the world for everybody!
Love,
Sarah

Dear Sarah,
You're parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they?
Santa


Dear Santa,
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.
Love,
Teddy

Dear Teddy,
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.
Santa


Dear Santa,
I want a new bike, a Playstation, a train, some G.I. Joes, a dog, a
drum kit, a pony and a tuba.
Love,
Damien

Dear Damien,
Who names their kid "Damien" nowadays? I bet you're gay.
Santa

Dear Santa,
I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots
for your reindeer outside the back door.
Love,
Susan

Dear Susan,
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
of scotch.
Santa

Dear Santa,
What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy
making toys?
Your friend,
Thomas

Dear Thomas,
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.
Santa

Dear Santa,
Do you see us when we're sleeping, do you really know when we're
awake, like in the song?
Love,
Jessica

Dear Jessica,
Are you really that gullible? Good luck in whatever you do. I'm
skipping your house.
Santa

Dear Santa,
I really really want a puppy this year. Please please please PLEASE
PLEASE could I have one?
Timmy

Timmy,
That whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap
doesn't work with me. You're getting a sweater again.
Santa

Dearest Santa,
We don't have a chimney in our house, how do you get into our house?
Love,
Joey

Joe,
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.
Sweet Dreams,
Santa

Still at it

Truthfully, I'm never certain how to categorize Ms. Catalano, but she usually makes me laugh. Have at it.

Repost: night before Christmas parody?

I posted this last year and got no takers. Perhaps someone can help me out of my misery this year. I believe that I heard it on the John Boy and Billy Bob (or whatever they're called) while Christmas shopping.
========================================

To any and all who read this: last weekend while out and about, I heard a bit on the radio which I supposed could be called "The Shatner Before Christmas". Actually, I don't know what it was named, I'm just guessing. Anyway, it was a comedian spoofing Shatner's inimitable delivery doing a Star Trek: TOS version of The Night Before Christmas. I've searched around the Intertubes and haven't been able to find the audio yet in any format. Here are some particulars of the bit:

• "Kirk" does the whole narration, mentioningg Uhura, Spock and Bones by name
• Klingon C(K?)laus makes an appearance
• Kirk's gift is "a girdle with a message that said 'Just your size'"
• Kirk then blows Klingon Claus to smithereens with photon torpedoes

No, I can't remember which radio station I was listening to, as I was busy trying to avoid commercials. If I knew which station it was, I could call the station and ask. Anyway, has anyone else heard this? More to the point, does anyone know what it's actually called and where I can find it?

Wanna see something really scary?

Halloween images: some funny, some sick, most both. Some most definitely not safe for work, so be careful before you click.

Penis Man

Vagina man

Priestly fun

Sweet thing

Halloween humor?

I still get a great kick out this video:

Halloween images (repost)

Updated for this election season.
===============================================

Don't overindulge this Halloween.

"Uh, good evening Mr. Reynolds. Trick or treat?"

Self-hating dogs for Glenn.

Newly registered Democrat voters in Ohio display their support for Obama.

The future of Happy Meals if Glenn Reynolds has his way.

"Who's your daddy now, beeyatch?"

No Halloween would be complete without a visit from our special friend, Seymour Butz.

And the Puppy Blender's sphere of influence continues to grow.

BBQ RULES

BBQ RULES

We are about to leave the BBQ season. Therefore it is important to refresh your memory on the etiquette of this sublime outdoor cooking activity.
When a man volunteers to do the BBQ the following chain of events are put into motion:

Routine…
(1) The woman buys the food.
(2) The woman makes the salad, prepares the vegetables, and makes dessert .
(3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils and sauces, and takes it to the man who is lounging beside the grill - beer in hand.
(4) The woman remains outside the compulsory three meter exclusion zone where the exuberance of testosterone and other manly bonding activities can take place without the interference of the woman.

Here comes the important part:

(5) THE MAN PLACES THE MEAT ON THE GRILL.

More routine…
(6) The woman goes inside to organize the plates and cutlery.
(7) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is looking great. He thanks her and asks if she will bring another beer while he flips the meat.

Important again:
(8) THE MAN TAKES THE MEAT OFF THE GRILL AND HANDS IT TO THE WOMAN.

More routine…
(9) The woman prepares the plates, salad, bread, utensils, napkins, sauces, and brings them to the table.
(10) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.

And most important of all:
(11) Everyone PRAISES the MAN and THANKS HIM for his cooking efforts.
(12) The man asks the woman how she enjoyed “her night off.” And, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there’s just no pleasing some women.

Required reading

It's Iowahawk, of course. Hie thee hence.

Quote of the week

From an article at Cracked:

As a child, George Lucas was a big fan of the sci-fi and adventure serials of the 30s. As an unknown director, he tried to get the rights to remake Flash Gordon into a sci-fi epic. The problem being that those rights were owned by King Features... the same people who said "no" to the game that would become Donkey Kong. You probably see where this is going.

In an interview contained in The Making of Star Wars, Lucas recalls that when he met with King Features to discuss Flash Gordon, they were asking for 80 percent of the profits, Federico Fellini as the director and probably a magical unicorn that granted wishes by giving blowjobs.

Smiling and laughing still hurt right now, so I'm in a fair amount of pain right now. But darn, it was worth it.

I can see November from my house!

How fights start

Received via email:
========================================
My wife sat down on the settee next to me as I was flipping channels. She asked, 'What's on TV?'

I said, 'Dust.'

And then the fight started...
************ ********* ********* ********* ***
My wife and I were watching "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" while we were in bed.

I turned to her and said, "Do you want to have sex?"

"No," she answered.

I then said, "Is that your final answer?"

She didn't even look at me this time, simply saying, "Yes."

So I said, "Then I'd like to phone a friend."

And then the fight started....
************ ********* ********* ********* ***
Saturday morning I got up early, quietly dressed, made my lunch, and slipped quietly into the garage. I hooked up the boat up to the van, and proceeded to back out into a torrential downpour. The wind was blowing 50 mph, so I pulled back into the garage, turned on the radio, and discovered that the weather would be bad all day. I went back into the house, quietly undressed, and slipped back into bed. I cuddled up to my wife's back, now with a different anticipation, and whispered, "The weather out there is terrible."

My loving wife of 5 years replied, "Can you believe my stupid husband is out fishing in that?"

And that's how the fight started...

************ ********* ********* ********* ***
I rear-ended a car this morning. So, there we were alongside the road and slowly the other driver got out of his car. You know how sometimes you just get soooo stressed and little things just seem funny? Yeah, well I couldn't believe it.... He was a DWARF!!! He stormed over to my car, looked up at me, and shouted, "I AM NOT HAPPY!!!"

So, I looked down at him and said, "Well, then which one are you?"

And then the fight started.....
************ ********* ********* ********* **
My wife was hinting about what she wanted for our upcoming anniversary.

She said, 'I want something shiny that goes from 0 to 150 in about 3 seconds.'

I bought her a bathroom scale.

And then the fight started...
************ ********* ********* ********* ***
When I got home last night, my wife demanded that I take her some place expensive... so, I took her to a gas station.

And then the fight started...
************ ********* ********* ********* ***
After retiring, I went to the Social Security office to apply for Social Security. The woman behind the counter asked me for my driver's License to verify my age. I looked in my pockets and realized I had left my wallet at home. I told the woman that I was very sorry, but I would have to go home and come back later.

The woman said, 'Unbutton your shirt'. So I opened my shirt revealing my curly silver hair. She said, 'That silver hair on your chest is proof enough for me' and she processed my Social Security application.

When I got home, I excitedly told my wife about my experience at the Social Security office.

She said, 'You should have dropped your pants. You might have gotten disability, too.'

And then the fight started...

************ ********* ********* ********* ***
My wife and I were sitting at a table at my school reunion, and I kept staring at a drunken lady swigging her drink as she sat alone at a nearby table.

My wife asked, 'Do you know her?'

'Yes,' I sighed, 'She's my old girlfriend. I understand she took to drinking right after we split up those many years ago, and I hear she hasn't been sober since.'

'My God!' says my wife, 'who would think a person could go on celebrating that long?'

And then the fight started...
************ ********* ********* ********* ***
I took my wife to a restaurant. The waiter, for some reason took my order first. "I'll have the steak, medium rare, please."

He said, "Aren't you worried about the mad cow?""

Nah, she can order for herself."

And then the fight started...
************ ********* ********* ********* ***
A woman was standing nude, looking in the bedroom mirror. She was not happy with what she saw and said to her husband, "I feel horrible; I look old, fat and ugly. I really need you to pay me a compliment.'

The husband replied, 'Your eyesight's damn near perfect.'

And then the fight started.....

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful (repost)

I'm a little busier than usual, so it's back to the humor archives. Again.
==============================================

Found the image below via the lovely and talented Rachel Lucas. I sent it to every woman I know. They are all somewhat less fond of me today.

S P E C I A L    A N N O U N C E M E N T

Internet Cleaning
DO NOT CONNECT TO THE INTERNET FROM MARCH 31st 23:59 pm (GMT) UNTIL 12:01am (GMT) APRIL 2nd.

*** Attention ***

It's that time again! As many of you know, each year the Internet must be shut down for 24 hours in order to allow us to clean it. The cleaning process, which eliminates dead e-mail and inactive ftp, www, and gopher sites, allows for a better working and faster Internet.

This year, the cleaning process will take place from 23:59 pm (GMT) on March 31st until 00:01 am (GMT) on April 2nd. During that 24-hour period, five powerful Internet-crawling robots situated around the world will search the Internet and delete any data that they find.

In order to protect your valuable data from deletion we ask that you do the following:

1. Disconnect all terminals and local area networks from their Internet connections.

2. Shut down all Internet servers, or disconnect them from the Internet.

3. Disconnect all disks and hardrives from any connections to the Internet.

4. Refrain from connecting any computer to the Internet in any way.

We understand the inconvenience that this may cause some Internet users, and we apologize. However, we are certain that any inconveniences will be more than made up for by the increased speed and efficiency of the Internet, once it has been cleared of electronic flotsam and jetsam.

We thank you for your cooperation.

Fu Ling Yu

Interconnected Network Maintenance Staff Main Branch,
Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Sysops and others: Since the last Internet cleaning, the number of Internet users has grown dramatically. Please assist us in alerting the public of the upcoming Internet cleaning by posting this message where your users will be able to read it.

Please pass this message on to other sysops and Internet users as well.

Thank you.

Update: Click on extended entry for more information.

The clean up is known as Allied Protection Review Internet Loss For Overseas Outsourced Linked Services.

Quote of the day

And it's from Iowahawk, of course:

"If we Democrats have any hopes to survive past November, I say we ditch this brain-damaged bitch and replace her with someone who isn't radioactive political poison outside the Castro district -- say, for example, highly respected House Majority Leader Steny Hoyer," said a Capitol Hill legislative insider from Maryland.

"The Speaker may not realize it, but some of us actually have to campaign for re-election," said the source. "Unlike Nancy, we didn't win the jackpot and get a safe district full of 1960s acid casualties, gay Marxist academics, government union goons, and guilt-ridden software billionaires."

He needs to be syndicated. Last week.

A good chain email (repost)

Anyone that knows me personally can attest to the fact that I hate chain emails. My family and friends know better than to send such drivel. Should I actually receive any such garbage, I do the following: if the email is funny, interesting, or just plain twisted, I gladly forward it to people(blind copied, of course), removing all of the "please forward to 10 people so that blah blah blah". Most times I just delete it. However, I finally received one that's worthy of publishing. It's rude, crude and socially unacceptable, just like me. If you're easily offended, skip the rest of this post and go over to a kinder, gentler site like the Emperor's.

===========================================================

Please read this before you delete this... if you're tired of internet chain letters, you'll get a kick out of this!

FINALLY A CHAIN LETTER THAT I LIKE! :)

Hello, my name is Basmati Kasaar. I am suffering from rare and deadly diseases, poor scores on final exams, extreme virginity, fear of being kidnapped and executed by anal electrocution, and guilt for not Forwarding out 50 billion fucking chain letters sent to me by people who actually believe that if you send them on, then that poor 6 year old girl in Arkansas with a breast on her forehead will be able to raise enough money to have it removed before her redneck parents sell her off to the traveling freak show. Do you honestly believe that Bill Gates is going to give you and everyone you send "his" email to $1000? How stupid are you? Ooooh, looky here! If I scroll down this page and make a wish, I'll get laid by every Playboy model in the magazine! What a bunch of bullshit. So basically, this message is a big FUCK YOU to all the people out there who have nothing better to do than to send me stupid chain mail forwards. Maybe the evil chain letter leprechauns will come into my apartment and sodomize me in my sleep for not continuing the chain which was started by Jesus in 5 A.D. and was brought to this country by midget pilgrims on the Mayflower and if it makes it to the year 2010, it'll be in the Guinness Book of World Records for longest continuous streak of blatant stupidity.

Fuck them.

If you're going to forward something, at least send me something mildly amusing. I've seen all the "send this to 50 of your closest friends, and this poor, wretched excuse for a human being will somehow receive a Nickel from some omniscient being" forwards about 90 times. I don't fucking care.

Show a little intelligence and think about what you're actually contributing to by sending out forwards. Chances are it's your own unpopularity.

THE FOUR BASIC TYPES OF CHAIN LETTERS:

Chain Letter Type 1:

(scroll down)

Make a wish!!!

No, really, go on and make one!!!

Oh please, they'll never go out with you!!!

Wish something else!!!

Not that, you pervert!!

Is your finger getting tired yet?

STOP!!!!

Wasn't that fun? :)

Hope you made a great wish :)

Now, to make you feel guilty, here's what I'll do. First of all, if you don't send this to 5096 people in the next 5 seconds, you will be raped by a mad goat and thrown off a high building into a pile of manure. It's true! Because, THIS letter isn't like those fake ones, THIS one is TRUE!!

Really!!! Here's how it goes:

*Send this to 1 person: One person will be pissed off at you for sending them a stupid chain letter.

*Send this to 2-5 people: 2-5 people will be pissed off at you for sending them a stupid chain letter.

*Send this to 5-10 people: 5-10 people will be pissed off at you for sending them a stupid chain letter, and may form a plot on your life.

*Send this to 10-20 people: 10-20 people will be pissed off at you for sending them a stupid chain letter and will napalm your house.

Thanks!!!! Good Luck!!!
-------------------------------------------------------
Chain Letter Type 2

Hello, and thank you for reading this letter. You see, there is a starving little boy in Baklaliviatatlaglooshen who has no arms, no legs, no parents, and no goats. This little boy's life could be saved, because for every time you pass this on, a dollar will be donated to the Little Starving Legless Armless Goatless Boy from Baklaliviatatlaglooshen Fund.

Oh, and remember, we have absolutely no way of counting the emails sent and
this is all a complete load of bullshit. So go on, reach out. Send this to 5 people in the next 47 seconds. Oh, and a reminder - if you accidentally send this to 4 or 6 people, you will die instantly.

Thanks again!!
-------------------------------------------------------
Chain Letter Type 3

Hi there!! This chain letter has been in existence since 1897. This is absolutely incredible because there was no email then and probably not as many sad pricks with nothing better to do.

So this is how it works:

Pass this on to 15,067 people in the next 7 minutes or something horrible will happen to you like:

*Bizarre Horror Story #1

Miranda Pinsley was walking home from school on Saturday. She had recently
received this letter and ignored it. She then tripped in a crack in the sidewalk, fell into the sewer, was gushed down a drainpipe in a flood of poopie, and went flying out over a waterfall. Not only did she smell nasty, she died. This Could Happen To You!!!

*Bizarre Horror Story #2

Dexter Bip, a 13 year old boy, got a chain letter in his mail and ignored it. Later that day, he was hit by a car and so was his boyfriend (hey, some people swing that way). They both died and went to hell and were cursed to eat adorable kittens every day for eternity. This Could Happen To You Too!!! Remember, you could end up just like Pinsley and Bip. Just send this letter to all of your loser friends, and everything will be okay.
-------------------------------------------------------
Chain Letter Type 4

As if you care, here is a poem that I wrote. Send it to every one of your friends.

FRIENDS

A friend is someone who is always at your side, A friend is someone who likes you even though you stink of shit, and your breath smells like you've been eating catfood, A friend is someone who likes you even though you're as ugly as a hat full of assholes, A friend is someone who cleans up for you after you've soiled yourself, A friend is someone who stays with you all night while you cry about your sad, sad life, A friend is someone who pretends they like you when they really think you should be raped by mad goats, then thrown to vicious dogs, A friend is someone who scrubs your toilet, vacuums and then gets the check and leaves and doesn't speak much English...

* no, sorry that's the cleaning lady,

A friend is not someone who sends you chain letters because he wants his wish of being rich to come true.

Now pass this on! If you don't, you'll never have sex ever again.
--------------------------------------------------------
The point being?

If you get some chain letter that's threatening to leave you shagless or luckless for the rest of your life, delete it. If it's funny, send it on. Don't piss people off by making them feel guilty about a leper in Botswana with no teeth, who's been tied to a dead elephant for 27 years, whose only savior is the 5 cents per letter he'll receive if you forward this mail, otherwise you'll end up like Miranda.

Right?

Now forward this to everyone that you know otherwise you'll find all your knickers missing tomorrow morning.

Priceless

Received via email:

INNOCENCE IS PRICELESS

One Sunday morning, the pastor noticed little Alex standing in the foyer of the church staring up at a large plaque. It was covered with names and small American flags mounted on either side of it. The six-year old had been staring at the plaque for some time, so the pastor walked up, stood beside the little boy, and said quietly, 'Good morning Alex.' 'Good morning Pastor,' he replied, still focused on the plaque. 'Pastor, what is this? ' The pastor said, 'Well son, it's a memorial to all the young men and women who died in the service.'

Soberly, they just stood together, staring at the large plaque. Finally, little Alex's voice, barely audible and trembling with fear asked,

'Which service, the 8:45 or the 11:00?'

Funny, but painful

Received via email:

A group of 40 years old buddies discuss and discuss where they should meet for dinner.

Finally it is agreed upon that they should meet at the Gausthof zum Lowen restaurant because the waitress's there have low cut blouses and nice breasts.

10 years later, at 50 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss and discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Gausthof zum Lowen because the food there is very good and the wine selection is good also.

10 years later at 60 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss and discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Gausthof zum Lowen because they can eat there in peace and quiet and the restaurant is smoke free.

10 years later, at 70 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss and discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Gausthof zum Lowen because the restaurant is wheel chair accessible and they even have an elevator.

10 years later, at 80 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss and discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Gausthof zum Lowen because that would be a great idea because they have never been there before.

No mention of Depends. I'm sure that it's just an oversight.

Joke of the day

Pulled out of some old emails at home:

This guy walks into a quiet bar. He is carrying three ducks. One in each hand and one under his left arm. He places them on the bar. He has a few drinks and chats with the bartender. The bartender is experienced and has learned not to ask people about the animals that they bring into the bar, so he doesn't mention the ducks. They chat for about 30 minutes before the bloke with the ducks has to go to the rest room. The ducks are left on the Bar. The bartender is alone with the ducks. There is an awkward silence.

The bartender decides to try to make some conversation.

"What's your name?" He says to the first duck. "Huey" said the duck.

"How's your day been?"

"Great. Lovely day. Had a ball. Been in and out of puddles all day." "Oh. That's nice," says the Bartender.

Then he says to the second duck, "Hi. And what's your name?"

"Dewey" came the answer.

"So how's your day been?"

"Great. Lovely day. Had a ball. Been in and out of puddles all day. If I had the chance another day I would do the same again."

So the Bartender turns to the third duck and says, "So, you must be Louie"

"No", growls the 3rd duck, "My name is Puddles. And don't ask about my fucking day!"

Economizing the federal governemtn

Received via email:

If Dear Abby were a man

An oldie, but it still makes me laugh.
============================================

Q: My fiance still has feelings for his old girlfriends. I'm afraid he will not be faithful.

A: A man's capacity to love is boundless. It has been proven to increase with the number of sexual partners. Thus, by having a few other women, your partner is really increasing his love for you. Best thing to do is to buy him a nice, expensive present, cook him a nice meal and don't mention this aspect of his behavior.

Q: My husband has too many nights out with the boys.

A: This is perfectly natural behavior-And it should be encouraged. The man is a hunter and he needs to prove his prowess with other men. Far from being pleasurable, a night out with the boys is a stressful affair, and to get back to you is a relief for your partner. Just look back at how emotional and happy the man is when he returns to his stable home. Best thing to do is to buy him a nice, expensive present, cook him a nice meal and don't mention this aspect of his behavior.

Q: My husband wants to experience three-in-a-bed-sex with me and my sister.

A: Your husband is clearly devoted to you. He cannot get enough of you, so he goes for the next best thing - your sister. Far from being an issue, this will bring all of the family together. Why not get some cousins involved? If you are still apprehensive, then let him go with your relatives, buy him a nice, expensive present, cook him a nice meal and don't mention this aspect of his behavior.

Q: My husband continually asks me to perform oral sex with him.

A: Do it. Sperm is not only great tasting, but has only 10 calories a spoonful. It is nutritious and helps you to keep your figure and gives a great glow to the skin. Interestingly, a man knows this. His offer to you to perform oral sex with him is totally selfless. Oral sex is extremely painful for a man. This shows he loves you. Best thing to do is to thank him, buy him a nice, expensive present, and cook him a nice meal.

Q: My husband goes straight to sleep after making love - we have no time to talk.
A: Sex is an extremely difficult task for a man. Afterwards he needs rest. In fact, the more he loves you, the more hard work his lovemaking is, and the more rest he needs. Stop putting pressure on him. Best thing to do is to buy him a nice, expensive present, cook him a nice meal and don't mention this aspect of his behavior.

Q: My husband's efforts at lovemaking only last 30 seconds.

A: Your husband loves you very much. He is so turned on by you that he cannot control himself. In fact, the shorter the 'effort' the more he loves you. Return this love by buying a nice, expensive present, cooking him a nice meal and not mentioning his behavior.

Q: My husband is uninterested in foreplay.

A: Foreplay to a man is very hurtful. What it means is that you do not love your man as much as you should-he has to work a lot to get you in the mood. Abandon all wishes in this area, and make it up to him by buying a nice expensive present, cooking a nice meal and not mentioning this behavior.

Q: My husband has never given me an orgasm.

A: The female orgasm is a myth. It is fostered by militant, man-hating feminists and is a danger to the family unit. Don't mention it again to him and show your love to him by buying a nice expensive present ..and don't forget to cook him a delicious meal.

Nothing is safe. Nothing.

All my childhood memories are now ash in the Rule 34 waste bin:

On the other hand, Rule 5 still makes me quite happy. Here are some former female child stars who grew up quite nicely.

Product of the year

Courtesy of Neal Boortz comes this special product advertisement:

What if Santa answered his letters truthfully? (repost)

All repeats, all the time!
=========================================

Deer Santa,
I wud like a kool toy space ranjur fer Xmas. Iv ben a gud
boy all yeer.
Yer Frend,
BiLLy

Dear Billy,
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
can spell!
Santa

Dear Santa,
I have been a good girl all year, and the only thing I ask for is
peace and joy in the world for everybody!
Love,
Sarah

Dear Sarah,
You're parents smoked pot when they had you, didn't they?
Santa


Dear Santa,
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.
Love,
Teddy

Dear Teddy,
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.
Santa


Dear Santa,
I want a new bike, a Playstation, a train, some G.I. Joes, a dog, a
drum kit, a pony and a tuba.
Love,
Damien

Dear Damien,
Who names their kid "Damien" nowadays? I bet you're gay.
Santa

Dear Santa,
I left milk and cookies for you under the tree, and I left carrots
for your reindeer outside the back door.
Love,
Susan

Dear Susan,
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
of scotch.
Santa

Dear Santa,
What do you do the other 364 days of the year? Are you busy
making toys?
Your friend,
Thomas

Dear Thomas,
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.
Santa

Dear Santa,
Do you see us when we're sleeping, do you really know when we're
awake, like in the song?
Love,
Jessica

Dear Jessica,
Are you really that gullible? Good luck in whatever you do. I'm
skipping your house.
Santa

Dear Santa,
I really really want a puppy this year. Please please please PLEASE
PLEASE could I have one?
Timmy

Timmy,
That whiney begging shit may work with your folks, but that crap
doesn't work with me. You're getting a sweater again.
Santa

Dearest Santa,
We don't have a chimney in our house, how do you get into our house?
Love,
Joey

Joe,
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.
Sweet Dreams,
Santa

Twelve Days of Christmas (repost)

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,

Agnes
================================================

December 15, 1972

Dearest John:

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,

Agnes
================================================

December 16, 1972

Dear John:

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,
Agnes
================================================

December 17, 1972

Dear John:

Today the postman delivered four calling birds. Now really, they are
beautiful, but don't you think enough is enough. You are being too
romantic.

Affectionately,

Agnes
================================================

December 18, 1972

Dearest John:

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,
Agnes
=================================================

December 19, 1972

Dear John:

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.

Cordially,
Agnes
================================================

December 20, 1972

John:

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.

Sincerely,
Agnes
================================================

December 21, 1972

O.K. Buster:

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.

Agnes
================================================

December 22, 1972

Hey Shithead:

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
me.

You'll get yours !
Agnes
================================================

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 !

Agnes
================================================

December 24, 1972

Listen F--khead:

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,
Agnes
================================================

December 25, 1972

Dear Sir:

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.

Cordially,

Law Offices of Badger, Bender and Chole

Diary of a snow shoveller

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

  love snow!

  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

  goddamn snowplow.

  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

  shoveling.

  January 8:  I feel so good.  I just love those little white pills they

  keep giving me.  Why am I tied to the bed?

  *    *              *  *   *   *   *   *  * *  *

  * *  * *  *     * * *  *  *  *  *    *   * * *  *

     *     *   *       *     *      *   *    *     *        *

Martha Stewar holiday humor (repost)

And another from the not-so-wayback machine...
=================================

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

December 1
Blanch carcass from Thanksgiving turkey. Spray paint gold, turnupside
down and use as a sleigh to hold Christmas Cards.

December 2
Have Mormon Tabernacle Choir record outgoing Christmas message for
answering machine.

December 3
Using candlewick and handgilded miniature pine cones, fashion
cat-o-nine tails. Flog Gardener.

December 4
Repaint Sistine Chapel ceiling in ecru, with mocha trim.

December 5
Get new eyeglasses. Grind lenses myself.

December 6
Fax family Christmas newsletter to Pulitzer committee for
consideration.

December 7
Debug Windows '98

December 8
Decorate homegrown Christmas tree with scented candles handmade with
beeswax from my backyard bee colony.

December 9
Record own Christmas album complete with 4 part harmony and all instrument
accompaniment performed by myself. Mail to all my friends and loved
ones.

December 10
Align carpets to adjust for curvature of Earth.

December 11
Lay Faberge egg.

December 12
Erect ice skating rink in front yard using spring water I bottled
myself.

Open for neighborhood children's use. Create festive mood by
handmaking snow and playing my Christmas album.

December 13
Collect Dentures. They make excellent pastry cutters, particularly
for decorative pie crusts.

December 14
Install plumbing in gingerbread house.

December 15
Replace air in mini-van tires with Glade "holiday scents" in case
tires are shot out at mall.

December 17
Child proof the Christmas tree with garland of razor wire.

December 19
Adjust legs of chairs so each Christmas dinner guest will be same
height when sitting at his or her assigned seat.

December 20
Dip sheep and cows in egg whites and roll in confectioner's sugar to
add a festive sparkle to the pasture.

December 21
Drain city reservoir; refill with mulled cider, orange slices and
cinnamon sticks.

December 22
Float votive candles in toilet tank.

December 23
Seed clouds for white Christmas.

December 24
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.

December 25
Bear son. Swaddle. Lay in color-coordinated manger scented with
homemade potpourri.

December 26
Organize spice racks by genus and phylum.

December 27
Build snowman in exact likeness of God.

December 28
Take Dog apart. Disinfect. Reassemble.

December 29
Hand sew 365 quilts, each using 365 material squares I weaved myself
used to represent the 365 days of the year. Donate to local
orphanages.

December 30
Release flock of white doves, each individually decorated with olive
branches, to signify desire of world peace.

December 31
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.

Dear Santa,

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.

Sincerely,

A Hopeful "Child"

Everything that you know about Rudolph is wrong (repost)

Later, rinse, repost.
================================================

Michele reposted her classic rewrite of one of the holiday season's favorite TV specials. Excerpt:

So what happens? Does Rudolph finally have enough of the bullying and dons a trenchcoat, listens to Marilyn Manson and mows down his enemies? No, Rudolph goes off on an adventure. He escapes his problems instead of confronting them. When you think about it, running away on adventure isn't so bad, as he could have turned to a life on the streets, doing "favors" for old barflys in exchange for salt licks.

I really missed Michele's blogging during her absence. And her post put me in mind to repost an old image:

And still more holiday images (repost)

Lather, rinse, repost.

And here's one that you won't want to see.

Caught in the act (repost)

Frosty turns out to be a dirty, nasty little grade schooler:

Barbie's letter to Santa (repost)

Don't say that I didn't warn you about the Christmas-time repeats...
===============================

Barbie's Letter To Santa

Dear 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)
anatomically correct.

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
account exec!

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.

Yours Truly,

Barbie

----------------------------

Ken's Letter To Santa

Dear 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
desires.

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
as:

"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.

Sincerely,

Ken

The X-mas files (repost)

Don't think of it as leftovers. Instead, think of it as a rerun of a dearly beloved holiday classic.

===========================================

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.

Scully: Impossible.

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.

How to tell if you've been really bad this year

Don't say that I didn't warn you:

Every once in a while . . . In life . . . you run into a genius with a true talent!

Received via email:

Every once in a while . . . In life . . . you run into a genius with a true talent!

THINGS THAT ARE DIFFICULT TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
1. Innovative
2. Preliminary
3. Proliferation
4. Cinnamon

THINGS THAT ARE VERY DIFFICULT TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
1. Specificity
2. Anti-constitutionalistically
3. Passive-aggressive disorder
4. Transubstantiate

THINGS THAT ARE DOWNRIGHT IMPOSSIBLE TO SAY WHEN DRUNK:
1. No thanks, I'm married.
2. Nope, no more booze for me!
3. Sorry, but you're not really my type.
4. No thanks, I'm not hungry.
5. Good evening, officer. Isn't it lovely out tonight?
6. Oh, I couldn't! No one wants to hear me sing karaoke.
7. I'm not interested in fighting you.
8. Thank you, but I won't make any attempt to dance, I have no coordination.
I'd hate to look like a fool!
9. Where is the nearest bathroom? I refuse to pee on the side of the road.
10. I must be going home now, as I have to work in the morning.

When old school kicks new schools ass

I don't know what to say about this article: Revisiting Old-School Text Adventures as a Jaded Modern Gamer.

Okay, that's not true. I know exactly what to say: BWAHAHAHA!. Excerpt:

...

It gets even better.

Redneck sex ed class (repost)

I've got nuthin' today except this.

Star Wars Facebook updates

Link sent by a friend. A sick, twisted friend, God love her. Here's a sample:

Oh, Christmas tree

Reposted from last year. Expect. more reruns until EOY; I'm quite busy.
================================================
While some of you might think that the picture below is cute and creative, what you're missing is that it's a crime against nature. Look closely and see if you can spot what's wrong.

Did you notice? The bottles are EMPTY!!! They should be full until you slowly disassemble the tree over the course of a few days, emptying the bottles into your stomach. Now that's a celebration.

Time for some holiday classics (repost)

From last year, with links updated a bit:
---------------------------

Raging Rudolph and The Reinfather. Videos embedded below the fold.

The Tiger Woods Family Christmas Portrait

Incredible cybersex

This will seem a bit dated, as it goes back to the time of pr0n chat rooms. Still makes me laugh, though.

-------------------------------------------
Online computer users often engage in what is affectionately known
as "cybersex". Often the fantasies typed into keyboards and shared
through Internet phone lines get pretty raunchy. However, as you'll see
below, one of the two cyber-surfers in the following transcript of an online
chat doesn't seem to quite get the point of cyber sex. Then again, maybe
he does...

Wellhung: Hello, Sweetheart. What do you look like?

Sweetheart: I am wearing a red silk blouse, a miniskirt and high heels. I work out every day, I'm toned and perfect. My measurements are 36-24-36. What do you look like?

Wellhung: I'm 6'3" and about 250 pounds.I wear glasses and I have on
a pair of blue sweat pants I just bought from Walmart.I'm also wearing a
T-shirt with a few spots of barbecue sauce on it from dinner...it smells
funny.

Sweetheart: I want you.Would you like to screw me?

Wellhung: OK

Sweetheart: We're in my bedroom.There's soft music playing on the stereo and candles on my dresser and night table. I'm looking up into your eyes, smiling. My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling bulge.

Wellhung: I'm gulping, I'm beginning to sweat.

Sweetheart: I'm pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.

Wellhung: Now I'm unbuttoning your blouse.My hands are trembling.

Sweetheart: I'm moaning softly.

Wellhung: I'm taking hold of your blouse and sliding it off slowly.

Sweetheart: I'm throwing my head back in pleasure.The cool silk slides off my warm skin.I'm rubbing your bulge faster, pulling and rubbing.

Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and accidentally rips a
hole in your blouse.I'm sorry.

Sweetheart: That's OK, it wasn't really too expensive.

Wellhung: I'll pay for it.

Sweetheart: Don't worry about it.I'm wearing a lacy black bra.My soft breasts are rising and falling, as I breath harder and harder.

Wellhung: I'm fumbling with the clasp on your bra.I think it's stuck. Do you have any scissors?

Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly.I'm reaching back undoing the clasp. The bra slides off my body. The air caresses my breasts. My nipples are erect for you.

Wellhung: How did you do that? I'm picking up the bra and inspecting the clasp.

Sweetheart: I'm arching my back. Oh baby. I just want to feel your tongue
all over me.

Wellhung: I'm dropping the bra. Now I'm licking your, you know, breasts. They're neat!

Sweetheart: I'm running my fingers through your hair. Now I'm nibbling your ear.

Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with spit and phlegm.

Sweetheart: What?

Wellhung: I'm so sorry. Really.

Sweetheart: I'm wiping your phlegm off my breasts with the remains of my blouse.

Wellhung: I'm taking the sopping wet blouse from you. I drop it with a plop.

Sweetheart: OK. I'm pulling your sweat pants down and rubbing your
hard tool.

Wellhung: I'm screaming like a woman. Your hands are cold! Yeeee!

Sweetheart: I'm pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.

Wellhung: I'm pulling off your panties. My tongue is going all over, in and out nibbling on you...umm... wait a minute.

Sweetheart: What's the matter?

Wellhung: I've got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I'm choking.

Sweetheart: Are you OK?

Wellhung: I'm having a coughing fit. I'm turning all red.

Sweetheart: Can I help?

Wellhung: I'm running to the kitchen, choking wildly. I'm fumbling through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups?

Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink.

Wellhung: I'm drinking a cup of water. There, that's better.

Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.

Wellhung: I'm washing the cup now.

Sweetheart: I'm on the bed arching for you.

Wellhung: I'm drying the cup. Now I'm putting it back in the cabinet. And now I'm walking back to the bedroom. Wait, it's dark, I'm lost. Where's the bedroom?

Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.

Wellhung: I found it.

Sweetheart: I'm tuggin' off your pants. I'm moaning. I want you so badly.

Wellhung: Me too.

Sweetheart: Your pants are off. I kiss you passionately-our naked bodies pressing each other.

Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It hurts.

Sweetheart: Why don't you take off your glasses?

Wellhung: OK, but I can't see very well without them. I place the glasses on the night table.

Sweetheart: I'm bending over the bed. Give it to me, baby!

Wellhung: I have to pee. I'm fumbling my way blindly across the room and toward the bathroom.

Sweetheart: Hurry back, lover.

Wellhung: I find the bathroom and it's dark. I'm feeling around for the toilet. I lift the lid.

Sweetheart: I'm waiting eagerly for your return.

Wellhung: I'm done going. I'm feeling around for the flush handle, but I can't find it. Uh-oh!

Sweetheart: What's the matter now?

Wellhung: I've realized that I've peed into your laundry hamper. Sorry again. I'm walking back to the bedroom now, blindly feeling my way.

Sweetheart: Mmm, yes. Come on.

Wellhung: OK, now I'm going to put my...you know ...thing...in your...you know...woman's thing.

Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, baby! Do it!

Wellhung: I'm touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice. I kiss your neck. Umm, I'm having a little trouble here.

Sweetheart: I'm moving my ass back and forth, moaning. I can't stand
it another second! Slide in! Screw me now!

Wellhung: I'm flaccid.

Sweetheart: What?

Wellhung: I'm limp. I can't sustain an erection.

Sweetheart: I'm standing up and turning around; an incredulous look on my face.

Wellhung: I'm shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner all floppy. I'm going to get my glasses and see what's wrong.

Sweetheart: No, never mind. I'm getting dressed. I'm putting on my underwear. Now I'm putting on my wet nasty blouse.

Wellhung: No wait! Now I'm squinting, trying to find the night table. I'm feeling along the dresser, knocking over cans of hair spray, picture frames and your candles.

Sweetheart: I'm buttoning my blouse. Now I'm putting on my shoes.

Wellhung: I've found my glasses. I'm putting them on. My God! One of our candles fell on the curtain. The curtain is on fire! I'm pointing at it, a shocked look on my face.

Sweetheart: Go to hell. I'm logging off, you loser!

Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Oh noooo!

Sweetheart: ::logged of::

::The End::

Update:Ace has a post on this very topic. Funny stuff.

Bringing on the funny

Iowahawk, Iowahawk: wherefore art thou Iowahawk?

Oh wait. You're over here. Excerpt:

Professor Nigel V.H. Oldham

Like other species in the order homo scientifica, the climate researcher gathers and organizes data to lure grant money to the hive. In contrast to those other species, however, the climate researcher has evolved a set of complex violent behaviors to insure any data leaving the hive is perfectly adapted to nature's most lucrative and sweetest grants. It really is a marvel of natural selection, and explains why the climate researcher continues to thrive in any kind of weather condition.
...
The climate researcher is in some sense a milestone in evolutionary biology. Ever since Darwin, we have understood that a particular species adapts to its environmental reality. Now for the first time, we are seeing evidence that environmental reality is adapting to a particular species. It's not really rocket science. Well okay, I suppose it's really not science at all.

So go read Iowahawk, despite the intense, bitter envy I feel towards him. Next time, rub some lemon juice in a paper cut.

The Cameron Column #1 (repost)

If you've never read any of Bruce Cameron's articles, you've been missing out. He stopped writing for a while, restarted and then stopped again, and the started again. In any event, here is his Thanksgiving column circa 1998.
==================================================

Like many men, I am different from my wife in ways which are noticeable, and, in my opinion, fortunate.

Take the Thanksgiving turkey (and I mean that literally. PLEASE come over to our house, open the refrigerator, shove aside everything growing green fuzz, and take this carcass away before it reincarnates as turkey lasagna or turkey tetracycline or whatever new concoction awaits the family.) But take Thanksgiving--my wife prefers small birds that fit nicely into the roasting pan and which can be cooked in a few hours.

"Ha!" I can be quoted as sneering. I trace my own gender lineage to that proud, hairy group of hunter-gatherers who, prior to the invention of TV remote control, would pick up their spears, huddle, and then go out and pull down a huge bison for dinner, stopping at the bar on the way home for a couple of cave brews. So when I go to the store for a turkey, I find a TURKEY: a mammoth, many-pound fowl with drum sticks as large as my thighs and wings you could park a car under.

Words cannot describe the delight on my wife's face when my neighbors help me carry the bird into the refrigerator, where, following the instructions, it is left to thaw for a period of six months. (My wife often has several interesting but impractical suggestions on where else we might stick the turkey for this thawing procedure.) Cooking begins around Halloween, a slow roasting process which varies from my mother's recipe in that there are no flames or threats of divorce "if anybody says a word about how the turkey tastes."

I enjoy every step of turkey preparation, particularly since I am not involved in any of it. Well, that's not entirely true--at one point, I am asked to reach into the mouth of the turkey and retrieve the giblets, which turns out to be a bag of what looks like pieces of Jimmy Hoffa. (I realize I am not, technically speaking, putting my hand in the bird's "mouth," but I'd rather not dwell on what this means.) How the turkey manages to swallow this stuff in the first place is beyond me. Traditionally, we open this bag, dump the contents into a pan of water, and boil the results. Only the cat is happy about this development.

As wonderful as this all is, by the fourth or fifth night my appetite for turkey variations has waned, and I provide valuable feedback to my wife by making gagging noises at dinner time. Her verbal (as opposed to projectile) response to this is to imply that it is somehow MY fault we have so many leftovers, to which I logically reply, "hey, YOU cooked it."

Now, before you men out there become too smug with how adroitly I out maneuvered her with my quick retort, you should be advised that she STILL blames me for our turkey-induced bulimia. Therefore I appeal to my readership: has anyone else noticed bizarre psychiatric reactions to turkey consumption which might explain this whole controversy? Please advise via return e-mail, which will be picked up by the crack WBC technical team and, judging by previous results, forwarded to the Governor of New Jersey.

Thanks... oh, and Happy Thanksgiving too.

The Cameron Column, A Free Internet Newsletter
Copyright W. Bruce Cameron 1998
================================================

You can find his stuff here, including my all-time favorite column.

Spicing up Thanksgiving dinner

Why yes, I did post this last year. Thanks for asking
=========================================

Here is a new way to prepare your Thanksgiving or Christmas Turkey.

1. Cut out aluminum foil in desired shapes.
2. Arrange the turkey in the roasting pan, position the foil carefully (see attached)
3. Roast according to your own recipes and serve.
4. Watch your guests' faces.

Holiday greetings

It's once again that time of year when I repost stale holiday humor. Expect this to continue, more or less, through the end of the year.
===========================

Due to the ever-increasing cost of postage, and my decreasing ability to write legibly, here is my card to cover every holiday of the rest of our lives.

How to cook a turkey

Reposted from last year.

=====================
This has been making its way around the Internet since 1500 B.C., even though the first computer still hadn't been manufactured yet. However, if there's one thing that you can count on me for, it's recycling the stalest holiday humor you've ever seen between now and the New Year.
---------------------------------------------------
HOW TO COOK A TURKEY

Step 1: Go buy a turkey

Step 2: Take a drink of whiskey, scotch, or JD

Step 3: Put turkey in the oven

Step 4: Take another 2 drinks of whiskey

Step 5: Set the degree at 375 ovens

Step 6: Take 3 more whiskeys of drink

Step 7: Turn oven the on

Step 8: Take 4 whisks of drinky

Step 9: Turk the bastey

Step 10: Whiskey another bottle of get

Step 11: Stick a turkey in the thermometer

Step 12: Glass yourself a pour of whiskey

Step 13: Bake the whiskey for 4 hours

Step 14: Take the oven out of the turkey

Step 15: Take the oven out of the turkey

Step 16: Floor the turkey up off the pick

Step 17: Turk the carvey

Step 18: Get yourself another scottle of botch

Step 19: Tet the sable and pour yourself a glass of turkey(Ed. note: this didn't used to be possible)

Step 20: Bless the saying, pass and eat out

A special Thanksgiving Day message

Reposted from last year. 'Tis the season and all that jazz.
======================================

It is to laugh

Courtesy of the lovely and talented Mary Katharine Ham comes a link to this special news report:

Obama's Home Teleprompter Malfunctions During Family Dinner

Better than the original

Far be it from me to say anything negative about the ample charms Christina Hendricks displays weekly on Mad Men. However, I have to say that the following series reboot surpasses the original:

Milk Men - A Mad Men Parody

There's only one thing missing: no one smokes milk. I'm just saying.

Thanks to Neal Boortz for the find.

We have a winner

And for once it's me!

Oh sure, Rodney Dill would win pretty much every week if he weren't running the darned thing (he wins most weeks over at Wizbang), but I'll take my meager victory in this week's caption contest.

Here's the photo:

And here was my caption:

First: physics geek – A band consisting of Chicago area voters gathered for a jam session.

Old. old joke (repost)

Think of a repost as a rerun of an episode of a much beloved television series. Or not. Whatever.
================================================

I first saw this on rec.humor eons ago. Not exactly sure what made me think of it, but I couldn't resist posting it.

By the way, don't take too seriously the "it's real" part.

Tandem Writing Assignment

The following is a true story received from an English professor.

You know that book "Men are from Mars, Women from Venus"? Well, here's a prime example of that. This assignment was actually turned in by two of my English students: Rebecca (last name deleted) and Gary (last name deleted).

First, the Assignment:

English 44A
SMU
Creative Writing
Prof. Miller

In-Class Assignment for Wednesday:
Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandem story. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth.

Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached.

And now, the Assignment as submitted by Rebecca & Gary:

Rebecca starts:

At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The camomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked camomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So camomile was out of the question.

Gary:

Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. "A.S. Harris to Geostation 17," he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far...". But before he could sign off a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

Rebecca:

He bumped his head and died almost immediately, but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel." Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth -- when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.

Gary:

Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through Congress had left earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President, in his top-secret mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion which vaporized Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"

Rebecca:

This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic, semi-literate adolescent.

Gary:

Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tedious neurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium.

Rebecca:

Asshole.

Gary:

Bitch.

My guess is that they have 5 children now.

My geeky past paid off for once

Rodney Dill graciously awarded me first place in a recent caption contest. Of course, that's only because I didn't have to compete against Rodney Dill, but I'll take what I can get.

From the wayback machine

I give you the classic Bambi Meets Godzilla:

Which one does your cat listen to (part 2), repost

Cat listening to Hip Hop

Uh oh

Blame Smitty. I know that I do:

Update: Whoops. Forgot to link to Troglopundit as the instigator.

Quote of the day

And it's from the fertile mind of Moxie regarding the charisma that Pawlenty exudes:

He has all the impact of dust landing on a down comforter.

Pawlenty strikes me as a decent guy and a reasonably conservative fellow. And I find the possibility of him beating Obama to be somewhat where in the neighborhood of zero. Okay, maybe next door to zero. Okay, in the same house AND sleeping in the same bed.

Which one does your cat listen to? (part 1, repost)

Cat listening to HOUSE music

Required reading

It's Iowahawk, of course.

Probably one of my ex-students

To be fair, I'd probably have given him/her and "A" on the test for being able to make me laugh.

Worth 1000 words

I found this via Ace's sidebar. Click on image to expand:

Quote of the day

Via Neal Boortz:

Kanye just interrupted the Swayze funeral to remind them Michael Jackson had the greatest funeral of all time.

Table of Condiments That Go Periodically Bad

Table of Condiments That Periodically Go Bad

Click to expand. Image found here.

It's true. That's why I'm crying

Just saw this XKCD comic, which struck way too close to home:

My sister-in-law asked me, when I told her that I had taken ballet in college, this: Did you do it to pick up girls?

I replied with an anecdote from Monk. Adrian was showing an old home video to Natalie in which he's standing mostly behind a tree. The following dialogue ensued (paraphrased except for the last sentence):

Natalie: What are you doing there?

Monk: I'm playing Hide.

Natalie: Oh, you mean Hide and Seek.

Monk: You just don't get it, do you?

Even if I had been so inclined, my pitiful, pathetic, painfully ridiculous overtures would have been met with, at best, pity. More likely though, is the probability that I'd have been introduced to the Point and Laugh response. Again.

While I can't say that "going into physics was the biggest mistake of my life", I can safely state that going into physics was far and away the biggest girl repelling thing that I've ever done. Sure, I dig women. A lot. Sadly, I must have dug Shroedinger's Time Dependent Wave Equation more.

Don't pity me. I'm just not worth it.

Going into physics was the biggest mistake of my life. I should've declared CS. I still wouldn't have any women, but at least I'd be rolling in cash.

Well, I did meet my wife while working in CS/IT, so I think that the author has a point.

Dare to dream

Iowahawk has a vision for the nation, something far more historic than JFK's smallish plan to put a man on the Moon.

If America wants to get back on the right track, scientific space mission-wise, we need to once again pick an inspiring, audacious goal, and man it with the kind of inspirational crew to make it happen. At long last, let us realize mankind's most cherished dream -- sending the entire United States Congress to the Moon by 2010.

When I mention this proposal to my space engineering friends at Meier's Tap, they are often skeptical. They'll argue it's impossible, that even NASA's most powerful booster rockets never anticipated a payload of 535 people including Charlie Rangel and Jerrold Nadler. Look man, I'm just the idea guy, and I'm sure those details can be worked out. When John F. Kennedy first proposed going to the Moon in 1961, did you people expect him to already have a formula for Tang? The beauty of my proposal is that our Astro-Congress is already on payroll -- and chock full of crisis tested problem-solving engineers. If they can take over the entire US auto industry and re-engineer the American heath care system in two weeks, surviving a Moon mission will be a snap!

Now that's a plan to put my tax dollars to good use. In fact, probably the best use to which they could be put.

Puiblic service announcement

If you like chewing gum- as I do- you probably never thought about some of the dangers associated with said act, especially if you swallow it. View the image below the fold for a visual representation of the danger.

Word association

Sort of, anyway. Check out this comment from Hot Air. It made me laugh. A lot.

All my childhood memories are in ashes

Check out this link and be saddened. :;sob::

Credit to the puppy blending monster for the link.

Beware of this scam...

I'm pretty sure this is a scam...

Warn your friends anyway just in case it's not! See photographic evidence below the fold.

If Obama had a Facebook page

Top shelf stuff right here.

New National Symbol

Received via email:

The government today announced that is is changing the national symbol to a condom because it more accurately reflects the government's political stance. A condom allows for inflation, halts production, destroys the next generation, protects a bunch of pricks, and gives you a sense of security while you're actually being screwed.

It just doesn't get more accurate than that.

I'm always behind the curve

Well, I've decided to keep suckling at corporate America's teat. Turns out that all my paying bills and feeding my family is merely a lifestyle choice. Instead, I could have been funemployed.

Iowahawk explains:

What most people would call unemployment, Smalley embraced as "funemployment." What other people would dismiss as starvation, he whimsically terms a "starve-cation."

"Economic Depression" once conjured images of tent cities and desperate job-seeking drifters, but for hordes of jobless Gen Xers, there is a silver lining in the new upbeat economic meltdown. These giddily carefree hipsters tend to be single and in their 20s and 30s, happily unencumbered by the obligations of parenthood or teeth.

Buoyed by severance, savings, unemployment checks and free Salvation Army blankets, the nation's new wave of hip funemployed do not spend their days poring over job listings. With no timeclock to punch, they travel on the cheap for weeks, bartering mix CDs or sterno or sexual favors for a fun cross-country boxcar trip. They study yoga and newspaper journalism, or grab a quick al fresco lunch at the neighborhood soup kitchen bistro. They participate in fun dance marathons and pole-sitting contests. And at least till the bank account dries up and the tuberculosis takes hold, they're content living for today.

I had no idea just how wrong I'd been.

I didn't know that someone had recorded my keystrokes...

Really old, but worth repeating.
-------------------------------------
Online computer users often engage in what is affectionately known
as "cybersex". Often the fantasies typed into keyboards and shared
through Internet phone lines get pretty raunchy. However, as you'll see
below, one of the two cyber-surfers in the following transcript of an online
chat doesn't seem to quite get the point of cyber sex. Then again, maybe
he does...

Wellhung: Hello, Sweetheart. What do you look like?

Sweetheart: I am wearing a red silk blouse, a miniskirt and high heels. I work out every day, I'm toned and perfect. My measurements are 36-24-36. What do you look like?

Wellhung: I'm 6'3" and about 250 pounds.I wear glasses and I have on
a pair of blue sweat pants I just bought from Walmart.I'm also wearing a
T-shirt with a few spots of barbecue sauce on it from dinner...it smells
funny.

Sweetheart: I want you.Would you like to screw me?

Wellhung: OK

Sweetheart: We're in my bedroom.There's soft music playing on the stereo and candles on my dresser and night table. I'm looking up into your eyes, smiling. My hand works its way down to your crotch and begins to fondle your huge, swelling bulge.

Wellhung: I'm gulping, I'm beginning to sweat.

Sweetheart: I'm pulling up your shirt and kissing your chest.

Wellhung: Now I'm unbuttoning your blouse.My hands are trembling.

Sweetheart: I'm moaning softly.

Wellhung: I'm taking hold of your blouse and sliding it off slowly.

Sweetheart: I'm throwing my head back in pleasure.The cool silk slides off my warm skin.I'm rubbing your bulge faster, pulling and rubbing.

Wellhung: My hand suddenly jerks spastically and accidentally rips a
hole in your blouse.I'm sorry.

Sweetheart: That's OK, it wasn't really too expensive.

Wellhung: I'll pay for it.

Sweetheart: Don't worry about it.I'm wearing a lacy black bra.My soft breasts are rising and falling, as I breath harder and harder.

Wellhung: I'm fumbling with the clasp on your bra.I think it's stuck. Do you have any scissors?

Sweetheart: I take your hand and kiss it softly.I'm reaching back undoing the clasp. The bra slides off my body. The air caresses my breasts. My nipples are erect for you.

Wellhung: How did you do that? I'm picking up the bra and inspecting the clasp.

Sweetheart: I'm arching my back. Oh baby. I just want to feel your tongue
all over me.

Wellhung: I'm dropping the bra. Now I'm licking your, you know, breasts. They're neat!

Sweetheart: I'm running my fingers through your hair. Now I'm nibbling your ear.

Wellhung: I suddenly sneeze. Your breasts are covered with spit and phlegm.

Sweetheart: What?

Wellhung: I'm so sorry. Really.

Sweetheart: I'm wiping your phlegm off my breasts with the remains of my blouse.

Wellhung: I'm taking the sopping wet blouse from you. I drop it with a plop.

Sweetheart: OK. I'm pulling your sweat pants down and rubbing your
hard tool.

Wellhung: I'm screaming like a woman. Your hands are cold! Yeeee!

Sweetheart: I'm pulling up my miniskirt. Take off my panties.

Wellhung: I'm pulling off your panties. My tongue is going all over, in and out nibbling on you...umm... wait a minute.

Sweetheart: What's the matter?

Wellhung: I've got a pubic hair caught in my throat. I'm choking.

Sweetheart: Are you OK?

Wellhung: I'm having a coughing fit. I'm turning all red.

Sweetheart: Can I help?

Wellhung: I'm running to the kitchen, choking wildly. I'm fumbling through the cabinets, looking for a cup. Where do you keep your cups?

Sweetheart: In the cabinet to the right of the sink.

Wellhung: I'm drinking a cup of water. There, that's better.

Sweetheart: Come back to me, lover.

Wellhung: I'm washing the cup now.

Sweetheart: I'm on the bed arching for you.

Wellhung: I'm drying the cup. Now I'm putting it back in the cabinet. And now I'm walking back to the bedroom. Wait, it's dark, I'm lost. Where's the bedroom?

Sweetheart: Last door on the left at the end of the hall.

Wellhung: I found it.

Sweetheart: I'm tuggin' off your pants. I'm moaning. I want you so badly.

Wellhung: Me too.

Sweetheart: Your pants are off. I kiss you passionately-our naked bodies pressing each other.

Wellhung: Your face is pushing my glasses into my face. It hurts.

Sweetheart: Why don't you take off your glasses?

Wellhung: OK, but I can't see very well without them. I place the glasses on the night table.

Sweetheart: I'm bending over the bed. Give it to me, baby!

Wellhung: I have to pee. I'm fumbling my way blindly across the room and toward the bathroom.

Sweetheart: Hurry back, lover.

Wellhung: I find the bathroom and it's dark. I'm feeling around for the toilet. I lift the lid.

Sweetheart: I'm waiting eagerly for your return.

Wellhung: I'm done going. I'm feeling around for the flush handle, but I can't find it. Uh-oh!

Sweetheart: What's the matter now?

Wellhung: I've realized that I've peed into your laundry hamper. Sorry again. I'm walking back to the bedroom now, blindly feeling my way.

Sweetheart: Mmm, yes. Come on.

Wellhung: OK, now I'm going to put my...you know ...thing...in your...you know...woman's thing.

Sweetheart: Yes! Do it, baby! Do it!

Wellhung: I'm touching your smooth butt. It feels so nice. I kiss your neck. Umm, I'm having a little trouble here.

Sweetheart: I'm moving my ass back and forth, moaning. I can't stand
it another second! Slide in! Screw me now!

Wellhung: I'm flaccid.

Sweetheart: What?

Wellhung: I'm limp. I can't sustain an erection.

Sweetheart: I'm standing up and turning around; an incredulous look on my face.

Wellhung: I'm shrugging with a sad look on my face, my weiner all floppy. I'm going to get my glasses and see what's wrong.

Sweetheart: No, never mind. I'm getting dressed. I'm putting on my underwear. Now I'm putting on my wet nasty blouse.

Wellhung: No wait! Now I'm squinting, trying to find the night table. I'm feeling along the dresser, knocking over cans of hair spray, picture frames and your candles.

Sweetheart: I'm buttoning my blouse. Now I'm putting on my shoes.

Wellhung: I've found my glasses. I'm putting them on. My God! One of our candles fell on the curtain. The curtain is on fire! I'm pointing at it, a shocked look on my face.

Sweetheart: Go to hell. I'm logging off, you loser!

Wellhung: Now the carpet is on fire! Oh noooo!

Sweetheart: ::logged of::

::The End::

New word processor

For the those with melanin challenged follicles:

Joke of the day

This is an oldie, but it still makes me laugh:

Many years ago I was acting as the system administrator for a test system in a large publicly held company. Periodically I would receive a call from someone who had not accessed the system recently, forgot their password and locked themselves out trying to logon. I would look up their password and unlock the system for them and they would go on their merry way.

One day I received a call from a young lady who was in just such a predicament. I looked up her password and informed her that it was 'DOME' and, just to be playful, told her the price for me being gracious enough to unlock her sign-on was an explanation of the meaning of her password. She became very embarrassed over the phone and pleaded that she could never reveal her secret. I of course replied that I would not give her system access until she did. After negotiating for several minutes she finally acquiesced but made me promise to never reveal her password meaning to any of her colleagues to which I gladly agreed.

"Well, what does it mean?", I asked.

She hesitated and then replied, "It's two words."

There was pregnant pause. I unlocked her system and simply said, "Have a nice day".

Website welcomes the age of Obama

Yesterday, ESPN's website was invaded by unicorns, rainbows and sparkling ponies. This was the day after Obama's press conference. Coincidence?

Today's funny

Real life Twitter below the fold.

Interesting piece of fiction

Or was it last Wednesday?

I have no idea how Iowahawk manages to do this type of thing on a consistent basis. Fills my black heart with jealousy, it does, my precious.

Ah well. Read it anyway.

Proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy

Courtesy of Moe Lane comes this video of Women. Underwear. Light Sabers..

Parody or reality?

Sometimes the Onion posts something that's just a little too close to reality: Cheering Fans, Thrilling NCAA Tournament Disgust BCS Officials

Again with the funny

Well, I'm still waiting for my pony that shits rainbows. Until it arrives, I thought that I'd repost some old, bad jokes.

Yeah, I know: I'm a giver.

Did you hear the one about the psychic dwarf that escaped from prison?

The newspaper headlines read "small medium at large."
=============================================

An American businessman is visiting Japan.

The first night there, he's getting bored, so he hires a local hooker and they go at it all night. She keeps screaming "Fugifoo! Fugifoo!" and he takes this to mean he's doing something right.

The next day, he's out golfing with his Japanese clients and shoots a hole in one! He can't believe it, and, trying to impress his clients with his knowledge of Japanese, he shouts triumphantly, "Fugifoo!"

The Japanese guys stop and look at him, confused. "What are you talking about?" they ask. "That's the right hole."

========================================

Once upon a time, in a land far away, a beautiful, independent, self assured princess happened upon a frog as she sat, contemplating ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant meadow near her castle.

The frog hopped into the princess' lap and said,"Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch cast a spell upon me. One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper, young prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and set up housekeeping in yon castle with my mother, where you can prepare my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children, and forever feel grateful and happy doing so."

That night, as the princess dined sumptuously on a repast of lightly sauteed frog legs seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled to herself and thought,"I don't fucking think so."

===============================================

A woman meets a gorgeous man in a bar. They talk, they connect, they end up leaving together. They get back to his apartment and she notices that his bedroom is completely packed with sweet cuddly teddy bears. Hundreds of cute small bears on a shelf all the way along the floor, cuddly medium-sized ones on a shelf a little higher, and huge enormous bears on the top shelf along the wall.

The woman is surprised that this guy would have a collection of teddy bears, especially one that's so extensive, but she decides not to mention this to him, and actually is quite impressed by his sensitive side. She turns to him. They kiss....and then they rip each other's clothes off and make hot steamy l-o-v-e.

After an intense night of passion with this sensitive guy, they are lying there together in the after glow, the woman rolls over and asks, smiling, "Well, how was it?"

The guy says: "Help yourself to any prize from the bottom shelf."

=========================================
A young couple got married and left on their honeymoon. When they got back, the bride immediately called her mother. Her mother asked, "How was the honeymoon?"

"Oh, mama," she replied, "the honeymoon was wonderful! So romantic..." Suddenly she burst out crying. "But, mama, as soon as we returned Sam started using the most horrible language...things I'd never heard before! I mean, all these awful 4-letter words! You've got to come get me and take me
home.... Please mama!"

"Sarah, Sarah," her mother said, "calm down! Tell me, what could be so awful? What 4-letter words?"

"Please don't make me tell you, mama," wept the daughter, "I'm so embarrassed they're just too awful! Come get me, please!"

"Darling, baby, you must tell me what has you so upset.... Tell your mother these horrible 4-letter words!"

Still sobbing, the bride said, "Oh, mama...words like DUST, WASH, IRON, COOK...!"

=================================================

A man was walking along the street when he saw a ladder going into the clouds. As any of us would do, he climbed the ladder. He reached a cloud, upon which sat a rather plump and very ugly woman. "Screw me or climb the ladder to success," she said.

No contest, thought the man, so he climbed the ladder to the next cloud. On this cloud was a slightly thinner woman, who was slightly easier on the eye. "Screw me hard or climb the ladder to success," she said. "Well," thought the man, "might as well carry on."

On the next cloud was an even more attractive lady who, this time, was quite attractive. "Screw me now or climb the ladder to success," she uttered. As he turned her down and went on up the ladder, the man thought to himself that this was getting better the further he went.

On the next cloud was an absolute beauty. Slim, attractive, the lot. "Fuck me here and now or climb the ladder to success," she flirted.

Unable to imagine what could be waiting, and being a gambling man, he decided to climb again. When he reached the next cloud, there was a 400-pound ugly man, arm pit hair showing, flies buzzing around his head.

"Who are you?" the man asked.

"Hello" said the ugly fat man, "I'm Cess!"

This makes me laugh

For those of you who didn't watch Christian Laettner break Rick Pitino's heart in the NCAA regional final, the following will be essentially meaningless to you. For all others, well, whether or not you hate/love the Blue Devils, this should make you laugh.

Update: Watch this before watching the commercial below. It will provide the context. Besides, it's truly a beautiful sight to behold.

He makes with the funny

One positive- okay, maybe the only positive- aspect of Obama's campaign and subsequent election is having Jim Treacher poking his head out of his blogging hole more frequently. Here's the esteemed Mr. Treacher following up on Obama's, err, interesting appearance on the Tonight Show last nigh. Here are few other things Obama might have saidt:

• "Kevin Eubanks, how are ya, man? Is Jay letting you come in through the front entrance yet? No? It's okay, I do the same thing to Biden."
  ...
  
• Yeah, John McCain and I get along. Although he always freezes me out when I try to give him a high five! [audience groans] What, too soon?"

• "Sarah Palin and I don't talk much, 'cause I don't speak Tardese. 'Doy! Durr! Look at my dumb baby!' [audience member boos] Oh, lighten up."

• "Another great thing about LA is all the fags. [audience hisses] OK, OK, Faggot-Americans. Hey, I got no problem with it. After all, I did hire Rahm Emmanuel!"

• "You know what cracks me up? Chinese people. [sticks front teeth over bottom lip and pushes back corners of eyes] 'Herro, Mistel Plesident!'"

Basketball funny

Pretty good effort from DJ Gallo. Excerpt:

No. 9 Siena (26-7) "So what if a fictional character is the most famous person from Siena College? Laugh it up. But you won't be laughing when we win the fictional national championship." -- Det. Olivia Benson, character on "Law & Order: Special Victims Unit," supposedly a graduate of Siena ... No. 7 Boston College (22-11) "I filled out two brackets this year. So I actually picked Boston College to win it all before I picked against them." -- Sen. John Kerry, Boston College Law School '76 ... No. 8 BYU (25-7) "I am excited about the Cougars' chances in the NCAA tournament. If they win it all, I have half a mind to go crazy and celebrate by wearing a Brooks Brothers button-down during a TV interview instead of a suit and tie. Who knows, I could even go with a sensible polo shirt?" -- Mitt Romney, BYU '71 ... No. 7 California (22-10) "Twenty-two wins. Tied for third in the Pac-10. Only … a seven-seed? Getting … very … angry." -- Bill Bixby, attended Cal ... No. 13 Portland State (23-9) "I like basketball. I remember one time Hef took me to a Lakers game and all of a sudden I was like: 'Hef, I don't see any baskets! It's just some netting connected to a metal circle. They should call it netting-and-metal-circle-ball.' And Kendra was like: 'Straight up, yo!' Ohmigod, it was so funny." -- Holly Madison, Hugh Hefner's one-time girlfriend on "Girls Next Door," attended Portland State ... No. 6 UCLA (25-8) "What? Screw Siena. Go Bruins!" -- Mariska Hargitay, plays Det. Olivia Benson on "Law & Order: SVU," attended UCLA

More found here.

The new "Urkel"

Received via email:

Quote of the day

And it's from the Daily Gut:

So the trailer to Quentin Tarantino's latest flick is out, and get this: dismemberment plays a starring role.

No surprise here. Body parts are to Tarantino what clothes are to Kate Winslet - an irritating barrier to plot development that must be removed immediately.

The aging of our presidents

Received via email:

Much has been said about the aging of the President of the United States during their terms in office. Below are just a few examples (pictures on the left were taken their first year in office, pictures on the right were taken during their last year in office):

Ronald Reagan

Bill Clinton

George W. Bush

And now with state of the art computer imaging software, we can look into the future and see what our next potential president will look like after his term in office:

and even his wife.....Michelle

Worth 1000 words

Nobody does it better than Iowahawk, not even that pissy little 007.

Lost recap

I love the show, but this "parody" of a roundup is far too close to the actual thing.

Obamalot!

A weak effort, but I don't feel all that inspired right now.
=======================================

OBAMA:

It's true! It's true! The voters have made it clear.
The One will be perfect throughout the year.

An election was held some moons ago here.
Our new President is dreamily hot.
And there's no legal limit to the spending here
In Obamalot.

Republicans are forbidden forever
And quake in their minority lot
By order, they run to wherever
In Obamalot.

Obamalot! Obamalot!

The world begins to heal
But in Obamalot, Obamalot
All will be forced to kneel.

Harry Reid may never fail while in session.
By dawn, the veto threat must disappear.
In short, the taxes rise
and the spendings rise
In the socialist-ever-aftering here
In Obamalot.

Obamalot! Obamalot!
I know Joe Biden's a dunce,
But in Obamalot, Obamalot,
He'll never be president once.
Pelosi may never say an intelligent thing.
By noon, all taxes are in arrears.
In short, the taxes rise
and the spendings rise
In the socialist-ever-aftering here
In Obamalot.

To be fair, I hear that Obamalot is absolutely swimming with unicorns and magic ponies.

The first 100 days will give me an idea whether or not to wait it out, or commence relentless mocking. I will acknowledge that I love mocking and chastising politicians of all stripes, so I'm leaning towards the latter. However, I'm not in a particularly bad mood, so we'll see what happens.

A heart-warming Christmas story (repost)

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
forhelp.

So, I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.

The X-mas files (repost)

Don't think of it as leftovers. Instead, think of it as a rerun of a dearly beloved holiday classic.

===========================================

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.

Scully: Impossible.

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.

And still more holiday images (repost)

Lather, rinse, repost.

And here's one that you won't want to see.

Caught in the act (repost)

Frosty turns out to be a dirty, nasty little grade schooler:

Barbie's letter to Santa (repost)

Don't say that I didn't warn you about the Christmas-time repeats...
===============================

Barbie's Letter To Santa

Dear 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)
anatomically correct.

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
account exec!

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.

Yours Truly,

Barbie

----------------------------

Ken's Letter To Santa

Dear 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
desires.

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
as:

"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.

Sincerely,

Ken

Everything that you know about Rudolph is wrong

Later, rinse, repost.
================================================

Michele reposted her classic rewrite of one of the holiday season's favorite TV specials. Excerpt:

So what happens? Does Rudolph finally have enough of the bullying and dons a trenchcoat, listens to Marilyn Manson and mows down his enemies? No, Rudolph goes off on an adventure. He escapes his problems instead of confronting them. When you think about it, running away on adventure isn't so bad, as he could have turned to a life on the streets, doing "favors" for old barflys in exchange for salt licks.

I really missed Michele's blogging during her absence. And her post put me in mind to repost an old image:

The average American

A recent study conducted by Harvard University found that the average American walks about 900 miles a year.

Another study by the American Medical Association found that Americans drink, on average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year.

This means, on average, Americans get about 41 miles to the gallon.

Kind Of Makes You Proud To Be An American.

Request: night before Christmas Star Trek parody?

I posted this last year and got no takers. Perhaps someone can help me out of my misery this year.
===========================

To any and all who read this: last weekend while out and about, I heard a bit on the radio which I supposed could be called "The Shatner Before Christmas". Actually, I don't know what it was named, I'm just guessing. Anyway, it was a comedian spoofing Shatner's inimitable delivery doing a Star Trek: TOS version of The Night Before Christmas. I've searched around the Intertubes and haven't been able to find the audio yet in any format. Here are some particulars of the bit:

• "Kirk" does the whole narration, mentioningg Uhura, Spock and Bones by name
• Klingon C(K?)laus makes an appearance
• Kirk's gift is "a girdle with a message that said 'Just your size'"
• Kirk then blows Klingon Claus to smithereens with photon torpedoes

No, I can't remember which radio station I was listening to, as I was busy trying to avoid commercials. If I knew which station it was, I could call the station and ask. Anyway, has anyone else heard this? More to the point, does anyone know what it's actually called and where I can find it?

Time for some holiday classics

Raging Rudolph and The Reinfather. Videos embedded below the fold.

I do not think that means what you think it means

Little Tony was staying with his grandmother for a few days. He'd been playing outside with the other kids for a while when he came into the house and asked her, "Grandma, what's that called when two people sleep in the same room and one is on top of the other?"

She was a little taken back, but decided to just tell him the truth. " It's call sexual intercourse, darling."

Little Tony just said, "Oh, OK," and went back outside to play with the other kids. a Few minutes later he came back in and said angrily, "Grandma it isn't called sexual intercourse. It's call Bunk Beds, and Jimmy's mommy wants to talk to you!

A Thanksgiving message

Received via email:

"I have never understood why anyone would roast the turkey and shuck the clams and crisp the croutons and shell the peas and candy thesweets and compote the cranberries and bake the pies and clear the table and wash the dishes and fall into bed exhausted when they could just as easily sit back and enjoy a hamburger or a pork sandwich."

- The Turkey

I can die happy now

Monty Python has launched its own official YouTube channel. Excerpt:

For 3 years you YouTubers have been ripping us off, taking tens of thousands of our videos and putting them on YouTube. Now the tables are turned. It's time for us to take matters into our own hands.

We know who you are, we know where you live and we could come after you in ways too horrible to tell. But being the extraordinarily nice chaps we are, we've figured a better way to get our own back: We've launched our own Monty Python channel on YouTube.

No more of those crap quality videos you've been posting. We're giving you the real thing - HQ videos delivered straight from our vault.

What's more, we're taking our most viewed clips and uploading brand new HQ versions. And what's even more, we're letting you see absolutely everything for free. So there!

But we want something in return.

None of your driveling, mindless comments. Instead, we want you to click on the links, buy our movies & TV shows and soften our pain and disgust at being ripped off all these years.

Time to finish with one of my all time favorites below the fold.

The Cameron Column #1(#57 reprinted): The Thanksgiving Turkey

If you've never read any of Bruce Cameron's articles, you've been missing out. He stopped writing for a while, restarted and then stopped again. Maybe he finally ran out of ideas. In any event, here is his Thanksgiving column circa 1998.
==================================================

Like many men, I am different from my wife in ways which are noticeable, and, in my opinion, fortunate.

Take the Thanksgiving turkey (and I mean that literally. PLEASE come over to our house, open the refrigerator, shove aside everything growing green fuzz, and take this carcass away before it reincarnates as turkey lasagna or turkey tetracycline or whatever new concoction awaits the family.) But take Thanksgiving--my wife prefers small birds that fit nicely into the roasting pan and which can be cooked in a few hours.

"Ha!" I can be quoted as sneering. I trace my own gender lineage to that proud, hairy group of hunter-gatherers who, prior to the invention of TV remote control, would pick up their spears, huddle, and then go out and pull down a huge bison for dinner, stopping at the bar on the way home for a couple of cave brews. So when I go to the store for a turkey, I find a TURKEY: a mammoth, many-pound fowl with drum sticks as large as my thighs and wings you could park a car under.

Words cannot describe the delight on my wife's face when my neighbors help me carry the bird into the refrigerator, where, following the instructions, it is left to thaw for a period of six months. (My wife often has several interesting but impractical suggestions on where else we might stick the turkey for this thawing procedure.) Cooking begins around Halloween, a slow roasting process which varies from my mother's recipe in that there are no flames or threats of divorce "if anybody says a word about how the turkey tastes."

I enjoy every step of turkey preparation, particularly since I am not involved in any of it. Well, that's not entirely true--at one point, I am asked to reach into the mouth of the turkey and retrieve the giblets, which turns out to be a bag of what looks like pieces of Jimmy Hoffa. (I realize I am not, technically speaking, putting my hand in the bird's "mouth," but I'd rather not dwell on what this means.) How the turkey manages to swallow this stuff in the first place is beyond me. Traditionally, we open this bag, dump the contents into a pan of water, and boil the results. Only the cat is happy about this development.

As wonderful as this all is, by the fourth or fifth night my appetite for turkey variations has waned, and I provide valuable feedback to my wife by making gagging noises at dinner time. Her verbal (as opposed to projectile) response to this is to imply that it is somehow MY fault we have so many leftovers, to which I logically reply, "hey, YOU cooked it."

Now, before you men out there become too smug with how adroitly I out maneuvered her with my quick retort, you should be advised that she STILL blames me for our turkey-induced bulimia. Therefore I appeal to my readership: has anyone else noticed bizarre psychiatric reactions to turkey consumption which might explain this whole controversy? Please advise via return e-mail, which will be picked up by the crack WBC technical team and, judging by previous results, forwarded to the Governor of New Jersey.

Thanks... oh, and Happy Thanksgiving too.

The Cameron Column, A Free Internet Newsletter
Copyright W. Bruce Cameron 1998
================================================

Update: My bad. I used to be on his mailing list; not sure why I'm not now. In any event, Bruce Cameron appears to have been writing up a storm. You can find his stuff here, including my all-time favorite column.

Spicing up Thanksgiving dinner

Why yes, I did post this last year. Thanks for asking
=========================================

Here is a new way to prepare your Thanksgiving or Christmas Turkey.

1. Cut out aluminum foil in desired shapes.
2. Arrange the turkey in the roasting pan, position the foil carefully (see attached)
3. Roast according to your own recipes and serve.
4. Watch your guests' faces.

How to cook a turkey

Reposted from last year.

=====================
This has been making its way around the Internet since 1500 B.C., even though the first computer still hadn't been manufactured yet. However, if there's one thing that you can count on me for, it's recycling the stalest holiday humor you've ever seen between now and the New Year.
---------------------------------------------------
HOW TO COOK A TURKEY

Step 1: Go buy a turkey

Step 2: Take a drink of whiskey, scotch, or JD

Step 3: Put turkey in the oven

Step 4: Take another 2 drinks of whiskey

Step 5: Set the degree at 375 ovens

Step 6: Take 3 more whiskeys of drink

Step 7: Turn oven the on

Step 8: Take 4 whisks of drinky

Step 9: Turk the bastey

Step 10: Whiskey another bottle of get

Step 11: Stick a turkey in the thermometer

Step 12: Glass yourself a pour of whiskey

Step 13: Bake the whiskey for 4 hours

Step 14: Take the oven out of the turkey

Step 15: Take the oven out of the turkey

Step 16: Floor the turkey up off the pick

Step 17: Turk the carvey

Step 18: Get yourself another scottle of botch

Step 19: Tet the sable and pour yourself a glass of turkey(Ed. note: this didn't used to be possible)
Update: More on this here.

Step 20: Bless the saying, pass and eat out

A special Thanksgiving Day message

Reposted from last year. Expect more of this as the year winds to a close.
======================================

You might remember this special holiday image from last year. This time, I won't hide it in the extended entry.

Special holiday music

Looking for a different kind of holiday music? Look here for the Carol of the Old Ones. Excerpt:

Look to the sky, way up on high
There in the night stars are now right.
Eons have passed: now then at last
Prison walls break, Old Ones awake!
They will return: mankind will learn
New kinds of fear when they are here.
They will reclaim all in their name;
Hopes turn to black when they come back.
Ignorant fools, mankind now rules
Where they ruled then: it's theirs again

Stars brightly burning, boiling and churning
Bode a returning season of doom

Scary scary scary scary solstice
Very very very scary solstice

I still don't know why anyone voted for the lesser evil on November 4. Just imagine the debates between Cthulu, McCain and Obama. Of course, they'd have been cut short when the Old One used its tentacles to rend the other two limb from limb, but just think of the possibilities.

Bring on the funny

John Scalzi has a series of election-related posts up. I'll excerpt from #4, just to whet your appetite:

Election List IV: The Things I Think About As I Stare At This Picture of Joe Biden

1. It looks like doll hair.

2. Men shouldn’t botox.
...

10. It still looks like doll hair.

There's so much more relish. Go and laugh your ass off.

Halloween humor?

I still get a great kick out this video:

Wanna see something really scary?

Halloween images: some funny, some sick, most both. Some most definitely not safe for work, so be careful before you click.

Penis Man

Vagina man

Priestly fun

Sweet thing

Halloween images (repost)

Updated for this election season.
===============================================

Don't overindulge this Halloween.

"Uh, good evening Mr. Reynolds. Trick or treat?"

Self-hating dogs for Glenn.

Newly registered Democrat voters in Ohio display their support for Obama.

The future of Happy Meals if Glenn Reynolds has his way.

"Who's your daddy now, beeyatch?"

No Halloween would be complete without a visit from our special friend, Seymour Butz.

And the Puppy Blender's sphere of influence continues to grow.

A socialist Halloween

Seasonal math humor

Still more Halloween images

Lather, rinse, repost.
======================================

Halloween humor (images)

Halloween humor (repost)

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful:

A man was walking home alone late one foggy night, when behind him he hears:

BUMP...

BUMP...

BUMP...

Walking faster, he looks back and through the fog he makes out the image of an upright casket banging its way down the middle of the street toward him.

BUMP...

BUMP...

BUMP...

Terrified, the man begins to run toward his home, the casket bouncing quickly behind him.

FASTER...

FASTER...

BUMP...

BUMP...

BUMP...

He runs up to his door, fumbles with his keys, opens the door, rushes in, slams and locks the door behind him.

However, the casket crashes through his door, with the lid of the casket clapping

clappity-BUMP...

clappity-BUMP...

clappity-BUMP...

on his heels, the terrified man runs.

Rushing upstairs to the bathroom, the man locks himself in. His heart is pounding; his head is reeling; his breath is coming in sobbing gasps.

With a loud CRASH the casket breaks down the door. Bumping and clapping toward him.

The man screams and reaches for something, anything, but all he can find is a bottle of cough syrup! Desperate, he throws the cough syrup at the casket...

and...

the coffin stops.

Biden: in his own words

Courtesy of Iowahawk. Excerpt:

"But I promise you, if one of these inevitable nuclear attacks is, God forbid, successful, Barack Obama and I will conduct tough and open negotiations with our new overlords," said Biden. "Ol' Joe Biden learned how to negotiate at his dad's used car lot in Scranton PA, and if these overlords think they can swing some sort of lowball occupation deal, I'll just tell them 'I gotta go get my manager,' and then... boo-yeah! In comes Barack Obama to upsell them undercoating and extra exercise yard privileges for you and me."

After rubbing tapioca into his armpits and singing what appeared to be the Numa-Numa song, Biden mounted a Segway and crashed through a side door.

A spokesman for the Obama-Biden campaign later clarified the Senator's remarks, and urged reporters "not to take Senator Biden's words out of context."

When asked what context that was, the spokesman explained that "the Senator has massive brain damage."

Political action

Actually, I originally posted this about feeling stressed at work. In any event, it seems awfully appropriate during this heated election cycle.
===============================================

How to handle political conflicts.

13 Reasons Not To Drink With Friends

If you went to college and overindulged at least once or twice, you probably discovered how much your friends treasure you. And by treasure, I mean discovered how much they like to screw with you while passed out. From my mother, of all people, comes the photographic evidence of 13 Reasons Not To Drink With Friends:

And the #1 reason not to drink with friends:

Wanna see something really scary?

Look at the image below the fold:

see more puppies

Liquidity of assets

Sure, you've already seen this everywhere else. I'm simply filling the gap by placing it here on this blog as well.
==========================================

If you had purchased $1,000 of shares in Delta Airlines one year ago, you will have $49.00 today. If you had purchased $1,000 of shares in AIG one year ago, you will have $33.00 today. If you had purchased $1,000 of shares in Lehman Brothers one year ago, you will have $0.00 today. But, if you had purchased $1,000 worth of beer one year ago, drank all the beer, then turned in the aluminum cans for recycling refund, you will have received $214.00. Based on the above, the best current investment plan is to drink heavily & recycle.

It is called the 401-Keg.

A recent study found that the average American walks about 900 miles a year. Another study found that Americans drink, on average, 22 gallons of alcohol a year. That means that, on average, Americans get about 41 miles to the gallon!

Makes you proud to be an American!

Playoff brackets

Required reading

I am truly in awe of what Iowahawk manages to do on a regular basis. If Mother Jones syndicated his column, I would subscribe to the commie pinko rag, just to get my fix. Excerpt:

DAVE BURGE, IOWAHAWK

Linda, we both know that credit is the lifeblood of the American economy. But today millions of Americans like myself are saddled with enormous adjustable rate mortgage debt which we can no longer pay, through no fault of our own. We were suckered in by deceptive easy-money advertising come-ons, confusing refinance deals, and free igloo coolers. And now, with a slowdown in the blog economy, some of us can barely make the payments on our quad-runners, let alone a crushing $1.2 million debt on a house that our appraiser says is worth $40,000 in scrap lumber, tops. America's economic future depends on us having the peace of mind to know our homes and 56" 1080 HD big screens won't be yanked from under us. That's why I oppose the proposed bailouts being discussed in Congress. Instead of paying trillions to Wall Street insiders and corporate fatcats, shouldn't Congress be targeting those trillions directly to needy Americans like me?

Important announcement

Don't forget that September 19 is International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Back to politics

And humor. Sweet, delicious, wicked humor.

I kind of thought that I'd be a Yugo

But I'll take what I got.

I'm a Chevrolet Corvette!

You're a classic - powerful, athletic, and competitive. You're all about winning the race and getting the job done. While you have a practical everyday side, you get wild when anyone pushes your pedal. You hate to lose, but you hardly ever do.

Take the Which Sports Car Are You? quiz.

Sure, it's old

But it makes me laugh. Check out the Ultimate Showdown below the fold:

If you don't understand this, you probably had sex during your college years

From Xkcd:

I'm going to Hell

Watch the video here and laugh at the completely inappropriate humor. It is just so wrong on so many levels. But I'm still laughing 10 minutes later, which does not bode well for my future in the afterlife.

NASA confirms water on Mars

Pretty cool:

Thursday funny

Megan McArdle links to one of the funniest things I've seen in a while. Video below the fold:

Music to relax by

All you musical types should look at the sheet music below and see if you can hum it to yourself:

A candidate for everyone

Thanks to Misha for the "vote".

Hey, he's the Emperor, but there's always room for a President. Right?

Looks like bedtime after burrito night

This video is presented purely as a follow up to my last post:

Okay, that's a lie: I posted it because I'm a disgusting person who loves potty humor.

Bad dates

I have been on a grand total of one blind date in my entire life. What happens in the video below would have been far preferable. It's below the fold to keep from locking up your system.

Don't hate me because I'm beautiful

Found the image below via the lovely and talented Rachel Lucas. I sent it to every woman I know. They are all somewhat less fond of me today.

Paris trip

Received via email. Don't hate me because I'm beautiful.
=================================================

A thief in Paris planned to steal some paintings from the Louvre.

After careful planning, he got past security, stole the paintings, and made it safely to his van.

However, he was captured only two blocks away when his van ran out of gas.

When asked how he could mastermind such a crime and then make such an obvious error, he replied,

'Monsieur, that is the reason I stole the paintings.'

' I had no Monet

to buy Degas

to make the Van Gogh.'



See if you have De Gaulle to send this on to someone else.

I sent it to you because I figured I had nothing Toulouse .

You keep using those words

Received via email:

Here are 12 of the finest double-entendres aired on TV & Radio, some familiar but all the better for being collated into a handy package . . .

1. Pat Glenn, weightlifting commentator - 'And this is Gregoriava from Bulgaria. I saw her snatch this morning and it was amazing!'
2. New Zealand Rugby Commentator - 'Andrew Mehrtens loves it when Daryl Gibson comes inside of him.'
3. Ted Walsh - Horse Racing Commentator - 'This is really a lovely horse. I once rode her mother.'
4. Harry Carpenter at the Oxford-Cambridge boat race 1977 - 'Ah, isn't that nice. The wife of the Cambridge President is kissing the Cox of the Oxford crew.'
5. US PGA Commentator - 'One of the reasons Arnie (Arnold Palmer) is playing so well is that, before each tee shot, his wife takes out his balls and kisses them ..... Oh my god!!!!! What have I just said?!!!!'
6. Carenza Lewis about finding food in the Middle Ages on 'Time Team Live' said: 'You'd eat beaver if you could get it.'
7. A female news anchor who, the day after it was supposed to have snowed and didn't, turned to the weatherman and asked, 'So Bob, where's that eight inches you promised me last night?' Not only did HE have to leave the set, but half the crew did too, because they were laughing so hard!
8. Steve Ryder covering the US Masters: 'Ballesteros felt much better today after a 69 yesterday.'
9. Clair Frisby talking about a jumbo hot dog on Look North said: 'There's nothing like a big hot sausage inside you on a cold night like this.'
10. Mike Hallett discussing missed snooker shots on Sky Sports: 'Stephen Hendry jumps on Steve Davis's misses every chance he gets.'
11. Michael Buerk on watching Phillipa Forrester cuddle up to a male astronomer for warmth during BBC1's UK eclipse coverage remarked: 'They seem cold out there, they're rubbing each other and he's only come in his shorts.'
12. Ken Brown commentating on golfer Nick Faldo and his caddie Fanny Sunneson lining-up shots at the Scottish Open: 'Some weeks Nick likes to use Fanny, other weeks he prefers to do it by himself.'

Daily Roger Clemens bashing

In honor of the recent disclosure about Clemens' past, I submit the following:

Roger Clemens, disguised in sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat, snuck into the hotel. When he opened the door to his room, he saw that his girlfriend was packing her suitcase.

"What are you doing?, he asked.

"I'm leaving you,", she replied. "I just found out that you're a pedophile."

"Pedophile, eh? That's a mighty big word for an eight year old."

Old secret

More ancient than Calgon

A young man is wandering, lost, in a forest when he comes upon a small house. Knocking on the door he is greeted by an ancient Chinese man with a long gray beard.

"I'm lost," says the man. "Can you put me up for the night?" "Certainly",' the Chinese man says, "but on one condition." "If you so much as lay a finger on my daughter I will inflict upon you the three worst Chinese tortures known to man'". "OK," the man replies, and enters the house.

Over dinner, the daughter comes down the stairs. She is young and beautiful, with a fantastic body. She is obviously attracted to the young man and can't keep her eyes off him during the meal. Remembering the old man's warning, he ignores her and goes up to bed alone. During the night he can bear it no longer and sneaks into her room for a night of passion. He is careful to keep everything quiet so the old man wouldn't hear and, near dawn, he creeps back to his room, exhausted but happy.

He wakes to feel a pressure on his chest. Opening his eyes, he sees a large rock on his chest with a note on it that reads: "Chinese Torture 1....Large rock on chest.".

"Well, that's pretty crappy," he thinks. 'If that's the best the old man can do then I don't have much to worry about." He picks the boulder up, walks over to the window and throws the boulder out. As he does,he notices another note on it that reads: "Chinese Torture 2: Rock tied to left testicle." In a panic he glances down and sees the rope, getting very close to taut.

Figuring that a few broken bones is better than castration, he jumps out of the window after the boulder. Plummeting towards the ground, he sees a large sign on the ground that reads, "Chinese Torture 3....Right testicle tied to bed post."

See, it's true: too much unprotected sex can kill you.

The moral of the story?

It Depends

Received via email:

One night, at the lodge of a hunting club, two new members were being introduced to other members and shown around. The man leading them around said, "See that old man asleep in the chair by the fireplace? He is our oldest member and can tell you some hunting stories you'll never forget." They awakened the old man and asked him to tell them a hunting story.

"Well, I remember back in 1944, we went on a lion hunting exposition in Africa. We were on foot and hunted for three days without seeing a thing. On the fourth day, I was so tired I had to rest my feet. I found a fallen tree, so I laid my gun down, propped my head on the tree, and fell asleep. I don't know how long I was asleep when I was awakened by a noise in the bushes. I was reaching for my gun when the biggest lion I ever seen jumped out of the bushes at me like this, ROOOAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!....... I tell you, I just shit my pants."

The young men looked astonished and one of them said, "I don't blame you, I would have shit my pants too if a lion jumped out at me."

The old man shook his head and said, "No, no, not then, just now when I said ROOOAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!"

Good thing that Iowahawk exists

Otherwise, we'd have to invent him

Check out this masterpiece from Iowahawk.

There was a young man named Dave...

5 people crash land on a island in the middle of the ocean. There are 4 men and one woman.

The men constantly fight over who gets the one woman, so they decide they will switch who her "husband" is every week. Everything works out fine and they are all happy.

10 years later, the woman dies.

1st day: Things really aren't to bad
2nd day: Somethings missing, but it's still alright
3rd day: Now things are starting to get not so fun
4th day: It's starting to get really bad.
5th day: Really.....really bad.
6th day: Absolutely horrible.
7th day: They bury her.

I wonder what the modern Democrat will end up as?

Believe in evolution? Oh sure, there is a lot of evidence to the contrary. How else do you explain the success and/or popularity of Carrot Top or Keith Olbermann? Okay, that isn't really a fair comparison. To Carrot Top. Anyway, Cracked.com reviews what happens when nature decides to replace aggression with passivity and intellgence with Keith Olbermann.

Damn. I did it again. Oh well, excerpt:

#4.Smilodons (Sabre-Toothed Tigers)

Used to be ...
Anyone who has seen 10,000 BC (and escaped with their IQ intact) knows about Smilodons. With eight-inch blade-like teeth, these cats were the top predators of the late Pliestocine, and were the last dominant predators before our ancestors came along. They traveled in packs, the sight of which would make our ancestors crap their pants from miles away.
...
The Crappy Evolutionary Spin-off:
You're probably thinking tigers here, but actually marsupials are all that is left of the classic Sabre-Tooth Cat (the felines were another branch on the evolutionary tree) so, sadly, the closest genetic connection remains adorable Koala Bears, Kangaroos and Opossums. The most common of these is the Opossum, most often seen in their natural habitat (the local freeway) in their instinctive 'bloody smear along the road' stance.
...
Though there is one marsupial still holding its ground: the Tasmanian Devil. The usual response to a natural sighting of these godless killing machines tends to be "HOLY SHIT A TASMANIAN DEVIL LET'S GET THE HELL OUT OF HE-(screams of agony)." It feasts on the dead and dying and leaves nothing but crushed bone and echoes of blood-curdling screams in its path.

I recently explained to my son that the Tasmanian Devil was real, although it in no way resembled the funny, stupid critter he had seen on Bugs Bunny.

Sports, video games and humor

Oh, how they mix! Check the video below the fold: WNBA 2008 Live.

You can be anybody on the Internet

Case in point is the poster below the fold:

Yeah, my eyes are burning right now, too.

When life hands you lemons

Repost and old, stupid joke:

A man was walking across the road when he met the accident. The impact was on his head which caused him to be comatosed for two days before he finally regained consciousness. When open his eyes, his wife was there beside him.

He held her hands and said meaningfully : "You have always been beside me. When I was a struggling university student, I failed again and again. And sometimes, even my re-papers as well. You were always there beside me, encouraging me to go on trying.."

She squeezed his hands as he continued :"When I went for all the major interviews and failed to clinch any of the jobs, you were there beside me, cutting out more adverts for me to apply..."

He continued "Then I started work at this little firm and finally got to handle a big contract. I blew it because of one little mistake. And you were there beside me."

Then I finally got another job after being laid off for sometime. But I never seem to be promoted and my hard work was not recognised. As such, I remained in the same position from the day I join the company till now...And you were there beside me."

Her eyes brimmed with tears as she listened to her husband :"And now I met an accident and when I woke up, you are here beside me........There's something I'd really like to say to you..."

She flung herself on the bed to hug her husband, and sobbing with emotion.

He said..., " I think you really bring me bad luck.."

The future?

Well, this video shows a possible alternate future. Kind of problematical for someone in my current profession, but maybe I can become a CPA.

And now for the first baby steps

So Frank J. and Jonah Goldberg imagine a world without politicians. Pretty funny stuff.

Kudos to Frank J. on his first byline, albeit one shared with Mr. Goldberg.

My kind of guys

Now this is a prank:

Link via Neal Boortz.

The ideal presidential candidate

32 years ago, this nation was forced to choose between Howdy Doody and the liberal wing of the GOP. Faced with the rock and the hard place, many in the nation went a different route altogether, supporting the longshot candidacy of a short, cigar chomping, no nonsense sort of a guy. Okay, maybe "guy" is stretching the truth a bit. It's time for the All Night Party candidate to get down again.

For you poor children too young to remember the campaign, but not old enough to have forgotten this abomination, I offer this little link as backstory to the whole thing.

European alert status

Received via email:
========================================

The British are feeling the pinch in relation to recent terrorist threats and have raised their security level from "Miffed" to "Peeved". Soon, though, security levels may be raised yet again to "Irritated" or even "A Bit Cross". Londoners have not been "A Bit Cross" since the blitz began in 1940 and tea supplies all but ran out. Terrorists have been re-categorized from "Tiresome" to "A Bloody Nuisance". The last time the British issued "A Bloody Nuisance" warning level was during the great fire of 1666.

Also, the French government announced yesterday that it has raised its terror alert level from "Run" to "Hide". The only two higher levels in France are "Collaborate" and "Surrender". The rise was precipitated by a recent fire that destroyed France's white flag factory, effectively paralyzing the country's military capability.

It's not only the British and French who are on a heightened level of alert. Italy has increased the! alert level from "Shout Loudly and Excitedly" to "Elaborate Military Posturing". Two more levels remain: "Ineffective Combat Operations" and "Change Sides".

The Germans also increased their alert state from "Disdainful Arrogance" to "Dress in Uniforms and Sing Marching Songs." They also have two higher levels: "Invade a Neighbor" and "Lose".

Belgians, on the other hand, are all on holiday as usual, and the only threat they are worried about is NATO pulling out of Brussels .

The Spanish are all excited to see their new submarines ready to deploy. These beautifully designed subs have glass bottoms so the new Spanish navy can get a really good look at the old Spanish navy.

One upmanship in science

Received via email this morning:

After having dug to a depth of 20 meters last year, English scientists found traces of copper wire dating back over 200 years and came to the conclusion that their ancestors already had a telephone network 200 years ago.

Not to be outdone by the English, in the weeks that followed, Scottish scientists dug to a depth of 30 meters, and shortly after, headlines in the UK newspapers read: 'Scottish archaeologists have found traces of 300 year old copper wire and have concluded that their ancestors already had an advanced high-tech communications network a hundred years earlier than the English.'

One week later, The Daily Jigger, an Irish newspaper, reported the following: 'After digging as deep as 40 meters, Paddy McMahon, a self taught archaeologist, reported that he found absolutely nothing'.

Paddy has therefore concluded that 400 years ago Ireland had already gone wireless.

Or gettin' caught in a hooker that turns out to be your wife?

The title of this post is the followup to the title of Kate's post. I might have misremembered the lyrics a bit.

I'll burn for this

I laughed out loud at this article over at Cracked. Excerpt:

According to legend, the Wise Men asked La Befana to accompany them to see the infant Jesus. She refused, saying she was too busy. Now there's a lady who doesn't want anyone to get the wrong impression about her.

WISEMAN No. 1 We're going to see the Baby Jesus be born this very eve.

BELFANA
I have a boyfriend.

WISEMAN No. 2
That's just fantastic. Would you like to come see the birth of Jesus?

BELFANA
He's as big as 10 wagons.

WISEMAN No. 3
That sounds nice. Would you like to watch the birth of God?

BELFANA sprays pepper spray in the Wisemen's faces, slams door.

After missing the wondrous sight of his birth, Belfana goes from house to house each year, leaving gifts and looking for the Christ child. Someone should tip her off that J.C. was last spotted in Brazil, being fought over like a fumbled football on top of a speeding train.

Update: There's even an article that Steve would like: Christopher Walken's Twelve Days of Christmas.

A heart-warming Christmas story

I got nuthin'. Sue me.
===============================================

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
forhelp.

So, I grabbed his other hundred and ran to my car.

The X-mas Files

Don't think of it as leftovers. Instead, think of it as a rerun of a dearly beloved holiday classic.

===========================================

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.

Scully: Impossible.

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.

And still more holiday images

Lather, rinse, repost.

And here's one that you won't want to see.

Caught in the act

Frosty turns out to be a dirty, nasty little grade schooler:

Barbie's letter to Santa (repost)

Don't say that I didn't warn you about the Christmas-time repeats....
===============================

Barbie's Letter To Santa

Dear 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)
anatomically correct.

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
account exec!

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.

Yours Truly,

Barbie

----------------------------

Ken's Letter To Santa

Dear 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
desires.

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
as:

"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.

Sincerely,

Ken

Christmas card for my geeky friends

Yes, I posted this last year. There'll be a lot more of that until end of year.
===============================================

Repeat from last year. Don't say that I didn't warn you.

This, I loved:

Translation to follow upon request.

BTW, here is the Taylor series expansion for the natural log Euler's constant. Behold:

Substitute "1" for x and there you have it.

Update: As someone else noticed, the series expansion is for the root used in the natural log: e, also know as Euler's number, Euler's constant(not the Euler-Mascheroni constant), or Napier's constant. Sorry for any confusion.

Request: night before Christmas Star Trek parody?

To any and all who read this: last weekend while out and about, I heard a bit on the radio which I supposed could be called "The Shatner Before Christmas". Actually, I don't know what it was named, I'm just guessing. Anyway, it was a comedian spoofing Shatner's inimitable delivery doing a Star Trek: TOS version of The Night Before Christmas. I've searched around the Intertubes and haven't been able to find the audio yet in any format. Here are some particulars of the bit:

• "Kirk" does the whole narration, mentiong Uhura, Spock and Bones by name
• Klingon C(K?)laus makes an appearance
• Kirk's gift is "a girdle with a message that said 'Just your size'"
• Kirk then blows Klingon Claus to smithereens with photon torpedoes

No, I can't remember which radio station I was listening to, as I was busy trying to avoid commercials. If I knew which station it was, I could call the station and ask. Anyway, has anyone else heard this? More to the point, does anyone know what it's actually called and where I can find it?

Surrender Dorothy!

Be honest: you thought the exact same thing.

Link via that puppy blending law professor.

Everything that you know about Rudolph is wrong

Michele reposted her classic rewrite of one of the holiday season's favorite TV specials. Excerpt:

So what happens? Does Rudolph finally have enough of the bullying and dons a trenchcoat, listens to Marilyn Manson and mows down his enemies? No, Rudolph goes off on an adventure. He escapes his problems instead of confronting them. When you think about it, running away on adventure isn't so bad, as he could have turned to a life on the streets, doing "favors" for old barflys in exchange for salt licks.

I really missed Michele's blogging during her absence. And her post put me in mind to repost an old image:

Pay attention

There is a lesson to be learned here somewhere.......

First-year students at Texas A&M's Vet school were receiving their first anatomy class, with a real dead cow. They all gathered around the surgery table with the body covered with a white sheet. The professor started the class by telling them, "In Veterinary Medicine it is necessary to have two important qualities as a doctor: The first is that you not be disgusted by anything involving the animal body. For an example, the Professor pulled back the sheet, stuck his finger in the butt of the dead cow, withdrew it and stuck it in his mouth.

"Go ahead and do the same thing," he told his students. The students freaked out and hesitated for several minutes. But eventually they took turns sticking a finger in the anal opening of the dead cow and sucking on it. When everyone finished, the Professor looked at them and said, "The second most important quality is observation. I stuck in my middle finger and sucked on my index finger. Now learn to pay attention.

"Life's tough, it's even tougher if you're stupid."

Early reviews aren't good

Iowahawk reports on the dismal box office takes for many of the anti-Santa movies. He ends it with my favorite line from one of my favorite jokes:

Despite the disappointing weekend showing, MPAA spokesman Bell said that industry still has high hopes for 17 more anti-Santa films that will open nationwide this weekend, including "The Reindeer Hunter," "Shop Loss," and Quentin Tarantino's much anticipated "Workshop of Blood."

"Chances are, one of them will be a hit," said Bell. "There's got to be a pony in there somewhere."

Actually, the joke is pretty old. I heard it long before Reagan started telling it. Between that punchline and "At least we've got feathers!", I generate more perplexed glances from people than you can shake a stick at.

Ahh, here's the version that I remember. Apparently the joke's been massaged many times over the years, but the punchline hasn't changed.

A couple had twin boys of five or six. Worried that the boys had developed extreme personalities -- one was a total pessimist, the other a total optimist -- their parents took them to a psychiatrist.

First the psychiatrist treated the pessimist. Trying to brighten his outlook, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with brand-new toys. But instead of yelping with delight, the little boy burst into tears. "What's the matter?" the psychiatrist asked, baffled. "Don't you want to play with any of the toys?" "Yes," the little boy bawled, "but if I did I'd only break them."

Next the psychiatrist treated the optimist. Trying to dampen his out look, the psychiatrist took him to a room piled to the ceiling with horse manure. But instead of wrinkling his nose in disgust, the optimist emitted just the yelp of delight the psychiatrist had been hoping to hear from his brother, the pessimist. Then he clambered to the top of the pile, dropped to his knees, and began gleefully digging out scoop after scoop with his bare hands.

"What do you think you're doing?" the psychiatrist asked, just as baffled by the optimist as he had been by the pessimist. "With all this manure," the little boy replied, beaming, "there must be a pony in here somewhere!"

the Cameron Column #1(#57 reprinted): The Thanksgiving Turkey

If you've never read any of Bruce Cameron's articles, you've been missing out. He stopped writing for a while, restarted and then stopped again. Maybe he finally ran out of ideas. In any event, here is his Thanksgiving column circa 1998.
==================================================

Like many men, I am different from my wife in ways which are noticeable, and, in my opinion, fortunate.

Take the Thanksgiving turkey (and I mean that literally. PLEASE come over to our house, open the refrigerator, shove aside everything growing green fuzz, and take this carcass away before it reincarnates as turkey lasagna or turkey tetracycline or whatever new concoction awaits the family.) But take Thanksgiving--my wife prefers small birds that fit nicely into the roasting pan and which can be cooked in a few hours.

"Ha!" I can be quoted as sneering. I trace my own gender lineage to that proud, hairy group of hunter-gatherers who, prior to the invention of TV remote control, would pick up their spears, huddle, and then go out and pull down a huge bison for dinner, stopping at the bar on the way home for a couple of cave brews. So when I go to the store for a turkey, I find a TURKEY: a mammoth, many-pound fowl with drum sticks as large as my thighs and wings you could park a car under.

Words cannot describe the delight on my wife's face when my neighbors help me carry the bird into the refrigerator, where, following the instructions, it is left to thaw for a period of six months. (My wife often has several interesting but impractical suggestions on where else we might stick the turkey for this thawing procedure.) Cooking begins around Halloween, a slow roasting process which varies from my mother's recipe in that there are no flames or threats of divorce "if anybody says a word about how the turkey tastes."

I enjoy every step of turkey preparation, particularly since I am not involved in any of it. Well, that's not entirely true--at one point, I am asked to reach into the mouth of the turkey and retrieve the giblets, which turns out to be a bag of what looks like pieces of Jimmy Hoffa. (I realize I am not, technically speaking, putting my hand in the bird's "mouth," but I'd rather not dwell on what this means.) How the turkey manages to swallow this stuff in the first place is beyond me. Traditionally, we open this bag, dump the contents into a pan of water, and boil the results. Only the cat is happy about this development.

As wonderful as this all is, by the fourth or fifth night my appetite for turkey variations has waned, and I provide valuable feedback to my wife by making gagging noises at dinner time. Her verbal (as opposed to projectile) response to this is to imply that it is somehow MY fault we have so many leftovers, to which I logically reply, "hey, YOU cooked it."

Now, before you men out there become too smug with how adroitly I out maneuvered her with my quick retort, you should be advised that she STILL blames me for our turkey-induced bulimia. Therefore I appeal to my readership: has anyone else noticed bizarre psychiatric reactions to turkey consumption which might explain this whole controversy? Please advise via return e-mail, which will be picked up by the crack WBC technical team and, judging by previous results, forwarded to the Governor of New Jersey.

Thanks... oh, and Happy Thanksgiving too.

The Cameron Column, A Free Internet Newsletter
Copyright W. Bruce Cameron 1998
================================================

Update: My bad. I used to be on his mailing list; not sure why I'm not now. In any event, Bruce Cameron appears to have been writing up a storm. You can find his stuff here, including my all-time favorite column.

Spicing up Thanksgiving dinner

Why yes, I did post this last year. Thanks for asking
=========================================

Here is a new way to prepare your Thanksgiving or Christmas Turkey.

1. Cut out aluminum foil in desired shapes.
2. Arrange the turkey in the roasting pan, position the foil carefully (see attached)
3. Roast according to your own recipes and serve.
4. Watch your guests' faces.

How to cook a turkey

Reposted from last year.

=====================
This has been making its way around the Internet since 1500 B.C., even though the first computer still hadn't been manufactured yet. However, if there's one thing that you can count on me for, it's recycling the stalest holiday humor you've ever seen between now and the New Year.
---------------------------------------------------
HOW TO COOK A TURKEY

Step 1: Go buy a turkey

Step 2: Take a drink of whiskey, scotch, or JD

Step 3: Put turkey in the oven

Step 4: Take another 2 drinks of whiskey

Step 5: Set the degree at 375 ovens

Step 6: Take 3 more whiskeys of drink

Step 7: Turn oven the on

Step 8: Take 4 whisks of drinky

Step 9: Turk the bastey

Step 10: Whiskey another bottle of get

Step 11: Stick a turkey in the thermometer

Step 12: Glass yourself a pour of whiskey

Step 13: Bake the whiskey for 4 hours

Step 14: Take the oven out of the turkey

Step 15: Take the oven out of the turkey

Step 16: Floor the turkey up off the pick

Step 17: Turk the carvey

Step 18: Get yourself another scottle of botch

Step 19: Tet the sable and pour yourself a glass of turkey(Ed. note: this didn't used to be possible)
Update: More on this here.

Step 20: Bless the saying, pass and eat out

A special Thanksgiving Day message

You might remember this special holiday image from last year. This time, I won't hide it in the extended entry.

A little geeky humor

Kin Calvin helpfully translates this French satire article, although like many such translations, it ends up sounding, at times, like Jim Treacher's former alter-ego, Puch (or however it was spelled). In any event, it's worth excerpting:

If you want to be a hacker, you will have to use Linux. Here are 2 solutions :

– You are a capitalistic bourgeois and you buy it $150 at Fry’s.
– You are an asshole, and then you download it on the net.

Of course you belong to the second category, so you have to use your FTP client and wait a few hours while your are downloading a Slack or a Debian. Try not to use Mandriva, this is for the public. You must not forget that you are an uNdERgrOuNd guy now, it’s normal, you’re a Hacker.

O.K, now you have got Linux, you can forget it. You do not need to lose your time learning how this new Operating System works and that you will never use because Xwing vs Tie Fighter doesn’t run on it. The best way is to delete lilo, like that you will sure to boot on Windows Vista. This elegant solution is practiced by many guys like you. The easiest way is to invoke fdisk /mbr in a DOS session, it will delete lilo which was installed on your MBR’s hard drive. Good, you do not need to care about Linux anymore.
...
The $1 hacking community

When people are dangerous like you, they must meet with other crooks to jeopardize the State’s security. For this, there is THE thugs’ rendez-vous, called the Meet 2600. Every month, you will go to a MacDo in Paris, place of Italy, and there you will meet very important guys, who rebooted the entire Internet with a Visual Basic program and have special hair cuts like rebels of the society.

Okay, you will not learn much in this meetings, losers who go over there masturbate each other thinking “Yeah, we are hAcKeRz, we are ruthless, real men. Oh shit, it is already 6 pm, I have to go home otherwise my mum will kill me.” But you will still feel real thrill thinking that the MacDo is full of cameras and microphones, and that the employees are agents from the DST who are listening to dangerous conversations such as :

- Asshole1 : How much is the Whooper ?
- Asshole2 : Uh, MacDo does Whoopers now ?
- Asshole1 : I thought they always did, no ?

Welcome to the wonderful world of geekery. Be afraid; very afraid.

Halloween math humor

Halloween images part 2 redux

When life hands you old posts, well, you know what to do.
======================================

Halloween images redux

Saw this post from Val and decided to repost last year's stuff. Sue me.
====================================

Halloween humor

A man was walking home alone late one foggy night, when behind him he hears:

BUMP...

BUMP...

BUMP...

Walking faster, he looks back and through the fog he makes out the image of an upright casket banging its way down the middle of the street toward him.

BUMP...

BUMP...

BUMP...

Terrified, the man begins to run toward his home, the casket bouncing quickly behind him.

FASTER...

FASTER...

BUMP...

BUMP...

BUMP...

He runs up to his door, fumbles with his keys, opens the door, rushes in, slams and locks the door behind him.

However, the casket crashes through his door, with the lid of the casket clapping

clappity-BUMP...

clappity-BUMP...

clappity-BUMP...

on his heels, the terrified man runs.

Rushing upstairs to the bathroom, the man locks himself in. His heart is pounding; his head is reeling; his breath is coming in sobbing gasps.

With a loud CRASH the casket breaks down the door. Bumping and clapping toward him.

The man screams and reaches for something, anything, but all he can find is a bottle of cough syrup! Desperate, he throws the cough syrup at the casket...

and...

the coffin stops.

Don't hate because I'm beautiful.

The bitter truth

Harvey posted a quip that I plan to file the serial numbers off of, take across state lines and use as my own:

Coworker: It all depends on whether you see the glass as half-full or half-empty.

Harvey: The glass is chipped and I cut my lip on it.