Sigh. You know, it’s not just the Republicans in this country who weren’t paying attention in science class (because they thought the Debbil would get them for learning about evolution) but apparently a certain Democratic congressman from Georgia. And he even comes complete with a rube name, Hank Johnson.
In a hearing on Capitol Hill about relocating some military operations to Guam, Rep. Johnson voiced his concern about the additional population on an island that is, by his estimation, “24 miles long and about 7 miles wide at its least widest point.”
You see, the brain trust that the people of Georgia elected to represent them is afraid the island will “capsize” due to the extra population. Which is actually about par for the course for Georgia intellect. But still . . .
I’m dumbstruck. Which means I’m struck by how fucking dumb this fucker is. Lord, did ya not have enough gray matter that day? Did you think, "shit shit shit, I’m outta brains!! Hey, maybe I’ll stick him in Georgia. They’re not exactly my best work, so maybe no one will notice THIS FUCKING RETARD." (Yes, God says “retard.” He invented it. I’m just quoting him. Take it up with him if you have issues.)
Meanwhile, Hank Johnson is busy up thar in D.C. making laws and shit. Yep. We’re doomed. But at least we can watch it on YouTube.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Jump Skeeter!
I think I’m going to pee myself. The blogs are all atwitter about a 23 year old Tennessee man who jumped from his moving vehicle, a vehicle his wife was driving because “she wouldn’t shut up.”
Oh, sweet Jesus!! What hath the flood wrought? I mean, first of all, who among us HASN’T wanted to jump from the prison of a moving vehicle with an overly chatty companion. Thoughts of death over torture bring a slight smile to our face.
But we are fucking smart enough to override the impulse. Not in Tennessee, land of hillbillies and those who love ‘em. Naw, Mister Man just thought, “Fuck it bitch, I’m out!!.” And leapt. Now he's in critical condition. Fucker's probably faking that coma, just so he doesn't have to listen to his wife.
You would think that with the amount of time it took to untie the door handle, he might have reconsidered.
Oh, sweet Jesus!! What hath the flood wrought? I mean, first of all, who among us HASN’T wanted to jump from the prison of a moving vehicle with an overly chatty companion. Thoughts of death over torture bring a slight smile to our face.
But we are fucking smart enough to override the impulse. Not in Tennessee, land of hillbillies and those who love ‘em. Naw, Mister Man just thought, “Fuck it bitch, I’m out!!.” And leapt. Now he's in critical condition. Fucker's probably faking that coma, just so he doesn't have to listen to his wife.
You would think that with the amount of time it took to untie the door handle, he might have reconsidered.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Shocking Sex Tape!!
The gossip rags and blogs are going crazy with the news of sex tapes that are about to be released featuring Kendra Wilkinson. Okay, can someone please ‘splain something to me? Why on earth is ANYONE shocked or scandalized that Kendra Wilkinson, A FORMER PLAYBOY PLAYMATE AND GIRLFRIEND TO HUGH HEFNER, made a sex tape?!?!?
I don’t know for sure, since I’m not all down with the vazhine, but wouldn’t that have been part of her job description? Maybe people are getting confused because her TV show was called The Girls Next Door. Folks, that title is ironic. The Girl’s BACKdoor would have been a more appropriate moniker.
I feel like I’m living in a bad redux of Victorian England. Except instead of having all of these morally superior elites, we have morally superior fucktwats.
SHE’S A PORN STAR. That’s what she’s known for. Playboy maybe soft core, but it’s still only in existence to give pre-teens boners. (Does anyone else actually read it?) Watching Kendra Wilkinson get boned on screen is roughly the equivalent of waiting for the little man to wave his rag at me at the car wash. It’s a job. It’s HER job.
The bunny ears are for life.
I don’t know for sure, since I’m not all down with the vazhine, but wouldn’t that have been part of her job description? Maybe people are getting confused because her TV show was called The Girls Next Door. Folks, that title is ironic. The Girl’s BACKdoor would have been a more appropriate moniker.
I feel like I’m living in a bad redux of Victorian England. Except instead of having all of these morally superior elites, we have morally superior fucktwats.
SHE’S A PORN STAR. That’s what she’s known for. Playboy maybe soft core, but it’s still only in existence to give pre-teens boners. (Does anyone else actually read it?) Watching Kendra Wilkinson get boned on screen is roughly the equivalent of waiting for the little man to wave his rag at me at the car wash. It’s a job. It’s HER job.
The bunny ears are for life.
Mein Grout!
Here at the Maison d’O’Pine, I’ve been entertaining a steady stream of workers. The latest was a tile duo who are redoing my entry hall. Yesterday, I had brief, meaningless conversations with both the boss man and his underling. The underling, whose name I never caught, was actually in the background and we didn’t have much exchange.
What a difference a day makes.
Today, Underling came back to finish the grouting. He arrived approximately ten minutes ago and this is what I now know about him.
He is 49 tomorrow. (“Happy Birthday”, I say)
He is divorced.
He lives at his mom’s because he lost his house. (I remembered many nights in my youth when I lost my house, but still thought better of asking if he’s put out “lost house” flyers on neighborhood telephone poles.)
He’s worked for this tile guy for 19 years and hates him.
The tile guy yells at him.
He thinks the tile guy does a lot of things in an “old-fashioned” way and doesn’t keep up with the times.
He has a 1967 Chevelle show car
He scored #1 on a City civil service exam, but still didn’t get the job.
He used to be an endoscopic technician and knew how ALL the doctors liked their trays arranged (hmm, that could be a handy euphemism), but got laid off.
He’s had two knee-replacement surgeries, at least one of which incurred a workers’ comp claim.
He’s had rotator cuff surgery.
He used to make $30 an hour, “pretty good, huh?” (well, yeah, I say, that’s like 100 times more than a blogger makes)
Okay, seriously dude! I have hung out with sorority girls on speed who didn’t share as much information.
Thinking quickly, Brett Michaels flashed in my head, so I faked an anyeurism, fell to the floor and crawled back to the rear of the house to get “my meds.” I figured there was probably blood coming out of my ears already, so it seemed like a plausible feint.
I think he’s still talking. But I can’t hear him over the primal scream in my head.
What a difference a day makes.
Today, Underling came back to finish the grouting. He arrived approximately ten minutes ago and this is what I now know about him.
He is 49 tomorrow. (“Happy Birthday”, I say)
He is divorced.
He lives at his mom’s because he lost his house. (I remembered many nights in my youth when I lost my house, but still thought better of asking if he’s put out “lost house” flyers on neighborhood telephone poles.)
He’s worked for this tile guy for 19 years and hates him.
The tile guy yells at him.
He thinks the tile guy does a lot of things in an “old-fashioned” way and doesn’t keep up with the times.
He has a 1967 Chevelle show car
He scored #1 on a City civil service exam, but still didn’t get the job.
He used to be an endoscopic technician and knew how ALL the doctors liked their trays arranged (hmm, that could be a handy euphemism), but got laid off.
He’s had two knee-replacement surgeries, at least one of which incurred a workers’ comp claim.
He’s had rotator cuff surgery.
He used to make $30 an hour, “pretty good, huh?” (well, yeah, I say, that’s like 100 times more than a blogger makes)
Okay, seriously dude! I have hung out with sorority girls on speed who didn’t share as much information.
Thinking quickly, Brett Michaels flashed in my head, so I faked an anyeurism, fell to the floor and crawled back to the rear of the house to get “my meds.” I figured there was probably blood coming out of my ears already, so it seemed like a plausible feint.
I think he’s still talking. But I can’t hear him over the primal scream in my head.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
In your FACEbook!
So, I’m chatting on Facebook with one of my LTBFFs and I see, under “Suggestions” that perhaps I should friend Waterloo Records. Being a longtime devotee of this Austin institution, I thought it was a lovely suggestion, even though I NEVER take Facebook’s suggestions. So I bit.
Well, apparently the friendbot inside remembers all those slights.
The moment I clicked through to become friends with Waterloo, I was accosted by the following message:
Too Many Friends.
Sorry. This user already has too many friends.
Then, to add insult to injury, the only option I have is to click, “okay.” But it’s not okay!!! I suddenly feel like I’m back in junior high and everybody got invited by me. So, I go their Facebook page and they have this totally random number of friends, like 4,997. WTF? You can’t squeeze in one more? Not even one more you fucking solicited, like some big-dicked evangelical Republican in a men’s room?
And guess what? I can see all of my friends that are their friends. It’s all the cool kids, of course. Laughing and singing and playing all the cool records they got at Waterloo.
Then I glanced at a handful of the other people on the list. I knew several of them And they SOOOOOO don’t deserve to be there. They are NOT that good a friend to Waterloo. I’ve been a far better friend, but here I am . . . on the outside looking in.
In the words of Bob Schneider (whose albums I ALWAYS bought at Waterloo), “World goes round. World goes A-round. World goes ‘round and around.”
Like a record baby. True dat.
Well, apparently the friendbot inside remembers all those slights.
The moment I clicked through to become friends with Waterloo, I was accosted by the following message:
Too Many Friends.
Sorry. This user already has too many friends.
Then, to add insult to injury, the only option I have is to click, “okay.” But it’s not okay!!! I suddenly feel like I’m back in junior high and everybody got invited by me. So, I go their Facebook page and they have this totally random number of friends, like 4,997. WTF? You can’t squeeze in one more? Not even one more you fucking solicited, like some big-dicked evangelical Republican in a men’s room?
And guess what? I can see all of my friends that are their friends. It’s all the cool kids, of course. Laughing and singing and playing all the cool records they got at Waterloo.
Then I glanced at a handful of the other people on the list. I knew several of them And they SOOOOOO don’t deserve to be there. They are NOT that good a friend to Waterloo. I’ve been a far better friend, but here I am . . . on the outside looking in.
In the words of Bob Schneider (whose albums I ALWAYS bought at Waterloo), “World goes round. World goes A-round. World goes ‘round and around.”
Like a record baby. True dat.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Need Some Help With Your Bags?
On my way to the office today, I was behind a car with a funny bumper sticker. There was an illustration of the little Darwin version of the Christian fish. It was accompanied by the line, "We have the fossils. We win."
It made me think of all the "Christians" that will be provoked by it, fomenting those rabid responses of faith uber alles. Suddenly it dawned on me, if these people are so completely secure in their "faith" then why are they constantly being defensive about it. Why not a beatific smile and a shrug. If they know the fucking secret, then why the need to overreact. It's a bit "methinks the lady doth protest too much."
Kind of like the right wing nut job homophobe, Dr. George Rekers, who just got caught with a male prostitute traveling companion. He said he needed him to carry his luggage due to a medical condition. ummm-hmmmm. So that's what the kids are calling it these days.
(Given the advanced age of the Christian leader I'm betting his luggage is "soft-sided.")
What I guess I didn't realize is that a man like Dr. Rekers purports to be (Christian, moralist, holier-than-thou and thou and thou) use gay escort sights as a good place to find employees. I guess it IS sort of like a temp service.
It made me think of all the "Christians" that will be provoked by it, fomenting those rabid responses of faith uber alles. Suddenly it dawned on me, if these people are so completely secure in their "faith" then why are they constantly being defensive about it. Why not a beatific smile and a shrug. If they know the fucking secret, then why the need to overreact. It's a bit "methinks the lady doth protest too much."
Kind of like the right wing nut job homophobe, Dr. George Rekers, who just got caught with a male prostitute traveling companion. He said he needed him to carry his luggage due to a medical condition. ummm-hmmmm. So that's what the kids are calling it these days.
(Given the advanced age of the Christian leader I'm betting his luggage is "soft-sided.")
What I guess I didn't realize is that a man like Dr. Rekers purports to be (Christian, moralist, holier-than-thou and thou and thou) use gay escort sights as a good place to find employees. I guess it IS sort of like a temp service.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Hey Judas
Isn't it nice that the Vatican "forgave" the Beatles this week? Guess they didn't have anything more pressing on their plate.
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