While I would love to think that the young woman missing from the Appalachian Trail might be found alive somewhere in the wilderness, I think we all already know her fate.
How, O’Pine? How can YOU know her fate?
Simple. Cherchez les Dents.
See, the last person she was seen alive with was described as having “no teeth.” Now, while I expect that is far more common in the Appalachian regions, it’s still pretty much a red flag.
Normal people have teeth. They may be store-bought, but at least they’re in there. Put “no teeth” and “wilderness trail” together? Might as well cue the banjo music. And it’s probably going to be a dirge.
Aside from the obvious parallel between “dentally challenged” and “mentally challenged” you just don’t see a whole lot of toothless people succeeding in the real world. (yes, Amy Winehouse—the toast of the music world--is missing a fairly prominent tooth. But then again, look where her personal life is at the moment.)
So, in the spirit of Johnnie Cochran, I offer this advice to wayward hikers coming upon a stranger. “If you see gums, then you must run.”
Monday, January 7, 2008
Friday, January 4, 2008
Farmers, Lock Up Your Daught--er, Goats!
In case you were wondering whose side to take in the previous comment wars about Florida (if you can call 4 comments a war. “Skirmish” is such a pussy word, though.)
So the headline in the Miami Herald reads:
Goat abuse sparks outcry
And the subhead is:
The case of a goat who was raped and killed has prompted a push for a bill that would outlaw bestiality in Florida.
I’m sorry, can you run that by me one more time?
Bestiality is LEGAL in Florida? WTF, Flo? Who do you think you are, East Texas?
Further shocking news—bestiality is actually legal in 20 states. But they didn’t say which ones. And I’m a blogger, not a researcher. Anyone? Anyone? I’m guessing at least one ends in “ama.” And another one probably ends in “ippi.” But I’m just guessing.
Now, I grew up in a rural area. And there was a lot of joking about sheep fucking. And I was pretty sure, even then, that it wasn’t all joking. We used to say things like, “are you my daaaaddy? But I never in my wildest dreams imagined that there was someplace in the civilized world where it hadn’t been outlawed. Okay, Thailand, maybe. But that’s just to generate tourist dollars.
Of course, it should come as no surprise that Floridians fuck animals. They sure fucked US in 2000.
The goat in question was named Meg and she was a family pet. Apparently of the Penthouse variety. And the really, really creepy thing was that, when she died—she was pregnant with twins. Now I DON’T EVEN WANT TO KNOW what kind of twins those were. But I’m thinking I’m starting to understand Florida politics even more.
It would certainly explain Katherine Harris’ stubborn streak. And the fact that she always ate cans for lunch.
(ED. NOTE: The one sane person apparently made T-shirts that said, “Baaaa means NO!” How do I get my hands on one of those?)
So the headline in the Miami Herald reads:
Goat abuse sparks outcry
And the subhead is:
The case of a goat who was raped and killed has prompted a push for a bill that would outlaw bestiality in Florida.
I’m sorry, can you run that by me one more time?
Bestiality is LEGAL in Florida? WTF, Flo? Who do you think you are, East Texas?
Further shocking news—bestiality is actually legal in 20 states. But they didn’t say which ones. And I’m a blogger, not a researcher. Anyone? Anyone? I’m guessing at least one ends in “ama.” And another one probably ends in “ippi.” But I’m just guessing.
Now, I grew up in a rural area. And there was a lot of joking about sheep fucking. And I was pretty sure, even then, that it wasn’t all joking. We used to say things like, “are you my daaaaddy? But I never in my wildest dreams imagined that there was someplace in the civilized world where it hadn’t been outlawed. Okay, Thailand, maybe. But that’s just to generate tourist dollars.
Of course, it should come as no surprise that Floridians fuck animals. They sure fucked US in 2000.
The goat in question was named Meg and she was a family pet. Apparently of the Penthouse variety. And the really, really creepy thing was that, when she died—she was pregnant with twins. Now I DON’T EVEN WANT TO KNOW what kind of twins those were. But I’m thinking I’m starting to understand Florida politics even more.
It would certainly explain Katherine Harris’ stubborn streak. And the fact that she always ate cans for lunch.
(ED. NOTE: The one sane person apparently made T-shirts that said, “Baaaa means NO!” How do I get my hands on one of those?)
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Banned From the Mall!
If you told someone you spent New Year’s Eve in jail, I’m pretty sure they would instantly think it was for a DUI or a Public Intoxication. Not so much for Florida State student Franz Leger (great name, by the way. “Alo, my name is Franz Leger). See Franz likes to wear his trousers baggy. Not sure how baggy, but apparently baggy enough to get banned from the mall. Of course, it’s probably the same mall that sold him the baggy pants, but that’s commerce. This was criminal.
(Digression: Banned from the mall?!?!?!? Seriously?!?!? Does the mall have a secret little judicial system operating behind the food court?!?)
See, Franz and his family decided to go to the mall on New Year’s Eve. And Franz apparently chose to wear his baggy pants again. But since he’d already been banned, he was arrested for trespassing.
Yep, you heard it right. A college student was arrested for “trespassing” at a mall because he’d been banned for wearing baggy pants.
Now, I’ve never been a big fan of this particular fashion statement. But I also don’t understand how conservative motherfuckers think that they can legislate fashion. I understand indecency, but this is Florida, for Christ’s sake. People GO THERE to walk around mostly naked on the beach.
Five members of Franz's family came to his defense. And THEY got arrested for trespassing, disorderly conduct and resisting arrest. I’m sure the phrase, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” was used at some point during the fracas. Along with, "But we don't even know Ashton Kutcher. How can we get Punk'd?!)
The cops, of course, said they did everything “by the book.” (available at B.Dalton, if you’re interested.)
The Leger family, of course, said they’ll be talking to a lawyer.
Sure hope that after-Christmas sale went well at the Mall. They’re going to be writing a mighty big check.
(Digression: Banned from the mall?!?!?!? Seriously?!?!? Does the mall have a secret little judicial system operating behind the food court?!?)
See, Franz and his family decided to go to the mall on New Year’s Eve. And Franz apparently chose to wear his baggy pants again. But since he’d already been banned, he was arrested for trespassing.
Yep, you heard it right. A college student was arrested for “trespassing” at a mall because he’d been banned for wearing baggy pants.
Now, I’ve never been a big fan of this particular fashion statement. But I also don’t understand how conservative motherfuckers think that they can legislate fashion. I understand indecency, but this is Florida, for Christ’s sake. People GO THERE to walk around mostly naked on the beach.
Five members of Franz's family came to his defense. And THEY got arrested for trespassing, disorderly conduct and resisting arrest. I’m sure the phrase, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me” was used at some point during the fracas. Along with, "But we don't even know Ashton Kutcher. How can we get Punk'd?!)
The cops, of course, said they did everything “by the book.” (available at B.Dalton, if you’re interested.)
The Leger family, of course, said they’ll be talking to a lawyer.
Sure hope that after-Christmas sale went well at the Mall. They’re going to be writing a mighty big check.
Happy New Year!
Yeah, yeah, yeah. I should have posted this yesterday. You're probably thinking that I was too hung over to post yesterday, but you'd be wrong!!
I started the New Year with a five mile walk around our beautiful Town Lake on New Year's morning. And before you think I might break an arm patting myself on the back, it wasn't my doing. My Beloved dragged my ass there. But I'm glad he did. It was nice to start the year that way. Literally and symbolically.
Still working on my resolutions, but chief among them is the commitment to write more. Starting with this blog. Not sure what that means, but I'll know it when I see it. : )
Keep up the fight. The Stupid People are in the hunt.
I started the New Year with a five mile walk around our beautiful Town Lake on New Year's morning. And before you think I might break an arm patting myself on the back, it wasn't my doing. My Beloved dragged my ass there. But I'm glad he did. It was nice to start the year that way. Literally and symbolically.
Still working on my resolutions, but chief among them is the commitment to write more. Starting with this blog. Not sure what that means, but I'll know it when I see it. : )
Keep up the fight. The Stupid People are in the hunt.
Monday, December 31, 2007
How Did I Miss This?
OMG! I have hit the big, pretty, stupid motherload. I sort of had a vague cognizance of this new TV show called America’s Most Smartest Models. But really nothing had triggered a need to explore further. Until now.
Apparently, the first thing these pretty men have to do each day is decipher a code to get access to the bathroom and the fridge. And we’re not talking rocket science, here.
Now, granted, my mind is not running full throttle first thing in the morning. And especially not with urgent bodily evacuation on my mind. But I’m pretty sure I could figure out a complex Roman numeral without too much time a wasted.
Each of the bathrooms has a different code, so there can’t be too much information sharing. And the boys had access to encyclopedias.
Ohh, the beautiful furrowed brows. That look of confusion that replaces the usual vacant stare. It was HEAVEN. Pure Himbo Heaven.
One guy, who looked like an even buff-er Adam Levine, was convinced that he had gotten the number right and the producers had screwed it up. Seems BuffAdam forgot the old chestnut about subtracting when the smaller number precedes the larger. Oh, those wacky Romans!
Then his equally buff, and possibly prettier, roommate walks him through it, eventually figuring it out. They reward each other with high-fives, but Prettier doesn’t let BuffAdam into the bathroom with him (although it appeared that BuffAdam very much wanted to accompany him) and said, “Bra, I get to drop a deuce now.”
BuffAdam replied gleefully, as the door closed, “Dude, you have EARNED that deuce!”
And I learned something from a Most Smartest Model: a new use for the word, “deuce.”
PS: since I still don’t know how to drop a live link in here, you can check out the video yourself at www.hunkdujour.com. The video is at the bottom of page one.
Apparently, the first thing these pretty men have to do each day is decipher a code to get access to the bathroom and the fridge. And we’re not talking rocket science, here.
Now, granted, my mind is not running full throttle first thing in the morning. And especially not with urgent bodily evacuation on my mind. But I’m pretty sure I could figure out a complex Roman numeral without too much time a wasted.
Each of the bathrooms has a different code, so there can’t be too much information sharing. And the boys had access to encyclopedias.
Ohh, the beautiful furrowed brows. That look of confusion that replaces the usual vacant stare. It was HEAVEN. Pure Himbo Heaven.
One guy, who looked like an even buff-er Adam Levine, was convinced that he had gotten the number right and the producers had screwed it up. Seems BuffAdam forgot the old chestnut about subtracting when the smaller number precedes the larger. Oh, those wacky Romans!
Then his equally buff, and possibly prettier, roommate walks him through it, eventually figuring it out. They reward each other with high-fives, but Prettier doesn’t let BuffAdam into the bathroom with him (although it appeared that BuffAdam very much wanted to accompany him) and said, “Bra, I get to drop a deuce now.”
BuffAdam replied gleefully, as the door closed, “Dude, you have EARNED that deuce!”
And I learned something from a Most Smartest Model: a new use for the word, “deuce.”
PS: since I still don’t know how to drop a live link in here, you can check out the video yourself at www.hunkdujour.com. The video is at the bottom of page one.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Organic Stupidity
With family in from out of town, we had to go show off the Whole Foods flagship.
As I was pulling into parking garage, I saw that traffic was CHAOTIC. I approached the first of several four-way stops knowing that I might not move through on the regular rotation. Traffic was so heavy that for me to move across the intersection would probably mean I’d block the box, which I am anathema to do.
But I wasn’t alone at that four-way stop. No. I was joined by the passive-aggressive lady in the Honda Civic. Let me break it down for you. Unless I’m mistaken, four-way stops are the grown up version of the kindergarten principle of taking turns. REALLY. NOT. COMPLICATED.
Yet, every time I’m confronted with one, people seem to freak out and not know whether they should go or not. Profoundly irritating.
So, bizzotch in her Civic VIGOROUSLY motions me to go ahead. Now, it was technically her turn. And I really had nowhere to go, since traffic ahead of me was pretty much at a standstill. But mama was VIGOROUS. If her follow-through had been any more pronounced, she would have slapped herself.
So, against my better judgment, I went. And sure as shit, I was hanging out into the intersection. So I attempted to mitigate it by edging to the right, creating a bit more room in the throughway.
And then she honked. AT ME. Fucking cow! OH NO! YOU. DID. NOT. JUST. HONK. AT. ME!!!
I mean, HONESTLY. Why the fuck would you wave someone through, then honk at them? Not surprisingly, my maneuver had left her PLENTY of room to get through, but she had to swerve. Guess mama don’t like to swerve.
Proceeding on into the garage, I found my way blocked by a driver who is attempting to go the wrong way up a lane, in order to get a parking space that’s facing the other way. My turn to honk.
But the joy of the season returned moments later. Parked and walking to the entrance, I see the same driver STILL trying to execute a turn into that space. La la. Hee hee. Ho Ho Ho.
The store is pretty crowded, and there are tons of special displays. Including a gigantic wine display near the cheese. VERY nearby, one of Miss Teen South Carolina's lesser cousins (I believe that Children are our future) has cavalierly tied her heavy coat around her waist creating far more need for navigable ass room than she’s used to.
You know where this is going, right? Thought so.
Her “new ass” knocks not one, but two bottles of wine off the display, sending them crashing to the floor. And when she turns to survey the carnage, she knocks off two more in the other direction. If this girl is majoring in Cluelessness, she'll be Summa Cum Laude, fer sure.
We manage to escape the shrapnel and get the hell out of Dodge. But by this time, I can't help thinking how much I could have used some of that wine about now.
As I was pulling into parking garage, I saw that traffic was CHAOTIC. I approached the first of several four-way stops knowing that I might not move through on the regular rotation. Traffic was so heavy that for me to move across the intersection would probably mean I’d block the box, which I am anathema to do.
But I wasn’t alone at that four-way stop. No. I was joined by the passive-aggressive lady in the Honda Civic. Let me break it down for you. Unless I’m mistaken, four-way stops are the grown up version of the kindergarten principle of taking turns. REALLY. NOT. COMPLICATED.
Yet, every time I’m confronted with one, people seem to freak out and not know whether they should go or not. Profoundly irritating.
So, bizzotch in her Civic VIGOROUSLY motions me to go ahead. Now, it was technically her turn. And I really had nowhere to go, since traffic ahead of me was pretty much at a standstill. But mama was VIGOROUS. If her follow-through had been any more pronounced, she would have slapped herself.
So, against my better judgment, I went. And sure as shit, I was hanging out into the intersection. So I attempted to mitigate it by edging to the right, creating a bit more room in the throughway.
And then she honked. AT ME. Fucking cow! OH NO! YOU. DID. NOT. JUST. HONK. AT. ME!!!
I mean, HONESTLY. Why the fuck would you wave someone through, then honk at them? Not surprisingly, my maneuver had left her PLENTY of room to get through, but she had to swerve. Guess mama don’t like to swerve.
Proceeding on into the garage, I found my way blocked by a driver who is attempting to go the wrong way up a lane, in order to get a parking space that’s facing the other way. My turn to honk.
But the joy of the season returned moments later. Parked and walking to the entrance, I see the same driver STILL trying to execute a turn into that space. La la. Hee hee. Ho Ho Ho.
The store is pretty crowded, and there are tons of special displays. Including a gigantic wine display near the cheese. VERY nearby, one of Miss Teen South Carolina's lesser cousins (I believe that Children are our future) has cavalierly tied her heavy coat around her waist creating far more need for navigable ass room than she’s used to.
You know where this is going, right? Thought so.
Her “new ass” knocks not one, but two bottles of wine off the display, sending them crashing to the floor. And when she turns to survey the carnage, she knocks off two more in the other direction. If this girl is majoring in Cluelessness, she'll be Summa Cum Laude, fer sure.
We manage to escape the shrapnel and get the hell out of Dodge. But by this time, I can't help thinking how much I could have used some of that wine about now.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Another Smart One Falls
For the last two days, I’ve been in a bit of a state of shock. Upon awakening yesterday, I learned that Benazir Bhutto had been killed. I have long been a fan of this amazing woman and was very hopeful about the leadership and change she could bring to her beloved country, ripped asunder by the forces of terror and jihad. Before Al Qaeda became part of our vocabulary, there was a particualry treacherous band of idiots called The Taliban.
I can remember my sweet friend Chick impersonating the sexy way the CNN anchor would say “the Taliban” when reporting on the troubles of the day (was it Amanpour?) I would giggle and life would go on.
Point being, terror has resided in Pakistan for far longer than America has really been paying attention. And Benazir Bhutto represented hope for a people terrorized by their own. Imagine if Fundamentalist Christians like Pat Robertson ran America . . . okay, maybe that’s too close to the truth . . . imagine if Southern Baptists ran America . . . SHOOT! That’s not abstract enough either. Whatever.
But now, Bhutto’s dead. First believed to be felled by a suicide bomber, then the victim of a shooter. Now comes word from the Pakistan Interior Ministry that she died of a skull fracture when she hit her head on the sun roof lever of her Land Rover.
Hunh? That’s the best propaganda you can come up with? Her “assassination” was actually a “slip and fall?” So . . . what now? Should all of her supporters say “oops,” and go home? I'm sure that's exactly what the Pakistani government would like.
I can just hear the conversation in the Interior Ministry (read in bad Hollywood Pakistani accent):
Abdul: Lululululu! There is chaos! Bhutto’s death will martyr her. The government will surely fall now! Whatever will we do?
Mo: We cannot allow her a martyr’s death. Perhaps we could say it was an accident?
Abdul: An ACCIDENT?!?!? There were thousands of witnesses. People heard gunshots. They saw her fall. Then the explosion! There are photos and videos! Are you crazy?
Mo: Crazy? Like a fox, maybe. My cousin has a Land Rover just like Benazir’s. It seems like every time I am hanging out of the sunroom, ululating loudly and firing my assault rifles in praise of the Almighty, I bang my head on that little sunroof lever. Oooh, it hurts so much. It brings tears to my eyes. One time I hit my funny bone and the rifle went off. I almost killed my driver!
Abdul: I do not follow . . .
Mo: What if . . . consider the possibility . . . Benazir merely recoiled from the assault, BANGING her head on the little lever! Surely that would crack the skull of a woman—I mean, really, it hurts!! But isn’t it possible that could have killed her?
Abdul: I don’t think so.
Mo: Karim!! Prepare an official release! Find a doctor who will sign off on it! It was all an accident.
CNN BREAKING NEWS: BHUTTO DIED FROM SKULL FRACTURE SUSTAINED WHEN SHE HIT HER HEAD ON SUNROOF LEVER.
Godspeed Benazir Bhutto! The stupid people are still in charge in Pakistan. May your death be a catalyst for the kind of change you would have brought in life.
I can remember my sweet friend Chick impersonating the sexy way the CNN anchor would say “the Taliban” when reporting on the troubles of the day (was it Amanpour?) I would giggle and life would go on.
Point being, terror has resided in Pakistan for far longer than America has really been paying attention. And Benazir Bhutto represented hope for a people terrorized by their own. Imagine if Fundamentalist Christians like Pat Robertson ran America . . . okay, maybe that’s too close to the truth . . . imagine if Southern Baptists ran America . . . SHOOT! That’s not abstract enough either. Whatever.
But now, Bhutto’s dead. First believed to be felled by a suicide bomber, then the victim of a shooter. Now comes word from the Pakistan Interior Ministry that she died of a skull fracture when she hit her head on the sun roof lever of her Land Rover.
Hunh? That’s the best propaganda you can come up with? Her “assassination” was actually a “slip and fall?” So . . . what now? Should all of her supporters say “oops,” and go home? I'm sure that's exactly what the Pakistani government would like.
I can just hear the conversation in the Interior Ministry (read in bad Hollywood Pakistani accent):
Abdul: Lululululu! There is chaos! Bhutto’s death will martyr her. The government will surely fall now! Whatever will we do?
Mo: We cannot allow her a martyr’s death. Perhaps we could say it was an accident?
Abdul: An ACCIDENT?!?!? There were thousands of witnesses. People heard gunshots. They saw her fall. Then the explosion! There are photos and videos! Are you crazy?
Mo: Crazy? Like a fox, maybe. My cousin has a Land Rover just like Benazir’s. It seems like every time I am hanging out of the sunroom, ululating loudly and firing my assault rifles in praise of the Almighty, I bang my head on that little sunroof lever. Oooh, it hurts so much. It brings tears to my eyes. One time I hit my funny bone and the rifle went off. I almost killed my driver!
Abdul: I do not follow . . .
Mo: What if . . . consider the possibility . . . Benazir merely recoiled from the assault, BANGING her head on the little lever! Surely that would crack the skull of a woman—I mean, really, it hurts!! But isn’t it possible that could have killed her?
Abdul: I don’t think so.
Mo: Karim!! Prepare an official release! Find a doctor who will sign off on it! It was all an accident.
CNN BREAKING NEWS: BHUTTO DIED FROM SKULL FRACTURE SUSTAINED WHEN SHE HIT HER HEAD ON SUNROOF LEVER.
Godspeed Benazir Bhutto! The stupid people are still in charge in Pakistan. May your death be a catalyst for the kind of change you would have brought in life.
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