Friday, October 19, 2007
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Which Came First, the Chicken Hawk or the Egghead?
So apparently Rush Limbaugh put his cloven hoof in his mouth last month and referred to military personnel who are opposed to the war in Iraq as "phony soldiers." Since his incredibly retarded faux pas, Rush has been scrambling to cover his ass. He claimed that he was the target of a smear campaign being run by Media Matters. As evidence, he offered up a heavily edited transcript of the broadcast in question, in which he cut out over a minute and a half of the conversation and changed the offending phrase to "phony soldier" so he could claim he was specifically referring to Jesse MacBeth.
Anyone with more than a quarter of a brain could see through Rush's pathetic revisionist attempts. So of course, Limbaugh's rabid supporters are all foaming at the mouth about the vast liberal conspiracy and how the Democrats have mounted a massive Machiavellian campaign to destroy their messiah. It all sounds pretty retarded, but you have to remember that these are the same people who believe that Bill and Hillary masterminded the murders of over a hundred people, or that Adam and Eve rode dinosaurs to church.
Joining this brain trust in their kneejerk defense of Rush Limbaugh, martyr, is Representative Eric Cantor from Virgina. Cantor feels that the poor, oppressed conservatives have suffered for far too long at the hands of the oppressive Democrat regime, and is calling for them to unite and stand with Rush against the liberal attacks. He's got a petition and everything. Way to fight the man, Eric! Rush Limbaugh could be just the drug-abusing, draft-dodging college dropout you need to pull the conservatives together and make the klavern mighty once again!
(Interesting fact: Despite the raging hard-on Limbaugh has for putting our soldiers in harm's way, he managed to avoid military duty in Vietnam because he had a pimple on his ass. Of course, when you're talking about an ass that big, that was probably one hell of a pimple. But still...)
One of the outspoken Democrats insisting on an apology from Limbaugh was John Kerry, whom you may remember orchestrated an intricate scheme involving hundreds of soldiers in Vietnam to defraud the U.S. military out of a Purple Heart. Oh, those cagey liberals!
Anyway, Kerry called Limbaugh a "cheerleader for the Chicken Hawk wing of the far right" and said he was "an embarrassment to his Party." Of course, Kerry made his own blunder back in 2005, when he stated that there was no reason "that young American soldiers need to be going into the homes of Iraqis in the dead of night, terrorizing kids and children." Ironically, it was Rush Limbaugh who feigned outrage and accused Kerry of calling the U.S. soldiers terrorists. Kerry, in his usual rambling, long-winded way, attempted to explain that he *hadn't* said that, but Rush has never been one to let the facts get in the way of a good story. Somehow, he parlayed Kerry's moment of ill-advised dumbassery into a massive rant about how liberals love tyranny and hate freedom and that's the real reason why they oppose Bush and Jesus.
Now, I understand a vast part of politics is pretending to be outraged over things your opponents say so you can claim the moral high ground. And I'll be the first to admit that the attack Kerry is leading is more about political opportunity than actual indignation. But it's not a vast liberal conspiracy like the ones that dominate Limbaugh's fantasies. (Actually, I suspect most of Limbaugh's fantasies involve wearing a panda suit and getting spanked by Ann Coulter, but I digress...)
So yeah, Kerry's a total opportunist here. Once you strip away all the posturing and overblown responses, you're left with the fact that Rush Limbaugh made an ill-advised, off-the-cuff remark. Lord knows when you spend three hours a day talking out of your ass, you're going to say some stupid things. If this were an isolated incident, Rush could simply admit that he misspoke and things would eventually settle down. Unfortunately, Herr Limbaugh has spent the last decade propping up his retarded world views by attacking the patriotism of many decorated veterans just because they disagreed with him. So now that he had dug himself into this hole, the Democrats aren't going to let him out of it without an apology.
But things are never that simple, are they? The Republicans claim that this whole chain of events was set into motion when MoveOn.org took out a full page ad in the New York Times accusing General David H. Petraeus of "cooking the books for the White House" and referring to him as "General Betray Us." Outraged that the Democrats would so flagrantly attack a decorated military hero, Republican Senator John Cornyn drafted an amendment to "strongly condemn personal attacks on the honor and integrity of General Petraeus." The amendment passed. Democratic Senator Barbara Boxer drafted a similar amendment condemning the attack on Petreaus, as well as the Republican attacks on Max Cleland in 2002 and John Kerry in 2004. Oddly enough, that one didn't get enough votes to pass.
So now, the Republicans are demanding an apology from the Democrats for the attack on General Petraeus. The Democrats are claiming they weren't behind the ad and, besides, they've already publicly condemned it. Meanwhile, the Democrats are demanding an apology from the Republicans for Rush's gaffe, and the Republicans are claiming it's all an elaborate smokescreen to draw attention away from the General Petraeus issue. The battle lines are drawn, and both sides are polarizing between Limbaugh and Kerry, each claiming the other side bears responsibility. It's a question of which came first, the Chicken Hawk or the Egghead?
But the Republicans have a point. To assign a nickname as hateful and disparaging as "Betray Us" to a man who has served his country faithfully in the armed forces is, in the words of Rush, "contemptible" and "indecent." It sort of makes you wonder where MoveOn.org got the idea, doesn't it?
Well last January, after Senator Chuck Hagel (a Republican Senator and decorated Vietnam veteran) sided with Democrats in a vote, Rush had this to say: "By the way, we had a caller call, couldn't stay on the air, got a new name for Senator Hagel in Nebraska. We got General Petraeus and we got Senator Betray Us, new name for Senator Hagel."
So in case you're having trouble following: The Democrats are demanding an apology for something stupid that Rush said. The Republicans are claiming that the Democrats are simply trying to draw attention away from something stupid that MoveOn.org said. Only it turns out that MoveOn.org was simply rehashing something stupid that Rush said.
Sigh. It's like the Circle Jerk of Life...
Anyone with more than a quarter of a brain could see through Rush's pathetic revisionist attempts. So of course, Limbaugh's rabid supporters are all foaming at the mouth about the vast liberal conspiracy and how the Democrats have mounted a massive Machiavellian campaign to destroy their messiah. It all sounds pretty retarded, but you have to remember that these are the same people who believe that Bill and Hillary masterminded the murders of over a hundred people, or that Adam and Eve rode dinosaurs to church.
Joining this brain trust in their kneejerk defense of Rush Limbaugh, martyr, is Representative Eric Cantor from Virgina. Cantor feels that the poor, oppressed conservatives have suffered for far too long at the hands of the oppressive Democrat regime, and is calling for them to unite and stand with Rush against the liberal attacks. He's got a petition and everything. Way to fight the man, Eric! Rush Limbaugh could be just the drug-abusing, draft-dodging college dropout you need to pull the conservatives together and make the klavern mighty once again!
(Interesting fact: Despite the raging hard-on Limbaugh has for putting our soldiers in harm's way, he managed to avoid military duty in Vietnam because he had a pimple on his ass. Of course, when you're talking about an ass that big, that was probably one hell of a pimple. But still...)
One of the outspoken Democrats insisting on an apology from Limbaugh was John Kerry, whom you may remember orchestrated an intricate scheme involving hundreds of soldiers in Vietnam to defraud the U.S. military out of a Purple Heart. Oh, those cagey liberals!
Anyway, Kerry called Limbaugh a "cheerleader for the Chicken Hawk wing of the far right" and said he was "an embarrassment to his Party." Of course, Kerry made his own blunder back in 2005, when he stated that there was no reason "that young American soldiers need to be going into the homes of Iraqis in the dead of night, terrorizing kids and children." Ironically, it was Rush Limbaugh who feigned outrage and accused Kerry of calling the U.S. soldiers terrorists. Kerry, in his usual rambling, long-winded way, attempted to explain that he *hadn't* said that, but Rush has never been one to let the facts get in the way of a good story. Somehow, he parlayed Kerry's moment of ill-advised dumbassery into a massive rant about how liberals love tyranny and hate freedom and that's the real reason why they oppose Bush and Jesus.
Now, I understand a vast part of politics is pretending to be outraged over things your opponents say so you can claim the moral high ground. And I'll be the first to admit that the attack Kerry is leading is more about political opportunity than actual indignation. But it's not a vast liberal conspiracy like the ones that dominate Limbaugh's fantasies. (Actually, I suspect most of Limbaugh's fantasies involve wearing a panda suit and getting spanked by Ann Coulter, but I digress...)
So yeah, Kerry's a total opportunist here. Once you strip away all the posturing and overblown responses, you're left with the fact that Rush Limbaugh made an ill-advised, off-the-cuff remark. Lord knows when you spend three hours a day talking out of your ass, you're going to say some stupid things. If this were an isolated incident, Rush could simply admit that he misspoke and things would eventually settle down. Unfortunately, Herr Limbaugh has spent the last decade propping up his retarded world views by attacking the patriotism of many decorated veterans just because they disagreed with him. So now that he had dug himself into this hole, the Democrats aren't going to let him out of it without an apology.
But things are never that simple, are they? The Republicans claim that this whole chain of events was set into motion when MoveOn.org took out a full page ad in the New York Times accusing General David H. Petraeus of "cooking the books for the White House" and referring to him as "General Betray Us." Outraged that the Democrats would so flagrantly attack a decorated military hero, Republican Senator John Cornyn drafted an amendment to "strongly condemn personal attacks on the honor and integrity of General Petraeus." The amendment passed. Democratic Senator Barbara Boxer drafted a similar amendment condemning the attack on Petreaus, as well as the Republican attacks on Max Cleland in 2002 and John Kerry in 2004. Oddly enough, that one didn't get enough votes to pass.
So now, the Republicans are demanding an apology from the Democrats for the attack on General Petraeus. The Democrats are claiming they weren't behind the ad and, besides, they've already publicly condemned it. Meanwhile, the Democrats are demanding an apology from the Republicans for Rush's gaffe, and the Republicans are claiming it's all an elaborate smokescreen to draw attention away from the General Petraeus issue. The battle lines are drawn, and both sides are polarizing between Limbaugh and Kerry, each claiming the other side bears responsibility. It's a question of which came first, the Chicken Hawk or the Egghead?
But the Republicans have a point. To assign a nickname as hateful and disparaging as "Betray Us" to a man who has served his country faithfully in the armed forces is, in the words of Rush, "contemptible" and "indecent." It sort of makes you wonder where MoveOn.org got the idea, doesn't it?
Well last January, after Senator Chuck Hagel (a Republican Senator and decorated Vietnam veteran) sided with Democrats in a vote, Rush had this to say: "By the way, we had a caller call, couldn't stay on the air, got a new name for Senator Hagel in Nebraska. We got General Petraeus and we got Senator Betray Us, new name for Senator Hagel."
So in case you're having trouble following: The Democrats are demanding an apology for something stupid that Rush said. The Republicans are claiming that the Democrats are simply trying to draw attention away from something stupid that MoveOn.org said. Only it turns out that MoveOn.org was simply rehashing something stupid that Rush said.
Sigh. It's like the Circle Jerk of Life...
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Monday, April 30, 2007
A Message to the Unwashed Masses...
Welcome to the Bible Belt, oh mysterious traveler from afar. No doubt you find our ways puzzling, even troubling to your liberal wife-swapping Ivy League hippie sensibilities. How you came to be here is something of a mystery. Perhaps you were on your way to Burning Man and your car broke down. Or maybe you were on your way to Mexico to make a drug buy, and your car broke down. It's entirely possible that you were simply headed west to indulge in the sodomy, prostitution, or polygamy of California, Nevada, or Utah respectively, and your car broke down. But it doesn't matter what transpired to strand a sinner like you amongst God's Chosen. He has delivered you unto us, and now we must make every effort to save your soul before He smites you for your wickedness or your car gets fixed.
I'm sure you have many questions, but perhaps you are reluctant to ask them because you are afraid we will be offended by your heretical ways and drag you to death behind our pickup trucks. That is why, as a service for all visiting sinners, we have provided the following list of Frequently Asked Questions. Understand that this meager resource can hardly take the place of an education gained from reading the Bible, the Left Behind series, and all of Jack Chick's tracts, but it is as good a place as any to start you down the path of righteousness.
The Bible Belt. Putting the "fun" back into "fundamentalist."
What *is* the Bible Belt?
The Bible Belt is a series of states that have joined together to fight against the secular humanists, Jews, gays, Papists, liberals, and Satanists who seek to persecute us for our belief. The Bible Belt is a haven of religious liberty, where people can feel free to worship as they wish, no matter if they are Southern Baptist, Evangelical, Neo-evangelical, or Pentecostal.
What do you people believe, exactly?
We believe that an invisible man ("God") in the sky ("Heaven") is waging war over your immortal soul against an evil, red man with horns ("Satan") who lives in the center of the Earth ("Hell"). As part of an elaborate plot to keep you out of Hell, the invisible man let the Jews kill His son ("Jesus"), who came back from the dead on Easter, which is why we hide eggs. The people who believe this can get into Heaven. Those that have, unfortunately, read a book are doomed to an eternity of burning and torment. This also applies to anyone who was born in a country that doesn't worship the Baby Jesus, or those who worship a different Baby Jesus than we do.
Many people are resistant to these teachings at first, but most of them gradually come around to our way of thinking once we've held their head underwater for four minutes. Our beliefs are succinctly summed up by the Bible verse John 3:16:
How do you guys feel about sex before marriage?
Sex before marriage is a sin. Sex after marriage is frowned upon as well. In fact, sex of any shape or form is filthy and should be discouraged. Unfortunately, rising above our carnal desires has had the unintended effect of diminishing our numbers. That's why we're so evangelical; since we don't reproduce, we're forced to recruit others to our cause just to keep our rosters active. Sort of like gay people.
You guys really seem to have it in for the gays. Why is that?
Ever since homosexuality was invented in the 1960s, the gays have posed a constant threat to the very moral fiber of this great nation. They've often aligned themselves with radical extremists like the ACLU in an effort to force their gay agenda on the rest of us. And now, our nation is faced with the issue of gay marriage, a hot-button topic that everyone really starts caring about right before elections. The fact is, if gay marriage is legalized, then its only a matter of time before bands of marauding homosexuals come marching down from the hills, divorcing good Christian folk at gunpoint, and forcing them into same-sex marriages. Besides, everyone knows that gay people don't really love each other. The only reason they want to get married is to make the Baby Jesus cry.
What is Intelligent Design?
The liberal, godless Scienazis would have you believe that man came from monkeys, and they're always bandying around their high-faluting "data" and their fancy-pants "scientific method" like they think that kind of talk will impress anybody. If their theory is so great, then why do they keep changing it every time they discover something new? That's not science; that's just flip-flopping.
To counter their outlandish monkey stories, we've come up with our own theories based on science. We postulate that God created everything in six days, made man out of dirt, and buried dinosaur bones to mess with the secular humanists. And unlike those whimpy evolutionists, our theories are in no way based on "data" or "scientific methods," so there's no danger of them changing.
Besides, it's a matter of simple logic. God made man out of dirt, which is why man must constantly bathe. Have you ever seen a monkey bathe? Case closed.
Do you guys really believe that the Bible is the literal and unerring word of God?
Yes, because it says so, right there in the Bible!
What does it mean to speak in tongues?
It is a blessing that only occurs to those who manage to successfully rid their brains of all extraneous distractions, like thoughts and ideas. When this happens, the Holy Spirit fills that person up and demonstrates God's majesty by making that person flail around and talk in an incomprehendible moon-man language.
But we understand that not everybody can be chosen to be a babbling, nonsensical instrument of our Lord. If you're ever attending a service and start to feel left out because of your glossolalia impairment, feel free to join in by repeating the following phrases in a quick, high-pitched voice:
Do you guys have any enemies?
Of course we do! Apart from the usual gays, secularists, Muslims, Mormons, Papists, stem cells, French, intellectuals, and people who play Dungeons and Dragons, we have to keep a constant vigil against the Jews, who have infiltrated our entertainment industry and now control it along with the international banking cartels, which are the root of modern day communism. We're also constantly dealing with Madelyn Murray O'Hair, who keeps rising from the grave to get TV shows canceled because they say "God" on the air, or the tireless crusades of the liberals, who often kidnap orphans and grind them up to fuel their Bible burning machines.
But our greatest enemy is Satan and his nefarious demons, who are responsible for every ailment, affliction, and deviant behavior. Demons cause everything bad, from gout to gayness. Fortunately, these ailments are treatable, once the demons are cast out. A word of warning: Some people think that casting out demons requires an official "exorcist", but this is merely a fallicy perpetuated by the Papists. The fact is, demons can be cast out by *any* evangelist with a radio or TV show.
Is it possible to be a Christian *and* be intelligent?
Some people think so, but they practice a brand of inclusive, tolerant Christianity that flies in the face of everything Christ stood for. We fundamentalists tend to eschew that hippie liberal stuff and stick to the basics. After all, what's the fun of going to Heaven if just anybody can get in?
Do Christians have an obligation to help the poor and needy?
No. Giving money to the poor is a redistribution of wealth, which is nothing but communism, pure and simple. And we didn't fight this War on Terror just to hand America over to the commies. Besides, either those people are poor because they *chose* to be poor, or they're being punished by God for something bad they did.
At what age can someone become a Christian?
The Papists believe that sprinkling infants will make them Christians, but we heartily disagree. The disposition of your immortal soul is perhaps one of the most important decisions you'll ever make, so you should be at least five or six years old so you can consider the matter diligently.
Our Lord is fond of children. And while we no longer sacrifice them to Him like we used to, we still like to celebrate His love with this beautiful song that children sing in Sunday School:
We hope you have found this FAQ to be helpful and informative. The Internets were originally created by Al Gore back in the 1970s so he and his godless accomplices could send pornography and facts about Chuck Norris back and forth to each other. However, it was our fervent hope to silk purse that sow's ear by using their wicked bandwidth to spread the message of God's love and mercy to those who are, no offense, probably as close to Heaven as you're ever going to get.
But if you've been moved by what you've read, then you probably feel a pounding in your chest right now. That's Jesus, knocking on your heart. Open it up, let him in, and experience the sheer joy that comes from knowing that you have escaped the eternal torment of Hell. Unless you're gay.
-----------------
*New Red State Edition - An authentic transation of the Bible in its original English.
I'm sure you have many questions, but perhaps you are reluctant to ask them because you are afraid we will be offended by your heretical ways and drag you to death behind our pickup trucks. That is why, as a service for all visiting sinners, we have provided the following list of Frequently Asked Questions. Understand that this meager resource can hardly take the place of an education gained from reading the Bible, the Left Behind series, and all of Jack Chick's tracts, but it is as good a place as any to start you down the path of righteousness.
The Bible Belt. Putting the "fun" back into "fundamentalist."
What *is* the Bible Belt?
The Bible Belt is a series of states that have joined together to fight against the secular humanists, Jews, gays, Papists, liberals, and Satanists who seek to persecute us for our belief. The Bible Belt is a haven of religious liberty, where people can feel free to worship as they wish, no matter if they are Southern Baptist, Evangelical, Neo-evangelical, or Pentecostal.
What do you people believe, exactly?
We believe that an invisible man ("God") in the sky ("Heaven") is waging war over your immortal soul against an evil, red man with horns ("Satan") who lives in the center of the Earth ("Hell"). As part of an elaborate plot to keep you out of Hell, the invisible man let the Jews kill His son ("Jesus"), who came back from the dead on Easter, which is why we hide eggs. The people who believe this can get into Heaven. Those that have, unfortunately, read a book are doomed to an eternity of burning and torment. This also applies to anyone who was born in a country that doesn't worship the Baby Jesus, or those who worship a different Baby Jesus than we do.
Many people are resistant to these teachings at first, but most of them gradually come around to our way of thinking once we've held their head underwater for four minutes. Our beliefs are succinctly summed up by the Bible verse John 3:16:
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life, unless they're gay. (NRSE*)
How do you guys feel about sex before marriage?
Sex before marriage is a sin. Sex after marriage is frowned upon as well. In fact, sex of any shape or form is filthy and should be discouraged. Unfortunately, rising above our carnal desires has had the unintended effect of diminishing our numbers. That's why we're so evangelical; since we don't reproduce, we're forced to recruit others to our cause just to keep our rosters active. Sort of like gay people.
You guys really seem to have it in for the gays. Why is that?
Ever since homosexuality was invented in the 1960s, the gays have posed a constant threat to the very moral fiber of this great nation. They've often aligned themselves with radical extremists like the ACLU in an effort to force their gay agenda on the rest of us. And now, our nation is faced with the issue of gay marriage, a hot-button topic that everyone really starts caring about right before elections. The fact is, if gay marriage is legalized, then its only a matter of time before bands of marauding homosexuals come marching down from the hills, divorcing good Christian folk at gunpoint, and forcing them into same-sex marriages. Besides, everyone knows that gay people don't really love each other. The only reason they want to get married is to make the Baby Jesus cry.
What is Intelligent Design?
The liberal, godless Scienazis would have you believe that man came from monkeys, and they're always bandying around their high-faluting "data" and their fancy-pants "scientific method" like they think that kind of talk will impress anybody. If their theory is so great, then why do they keep changing it every time they discover something new? That's not science; that's just flip-flopping.
To counter their outlandish monkey stories, we've come up with our own theories based on science. We postulate that God created everything in six days, made man out of dirt, and buried dinosaur bones to mess with the secular humanists. And unlike those whimpy evolutionists, our theories are in no way based on "data" or "scientific methods," so there's no danger of them changing.
Besides, it's a matter of simple logic. God made man out of dirt, which is why man must constantly bathe. Have you ever seen a monkey bathe? Case closed.
Do you guys really believe that the Bible is the literal and unerring word of God?
Yes, because it says so, right there in the Bible!
What does it mean to speak in tongues?
It is a blessing that only occurs to those who manage to successfully rid their brains of all extraneous distractions, like thoughts and ideas. When this happens, the Holy Spirit fills that person up and demonstrates God's majesty by making that person flail around and talk in an incomprehendible moon-man language.
But we understand that not everybody can be chosen to be a babbling, nonsensical instrument of our Lord. If you're ever attending a service and start to feel left out because of your glossolalia impairment, feel free to join in by repeating the following phrases in a quick, high-pitched voice:
She came in a Honda.If you have trouble remembering these, you can also achieve the same result by spelling the name Eddie over and over again. ("E-D-D-I-E-E-D-D-I-EEEEEEEE!")
Untie my bowtie.
Do you guys have any enemies?
Of course we do! Apart from the usual gays, secularists, Muslims, Mormons, Papists, stem cells, French, intellectuals, and people who play Dungeons and Dragons, we have to keep a constant vigil against the Jews, who have infiltrated our entertainment industry and now control it along with the international banking cartels, which are the root of modern day communism. We're also constantly dealing with Madelyn Murray O'Hair, who keeps rising from the grave to get TV shows canceled because they say "God" on the air, or the tireless crusades of the liberals, who often kidnap orphans and grind them up to fuel their Bible burning machines.
But our greatest enemy is Satan and his nefarious demons, who are responsible for every ailment, affliction, and deviant behavior. Demons cause everything bad, from gout to gayness. Fortunately, these ailments are treatable, once the demons are cast out. A word of warning: Some people think that casting out demons requires an official "exorcist", but this is merely a fallicy perpetuated by the Papists. The fact is, demons can be cast out by *any* evangelist with a radio or TV show.
Is it possible to be a Christian *and* be intelligent?
Some people think so, but they practice a brand of inclusive, tolerant Christianity that flies in the face of everything Christ stood for. We fundamentalists tend to eschew that hippie liberal stuff and stick to the basics. After all, what's the fun of going to Heaven if just anybody can get in?
Do Christians have an obligation to help the poor and needy?
No. Giving money to the poor is a redistribution of wealth, which is nothing but communism, pure and simple. And we didn't fight this War on Terror just to hand America over to the commies. Besides, either those people are poor because they *chose* to be poor, or they're being punished by God for something bad they did.
At what age can someone become a Christian?
The Papists believe that sprinkling infants will make them Christians, but we heartily disagree. The disposition of your immortal soul is perhaps one of the most important decisions you'll ever make, so you should be at least five or six years old so you can consider the matter diligently.
Our Lord is fond of children. And while we no longer sacrifice them to Him like we used to, we still like to celebrate His love with this beautiful song that children sing in Sunday School:
Jesus loves the little Baptists
All the Baptists of the world.
White and white and white and white,
They are precious in his sight.
Jesus loves the Baptists of the world.
We hope you have found this FAQ to be helpful and informative. The Internets were originally created by Al Gore back in the 1970s so he and his godless accomplices could send pornography and facts about Chuck Norris back and forth to each other. However, it was our fervent hope to silk purse that sow's ear by using their wicked bandwidth to spread the message of God's love and mercy to those who are, no offense, probably as close to Heaven as you're ever going to get.
But if you've been moved by what you've read, then you probably feel a pounding in your chest right now. That's Jesus, knocking on your heart. Open it up, let him in, and experience the sheer joy that comes from knowing that you have escaped the eternal torment of Hell. Unless you're gay.
-----------------
*New Red State Edition - An authentic transation of the Bible in its original English.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Interview: The Blog Sensation that's Sweeping the Nation!
I stumbled across this little meme on Kimmy's blog. It's sort of like a blog tag, only in reverse! At my request, Kimmy sent me five interview questions, which I am now required, by law, to answer on my blog.
1. Name 5 things you can't live without (not to include food and water).
Stephanie, The Colbert Report, World of Warcraft, Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke, and my embarrassingly huge collection of comic books.
2. What's your dream job?
Ninja pirate rock star cowboy astronaut supermodel.
3. Do you miss Lubbock or are you happy it is in your rearview mirror?
I miss college, I miss the frat house, and I miss my friends. But without any of those things, Lubbock is pretty much the armpit of Texas. (I was going to say asshole of Texas, but I personally believe that dubious honor belongs to Texarkana.)
4. What are your thoughts on basset hounds?
Next to dachshunds, probably the best breed of dog EVER! I always thought it would be cool to have a basset hound named Steve. I don't know why.
5. Would you ever take one of those stripper/pole dancing classes?
No, but I would be more than happy to audit the class...
1. Name 5 things you can't live without (not to include food and water).
Stephanie, The Colbert Report, World of Warcraft, Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke, and my embarrassingly huge collection of comic books.
2. What's your dream job?
Ninja pirate rock star cowboy astronaut supermodel.
3. Do you miss Lubbock or are you happy it is in your rearview mirror?
I miss college, I miss the frat house, and I miss my friends. But without any of those things, Lubbock is pretty much the armpit of Texas. (I was going to say asshole of Texas, but I personally believe that dubious honor belongs to Texarkana.)
4. What are your thoughts on basset hounds?
Next to dachshunds, probably the best breed of dog EVER! I always thought it would be cool to have a basset hound named Steve. I don't know why.
5. Would you ever take one of those stripper/pole dancing classes?
No, but I would be more than happy to audit the class...
Okay, if the threes of you who are still reading this blog would like to play, here's how it works:
- Leave me a comment (with your e-mail address) requesting an interview.
- I will lovingly craft five questions with my own two hands and e-mail them to you.
- Post the questions and your answers to your blog.
- Include an explanation for others who want to play, and offer to interview them if they request it.
- When your legions of adoring fans post a comment asking to be interviewed, send them five questions.
It's fun! It's easy! It's self-contained and fairly explanatory!
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Blog Tag: The Musical
Okay, this is one of those blog tag thingies that the kids are always going on about. The way it works is, you list seven songs that you are into right now, no matter WHAT they might be, along with a brief description or snide comment. And then, when you're done, you tag seven other people to find out what they're listening to. If you do, then something good will happen to you. If you don't, then an adorable little kitten will inexplicably die.
My good friend Kimmy, who is originally from Georgia and is the only person I've ever met who actually eats grits on a regular basis, tagged me in her blog Deep Thoughts with Kimmy. And now, I shall return the favor by inflicting you with unwanted personal information and then saddling you with the task of doing the same. From the top! A one! A two!
1. Was It Something I Said? - Amy Crenshaw and the Crosstown Boys
Every once in a while, I get in a rockabilly mood and this is one of my favorites. Amy's got a brilliant voice (someone once said she sounds like the love child of Patsy Cline and Jerry Lee Lewis), and guitarist Alan Wooley (originally from Killbilly) tears up the instrumental ride in the middle.
2. Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd
I was a huge Floyd fan in college, partly because I really liked the music and partly because I thought it made me dark and interesting. I'd forgotten just how much I love this song (especially David Gilmour's guitar solo on the outro) until I stumbled across it on 92.5 the other day. I've since dusted off my CDs for The Wall and added them to my musical rotation.
3. Sin Wagon - Dixie Chicks
I'll admit I didn't start listening to the Dixie Chicks until Natalie Maines blasted Dubya in her London concert and all their whiny hillbilly fans started buying their CDs so they could burn them, which ironically drove their sales up even higher. I'm not an unabashed fan of all their work, but I really do dig this song. And we Texans who despise Bush really need to stick together...
4. Haunted/When the Minutes Drag - Love and Rockets
I am not now, nor have I ever been, goth. My soul is neither dark nor wonderous, and I never really cared for Peter Murphy or his Bauhaus oeuvre. But for some reason, I really dig Love and Rockets. I'm a huge fan of this song, but I find it really difficult to sing along with it without eventually launching into the Schoolhouse Rock Unpack Your Adjectives song...
5. Rhapsody in Blue - George Gershwin
This has always been one of my favorites (a holdover from my band geek days, no doubt), but I can't listen to it during my daily commute because my drive time is so short these days. Not that I'm complaining... Anyway, it's a cool song with a cool history: Gershwin just happened to stumble across a publicity piece in the newspaper announcing an upcoming concert, featuring a brand new composition from him. He didn't have a composition ready, so he threw this one together in less than a month. The other instruments were scored, but Gerswhin improvised most of the piano part on the night of the concert, nodding to let the conductor know when it was time to come in. Gershwin was a bad ass.
6. Diamond Light Boogie - Cherry Poppin' Daddies
These guys are probably best known for their swing music (Zoot Suit Riot), but they're actually pretty eclectic, playing swing, ska, punk, rock, and even a little twangy country. This song, like so many others of theirs, pretty much defies classification. Let the 21st century roll!
7. Fly Me to the Moon - Frank Sinatra
Stephanie and I smooched to this song in front of the Bellagio Fountains in Vegas, so now it is officially our song. This is the first relationship I've ever been in where we've had "a song," so I'm pretty excited that we ended up with one so cool. Instead of, say, The Nights the Lights Went Out in Georgia.
Okay, that's my seven. Now whom shall I tag? How about...
SJ (yeah, Kimmy already tagged her, but I knew her first so I'm going to tag her too)
Mr. Schprock
Shaffner
Farrago
John
Sylvana
Silver
Okay, kids. Get to sharing!
My good friend Kimmy, who is originally from Georgia and is the only person I've ever met who actually eats grits on a regular basis, tagged me in her blog Deep Thoughts with Kimmy. And now, I shall return the favor by inflicting you with unwanted personal information and then saddling you with the task of doing the same. From the top! A one! A two!
1. Was It Something I Said? - Amy Crenshaw and the Crosstown Boys
Every once in a while, I get in a rockabilly mood and this is one of my favorites. Amy's got a brilliant voice (someone once said she sounds like the love child of Patsy Cline and Jerry Lee Lewis), and guitarist Alan Wooley (originally from Killbilly) tears up the instrumental ride in the middle.
2. Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd
I was a huge Floyd fan in college, partly because I really liked the music and partly because I thought it made me dark and interesting. I'd forgotten just how much I love this song (especially David Gilmour's guitar solo on the outro) until I stumbled across it on 92.5 the other day. I've since dusted off my CDs for The Wall and added them to my musical rotation.
3. Sin Wagon - Dixie Chicks
I'll admit I didn't start listening to the Dixie Chicks until Natalie Maines blasted Dubya in her London concert and all their whiny hillbilly fans started buying their CDs so they could burn them, which ironically drove their sales up even higher. I'm not an unabashed fan of all their work, but I really do dig this song. And we Texans who despise Bush really need to stick together...
4. Haunted/When the Minutes Drag - Love and Rockets
I am not now, nor have I ever been, goth. My soul is neither dark nor wonderous, and I never really cared for Peter Murphy or his Bauhaus oeuvre. But for some reason, I really dig Love and Rockets. I'm a huge fan of this song, but I find it really difficult to sing along with it without eventually launching into the Schoolhouse Rock Unpack Your Adjectives song...
5. Rhapsody in Blue - George Gershwin
This has always been one of my favorites (a holdover from my band geek days, no doubt), but I can't listen to it during my daily commute because my drive time is so short these days. Not that I'm complaining... Anyway, it's a cool song with a cool history: Gershwin just happened to stumble across a publicity piece in the newspaper announcing an upcoming concert, featuring a brand new composition from him. He didn't have a composition ready, so he threw this one together in less than a month. The other instruments were scored, but Gerswhin improvised most of the piano part on the night of the concert, nodding to let the conductor know when it was time to come in. Gershwin was a bad ass.
6. Diamond Light Boogie - Cherry Poppin' Daddies
These guys are probably best known for their swing music (Zoot Suit Riot), but they're actually pretty eclectic, playing swing, ska, punk, rock, and even a little twangy country. This song, like so many others of theirs, pretty much defies classification. Let the 21st century roll!
7. Fly Me to the Moon - Frank Sinatra
Stephanie and I smooched to this song in front of the Bellagio Fountains in Vegas, so now it is officially our song. This is the first relationship I've ever been in where we've had "a song," so I'm pretty excited that we ended up with one so cool. Instead of, say, The Nights the Lights Went Out in Georgia.
Okay, that's my seven. Now whom shall I tag? How about...
SJ (yeah, Kimmy already tagged her, but I knew her first so I'm going to tag her too)
Mr. Schprock
Shaffner
Farrago
John
Sylvana
Silver
Okay, kids. Get to sharing!
Friday, April 20, 2007
Reaching Across the Aisle...
Let's face it. As a nation, we've been divided down partisan lines for far too long. That's why I'm always happy when a day like April 20 rolls around, a day that celebrates smoking pot as well as the birth of Adolph Hitler. This is truly a holiday that the liberals and the conservatives can enjoy together.
Achtung, baby!!!!
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Does This Make *Me* the Evil Twin?
My dear friend and former fraternity brother Shaffner (not his real name, but darn close) has started a blog that is intended to be the antithesis of mine, so much so that he named it !!!GNAB ...kcilC ...kcilC ...kcilC. I'm deeply flattered, and not just a little curious as to what this "antithesis" entails. I can only assume it will consist of thoughtful, well-researched posts that don't make frequent use of the word "retard."
Check it out!
Check it out!
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Lordy Lordy...
Well, I just turned the big four-oh. I have just taken my first step on a slippery slope that will inevitably lead to geezerhood, with its Matlock and its large ear horns and its adult diapers and its damn kids playing on my lawn...
So, why is 40 such a milestone? Because it's divisible by 5. Why does that matter? I'm glad you asked, Louise. Our entire number system is based on the fact that we have 5 fingers on each hand. That's why we count the way we do. If we had 6 fingers on each hand, like so many of those lucky hillbilly bastards in the Appalachians, then I'd only be 34 and we wouldn't be having this conversation. Conversely if all we had were our thumbs, then I'd be 101,000 years old. But I digress...
Actually, 40 wasn't quite as traumatic as I thought it would be. I've got a great job doing something I enjoy. I've got a smart, beautiful, funny woman who, inexplicably, seems just as enamored of me as I am of her. I've got good friends, a loving family... I've still got half my grandparents, for Chrissake! And despite the fact that the lines are starting to show around my eyes and the gray is creeping into my temples, I still occasionally get carded when buying beer. Hell, my mid-life is way better than my youth ever was!
For all my bubbling optimism, I suppose there is one fly in the ointment. When I was younger, it was always my fantasy to have people admiring something I had written, shaking their heads in astonishment and saying, "He's how old? Seriously? How could someone his age produce such amazing work?" But that ship has sailed. No matter how much I excel at something, no matter how much I dazzle my audience, I will never be a prodigy. But I'm a firm believer in lighting a candle rather than cursing the goddamn darkness, so I've adjusted my fantasy somewhat. Maybe when I'm in my 90s, people will be admiring something I've written, shaking their heads in astonishment, and saying, "He's how old? Seriously? How could someone his age produce such amazing work?"
Yeah, I know it's a pretty pedestrian fantasy. But that's because I haven't got to the part about being punished by Amanda Peet's identical twin great-granddaughters...
So, why is 40 such a milestone? Because it's divisible by 5. Why does that matter? I'm glad you asked, Louise. Our entire number system is based on the fact that we have 5 fingers on each hand. That's why we count the way we do. If we had 6 fingers on each hand, like so many of those lucky hillbilly bastards in the Appalachians, then I'd only be 34 and we wouldn't be having this conversation. Conversely if all we had were our thumbs, then I'd be 101,000 years old. But I digress...
Actually, 40 wasn't quite as traumatic as I thought it would be. I've got a great job doing something I enjoy. I've got a smart, beautiful, funny woman who, inexplicably, seems just as enamored of me as I am of her. I've got good friends, a loving family... I've still got half my grandparents, for Chrissake! And despite the fact that the lines are starting to show around my eyes and the gray is creeping into my temples, I still occasionally get carded when buying beer. Hell, my mid-life is way better than my youth ever was!
For all my bubbling optimism, I suppose there is one fly in the ointment. When I was younger, it was always my fantasy to have people admiring something I had written, shaking their heads in astonishment and saying, "He's how old? Seriously? How could someone his age produce such amazing work?" But that ship has sailed. No matter how much I excel at something, no matter how much I dazzle my audience, I will never be a prodigy. But I'm a firm believer in lighting a candle rather than cursing the goddamn darkness, so I've adjusted my fantasy somewhat. Maybe when I'm in my 90s, people will be admiring something I've written, shaking their heads in astonishment, and saying, "He's how old? Seriously? How could someone his age produce such amazing work?"
Yeah, I know it's a pretty pedestrian fantasy. But that's because I haven't got to the part about being punished by Amanda Peet's identical twin great-granddaughters...
Saturday, March 17, 2007
It's Neo-Con! It's Inspirational! It's Neo-Conspirational!
Ever wonder what Karl Rove has hanging on his office wall? I mean, besides the upside-down crucifix and the still-squirming kitten? Well, wonder no longer. Instead, gaze upon these inspirational posters and be borne unto a magical fantasy land that exists only in the minds of Bush and his ever-dwindling throngs of supporters!
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Revenge of the President George Bush Tollway
So I got into a car wreck last week. A big one.
Most Thursdays, Sean and I get together to work on our next play (tentatively titled "Captain Phantasm vs. the Nefarious Dr. Noir: A Melodramatic Serial in Three Parts"). Usually, I'll swing by his place and pick him up, and then we'll head to Dunn Bros. Coffee and spend a couple of hours writing. Or maybe an hour writing and an hour arguing about whether or not something is funny. Or maybe 10 minutes writing and 1:50 talking about what in the name of Agnes of God is happening on Heroes. Hell, it's a wonder we ever got the first play written!
So last Thursday, I'd just left work and was on my way to pick up Sean. I was headed east on the President George Bush Tollway (yes, here in Dallas we have a President George Bush Tollway, and the only reason I can stomach driving on it is because it isn't the President George W. Bush Tollway). I exited the tollway and stayed in the far left lane, which is for U-turns.
Okay, imagine if you will... my U-turn lane is virtually empty. Next to me, on my right, is a line of cars about 20 to 30 deep, waiting to turn left at the light. I'm zipping past them, minding my own business, whistling a happy tune...
...and suddenly, there's a Mercedes in my lane. I didn't even have time to hit the brakes before we collided and my car was slammed into the guard rail. Twisted metal, broken glass, the whole bit... For a second, I thought I was going to meet the Baby Jesus face to face, which would have been embarassing after all the mean things I've said about Him.
I got out of my car, my legs shaking so bad I could hardly stand. I wasn't hurt, and neither was the other guy, whom I'll call Mr. Meurgaonkar*. My car was smashed all to hell on both sides. I'd lost both mirrors, headlights, etc. His car was dented up, but still considerably better off.
So the first thing Mr. Meurgaonkar does is try to make it out to be my fault. He asked me, "Did you not see me signaling?" Despite the gallons of adrenaline coursing through my body, I'd like to mention that I was quite calm and relatively pleasant about the whole thing. I pointed out as politely as I could that he had been in a left turn lane with 20 other cars, and they were all signaling, and I had absolutely no reason to suspect he was going to suddenly pull in front of me when I got within 10 feet of him.
So Mr. Meurgaonkar offers up the second part of his defense. "Well, I checked the lane before I came over and I didn't see you." To which I replied, "Um, I don't know what to tell you, aside from the fact that I WAS THERE!"
We called the police, but they never showed up (apparently the police don't like to respond to a wreck in Carrollton unless there's an injury). So Mr. Meurgaonkar and I exchanged insurance information, and I had my car towed to the Saturn dealership. Mr. Meurgaonkar, who is for all intents and purposes a very decent man (with a poor understanding of traffic laws), dropped me off at Sean's house and I began the arduous process of notifying the insurance companies.
So long story short (as if that ship hadn't already sailed), Mr. Meurgaonkar filed a claim with my insurance company, and they denied it because he was blatantly at fault. My insurance company is covering my repairs, rental, etc. and they're in the process of collecting from his insurance company. My car suffered a lot of body damage and the front suspension is utterly fubar. The claims adjuster just called me and said they're estimating damages at $4,800. Because of Allstate's Accident Forgiveness, I'm currently out of pocket for a $50 deductable and .79 a day on the rental, all of which should be reimbursed once his insurance company pays up.
So I guess it could be worse. I could have died, or been seriously hurt. Or even suffered whatever debilitating brain damage it is that makes people in Texas keep voting for Bush.
----------------
*Not his actual name, but pretty darned close.
Most Thursdays, Sean and I get together to work on our next play (tentatively titled "Captain Phantasm vs. the Nefarious Dr. Noir: A Melodramatic Serial in Three Parts"). Usually, I'll swing by his place and pick him up, and then we'll head to Dunn Bros. Coffee and spend a couple of hours writing. Or maybe an hour writing and an hour arguing about whether or not something is funny. Or maybe 10 minutes writing and 1:50 talking about what in the name of Agnes of God is happening on Heroes. Hell, it's a wonder we ever got the first play written!
So last Thursday, I'd just left work and was on my way to pick up Sean. I was headed east on the President George Bush Tollway (yes, here in Dallas we have a President George Bush Tollway, and the only reason I can stomach driving on it is because it isn't the President George W. Bush Tollway). I exited the tollway and stayed in the far left lane, which is for U-turns.
Okay, imagine if you will... my U-turn lane is virtually empty. Next to me, on my right, is a line of cars about 20 to 30 deep, waiting to turn left at the light. I'm zipping past them, minding my own business, whistling a happy tune...
...and suddenly, there's a Mercedes in my lane. I didn't even have time to hit the brakes before we collided and my car was slammed into the guard rail. Twisted metal, broken glass, the whole bit... For a second, I thought I was going to meet the Baby Jesus face to face, which would have been embarassing after all the mean things I've said about Him.
I got out of my car, my legs shaking so bad I could hardly stand. I wasn't hurt, and neither was the other guy, whom I'll call Mr. Meurgaonkar*. My car was smashed all to hell on both sides. I'd lost both mirrors, headlights, etc. His car was dented up, but still considerably better off.
So the first thing Mr. Meurgaonkar does is try to make it out to be my fault. He asked me, "Did you not see me signaling?" Despite the gallons of adrenaline coursing through my body, I'd like to mention that I was quite calm and relatively pleasant about the whole thing. I pointed out as politely as I could that he had been in a left turn lane with 20 other cars, and they were all signaling, and I had absolutely no reason to suspect he was going to suddenly pull in front of me when I got within 10 feet of him.
So Mr. Meurgaonkar offers up the second part of his defense. "Well, I checked the lane before I came over and I didn't see you." To which I replied, "Um, I don't know what to tell you, aside from the fact that I WAS THERE!"
We called the police, but they never showed up (apparently the police don't like to respond to a wreck in Carrollton unless there's an injury). So Mr. Meurgaonkar and I exchanged insurance information, and I had my car towed to the Saturn dealership. Mr. Meurgaonkar, who is for all intents and purposes a very decent man (with a poor understanding of traffic laws), dropped me off at Sean's house and I began the arduous process of notifying the insurance companies.
So long story short (as if that ship hadn't already sailed), Mr. Meurgaonkar filed a claim with my insurance company, and they denied it because he was blatantly at fault. My insurance company is covering my repairs, rental, etc. and they're in the process of collecting from his insurance company. My car suffered a lot of body damage and the front suspension is utterly fubar. The claims adjuster just called me and said they're estimating damages at $4,800. Because of Allstate's Accident Forgiveness, I'm currently out of pocket for a $50 deductable and .79 a day on the rental, all of which should be reimbursed once his insurance company pays up.
So I guess it could be worse. I could have died, or been seriously hurt. Or even suffered whatever debilitating brain damage it is that makes people in Texas keep voting for Bush.
----------------
*Not his actual name, but pretty darned close.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Search Engine Democracy
Are you tired of being mired down day after day in pointless debate? Are you sick of being berated and browbeaten by pundits desperate to inflict their opinions on you? Do you wish there was a quick and easy way to form an opinion on something without having to know anything about it? Well, why not leave the decision making up to Google? That's right, my friend. Choosing sides is just as easy as downloading porn with Search Engine Democracy!
Here are some Google results to put your mind at ease.
Heaven - 123,000,000 hits
Hell - 164,000,000 hits
Coke - 28,400,000 hits
Pepsi - 20,200,000 hits
Less filling - 9,370,000 hits
Tastes great - 3,780,000 hits
George W Bush is a genius - 1,310,000 hits
George W Bush is an idiot - 1,440,000 hits
Driving with Ted Kennedy - 1,080,000 hits
Hunting with Dick Cheney - 1,100,000 hits
Sean Hannity - 1,530,000 hits
Alan Colmes - 374,000 hits
World of Warcraft - 21,600,000 hits
Everquest - 722,000 hits
Going to church on Sunday morning - 2,100,000 hits
Sleeping in on Sunday morning - 3,340,000 hits
Liberal communists - 1,500,000 hits
Conservative Nazis - 1,500,000 hits
(and who says discourse is dead in this great nation?)
Alien conspiracy - 1,610,000 hits
JFK conspiracy - 1,120,000 hits
Liberal media conspiracy - 1,790,000 hits
Christian conspiracy - 1,950,000 hits
Peanut Butter Conspiracy - 495,000 hits
Elvis is dead - 2,390,000 hits
Elvis is alive - 1,830,000 hits
Star Trek slash fiction - 346,000 hits
Harry Potter slash fiction - 529,000 hits
Diff'rent Strokes slash fiction - 259 hits
Naked pictures of Britney Spears - 1,550,000 hits
Naked pictures of Bea Arthur - 78,000 hits
Naked pictures of Chris Irby - 707 hits
(ouch!)
Here are some Google results to put your mind at ease.
Heaven - 123,000,000 hits
Hell - 164,000,000 hits
Coke - 28,400,000 hits
Pepsi - 20,200,000 hits
Less filling - 9,370,000 hits
Tastes great - 3,780,000 hits
George W Bush is a genius - 1,310,000 hits
George W Bush is an idiot - 1,440,000 hits
Driving with Ted Kennedy - 1,080,000 hits
Hunting with Dick Cheney - 1,100,000 hits
Sean Hannity - 1,530,000 hits
Alan Colmes - 374,000 hits
World of Warcraft - 21,600,000 hits
Everquest - 722,000 hits
Going to church on Sunday morning - 2,100,000 hits
Sleeping in on Sunday morning - 3,340,000 hits
Liberal communists - 1,500,000 hits
Conservative Nazis - 1,500,000 hits
(and who says discourse is dead in this great nation?)
Alien conspiracy - 1,610,000 hits
JFK conspiracy - 1,120,000 hits
Liberal media conspiracy - 1,790,000 hits
Christian conspiracy - 1,950,000 hits
Peanut Butter Conspiracy - 495,000 hits
Elvis is dead - 2,390,000 hits
Elvis is alive - 1,830,000 hits
Star Trek slash fiction - 346,000 hits
Harry Potter slash fiction - 529,000 hits
Diff'rent Strokes slash fiction - 259 hits
Naked pictures of Britney Spears - 1,550,000 hits
Naked pictures of Bea Arthur - 78,000 hits
Naked pictures of Chris Irby - 707 hits
(ouch!)
Friday, February 23, 2007
Marmaduke is an Asshole...
...and Joe Mathlete is my new hero. Now if only somebody would put that smug bitch Mary Worth in her place.
In a story only tangenticaliciously related, I used to work with a woman who thought Marmaduke was the funniest comic strip EVER! Every day at lunch, she would just guffaw with laughter and say things like, "This is SO true! The guy that draws this must own a Great Dane, because they are really like that!" Of course, she never actually owned a Great Dane, which explains how she could mistake a cartoon about a dog driving a car for some kind of documentary...
In a story only tangenticaliciously related, I used to work with a woman who thought Marmaduke was the funniest comic strip EVER! Every day at lunch, she would just guffaw with laughter and say things like, "This is SO true! The guy that draws this must own a Great Dane, because they are really like that!" Of course, she never actually owned a Great Dane, which explains how she could mistake a cartoon about a dog driving a car for some kind of documentary...
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Blog Tag - You're It!!!
My friend Silver blog tagged me the other day. For those of you who are unaware of this little blogosphere craze, basically it means I'm supposed to tell you five little known facts about myself, and then tag five more people. I don't know how long this little game has been going on, but Silver insists that it is an ancient SEO* tradition dating back to sometime in the early 21st century.
So anyway, with only minimal further ado, here are five mind-bending, life-altering Irb facts of which you may or may not have been previously unaware. And unlike the facts I share with my friends on a daily basis, these are mostly true!
1. When I was a sophomore in college, I got busted (along with several hundred other students) for using stolen long distance codes from U.S. Sprint. I avoided prosecution by signing a confession, paying my charges, and listing everybody else I'd given the code to.
2. I love Spongebob Squarepants and Fairly Oddparents. I tell everybody that I got hooked while watching them with my nephew, but the truth is I was watching them at least a year before he started.
3. I voted for George Bush in 1988.
4. For some reason, I find it dead sexy when a woman can pick up things with her toes.
5. You know the song "Rapture" by Blondie? I can't stand that song. I don't remember ever actually listening to the song all the way through. And yet, for some reason, I know all the lyrics and can rap it from beginning to end. I think my brain does stuff like that because it hates me.
Okay, and now, the five tagees!
Give Me the Booger
Smart Like Owls
Deep Thoughts with Kimmy
Farrago
The Schprock Report
Okay, kids! You're it!
-----------------------------
*Scab Eating Orthodontist
*Search Engine Optimization
So anyway, with only minimal further ado, here are five mind-bending, life-altering Irb facts of which you may or may not have been previously unaware. And unlike the facts I share with my friends on a daily basis, these are mostly true!
1. When I was a sophomore in college, I got busted (along with several hundred other students) for using stolen long distance codes from U.S. Sprint. I avoided prosecution by signing a confession, paying my charges, and listing everybody else I'd given the code to.
2. I love Spongebob Squarepants and Fairly Oddparents. I tell everybody that I got hooked while watching them with my nephew, but the truth is I was watching them at least a year before he started.
3. I voted for George Bush in 1988.
4. For some reason, I find it dead sexy when a woman can pick up things with her toes.
5. You know the song "Rapture" by Blondie? I can't stand that song. I don't remember ever actually listening to the song all the way through. And yet, for some reason, I know all the lyrics and can rap it from beginning to end. I think my brain does stuff like that because it hates me.
Okay, and now, the five tagees!
Give Me the Booger
Smart Like Owls
Deep Thoughts with Kimmy
Farrago
The Schprock Report
Okay, kids! You're it!
-----------------------------
*Search Engine Optimization
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Poetry for Uncultured Assholes
I've never been a huge fan of poetry, and I still feel that poems that don't rhyme reflect a monumental lack of effort on the part of the author. But still, every once in a while, the lovely muse Calliope takes a dump on my head and I feel inspired to pen an epic verse. So I've taken time away from writing my usual slash furry Harry Potter fan fiction to write the following poem. I call it "Hearsay".
I'm particularly proud of the unique A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A rhyming scheme, as well as the 1-1-1-2-3-2-1-1-3-4 meter (known amongst us poets as iambic trimono-di-tri-di-dimono-tri-quadrameter).
Thank you for your indulgence. I now return to my previous tale. As you might recall, Snape had just been hit by a spell that had turned him into a gigantic, horny ocelot dressed in a latex nurse's uniform...
Ned
said
Ted
shot Fred
in the head
and Fred
bled
red
in the bed
'til he was dead!
I'm particularly proud of the unique A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A rhyming scheme, as well as the 1-1-1-2-3-2-1-1-3-4 meter (known amongst us poets as iambic trimono-di-tri-di-dimono-tri-quadrameter).
Thank you for your indulgence. I now return to my previous tale. As you might recall, Snape had just been hit by a spell that had turned him into a gigantic, horny ocelot dressed in a latex nurse's uniform...
Friday, February 16, 2007
Catch Up 22
Here's the last five months, in a nutshell...
Working9 to 5 9:15ish to around 6:00...
I am an SEO Copywriter. It's the first job I've ever had that includes an acronym, unless you count my stint as the self-appointed MFIC* at Brinker. SEO, in case you were idly wondering, means Search Engine Optimization. Basically, I write articles for a major yellow pages website**, incorporating as many key search terms into the text as I can so they'll rank high on Google, Yahoo, and the other major search engines.
When last I left you guys, I was slogging away at the Michaels Help Desk, willingly participating in their nefarious Cradle-to-the-Grave Minimum Wage Plan™ in the hopes that something better would come along. They had big plans for creating a tech writer/trainer position, and they felt I'd be perfect for the role. Unfortunately, due to some rather hamfisted budgetary constraints and the fact that Michaels upper management regards the Help Desk with the same degree of respect one might have for a Nazi pedophile who voted for Nader, they wouldn't be able to create the job until sometime in 2007... MAYBE. This meant I would have to bide my time on the Help Desk. Which, in case I haven't mentioned in the last four sentences or so, paid HORRIBLY!
So there I was, one Sunday last November, working my way through the calls in the queue and wondering if I hadn't made some kind of horrible life choice. One of the guys who was supposed to be working with me hadn't shown up, and I was slammed with calls from angry managers, clueless cashiers, and one octogenarian Frame Shop manager who kept insisting that her computer wasn't working was because it hated her. All in all, it was a real Calgon moment.
And then, my friend Silver called me, whom you may recall from our homoerotic Valentine's Day dinner a few years ago. Silver is the head of the Technology & Development Department the media company that owns the major yellow pages website**. He asked me if I'd be willing to meet him for dinner and listen to his offer for a tech writing contract position there. I told him that, at that point, I'd be ecstatic to listen to anything he had to say. And even though there were still many calls in the queue, I abandoned my co-workers at Michaels to go meet Silver. He pitched. I accepted, and gave my two-weeks notice the following day.
So now, I'm writing articles. It's a sweet gig. I'm working with my friends, I get medical benefits and other cool, grown-up stuff like that, and I'm making TWICE what I was making at Michaels.
-------------------
*Mother Fucker In Charge
** I was recently informed that mentioning the actual name of the company on this potty-mouthed blog might give the folks in Legal an aneurysm, so now I'm going through and changing all the references to something vague. But in case anyone is wondering, my overuse of the word "retard" is a personal choice and in no way reflects the corporate policy of said yellow pages website.
Fly Me to the Moon...
Stephanie loves me, and I love her, and the world is just a big, schmoopy muffin basket full of rainbows and unicorns and puppy dog kisses! I could go on, but I'm sure you guys are far too busy vomiting to read the rest.
Ever since I went to Vegas the first time and saw the fountains at the Bellagio, I've had this fantasy of smooching a girl in front of the fountains while a Frank Sinatra song plays in the background. So when Stephanie and I went to Vegas last April with my friends Sean and Laura, she was game to make my dreams come true. We went to the Bellagio and managed to get a primo seat on the balcony right by the fountains, and we waited. They played some Celine Dion, Elton John, and a lot of opera songs and show tunes, but no Frank. Steph was a good sport and made out with me while the Pink Panther Theme was playing, but it just wasn't the same.
So we left the Bellagio to head over to the Treasure Island Casino to watch the skanky Sirens of TI show, and just as we were passing in front of the fountains, they sprang to life and Frank started singing Fly Me to the Moon! I was just dumbstruck, so Stephanie grabbed me and kissed me until the song was over.
Sigh...
Working
I am an SEO Copywriter. It's the first job I've ever had that includes an acronym, unless you count my stint as the self-appointed MFIC* at Brinker. SEO, in case you were idly wondering, means Search Engine Optimization. Basically, I write articles for a major yellow pages website**, incorporating as many key search terms into the text as I can so they'll rank high on Google, Yahoo, and the other major search engines.
When last I left you guys, I was slogging away at the Michaels Help Desk, willingly participating in their nefarious Cradle-to-the-Grave Minimum Wage Plan™ in the hopes that something better would come along. They had big plans for creating a tech writer/trainer position, and they felt I'd be perfect for the role. Unfortunately, due to some rather hamfisted budgetary constraints and the fact that Michaels upper management regards the Help Desk with the same degree of respect one might have for a Nazi pedophile who voted for Nader, they wouldn't be able to create the job until sometime in 2007... MAYBE. This meant I would have to bide my time on the Help Desk. Which, in case I haven't mentioned in the last four sentences or so, paid HORRIBLY!
So there I was, one Sunday last November, working my way through the calls in the queue and wondering if I hadn't made some kind of horrible life choice. One of the guys who was supposed to be working with me hadn't shown up, and I was slammed with calls from angry managers, clueless cashiers, and one octogenarian Frame Shop manager who kept insisting that her computer wasn't working was because it hated her. All in all, it was a real Calgon moment.
And then, my friend Silver called me, whom you may recall from our homoerotic Valentine's Day dinner a few years ago. Silver is the head of the Technology & Development Department the media company that owns the major yellow pages website**. He asked me if I'd be willing to meet him for dinner and listen to his offer for a tech writing contract position there. I told him that, at that point, I'd be ecstatic to listen to anything he had to say. And even though there were still many calls in the queue, I abandoned my co-workers at Michaels to go meet Silver. He pitched. I accepted, and gave my two-weeks notice the following day.
So now, I'm writing articles. It's a sweet gig. I'm working with my friends, I get medical benefits and other cool, grown-up stuff like that, and I'm making TWICE what I was making at Michaels.
-------------------
*Mother Fucker In Charge
** I was recently informed that mentioning the actual name of the company on this potty-mouthed blog might give the folks in Legal an aneurysm, so now I'm going through and changing all the references to something vague. But in case anyone is wondering, my overuse of the word "retard" is a personal choice and in no way reflects the corporate policy of said yellow pages website.
Fly Me to the Moon...
Stephanie loves me, and I love her, and the world is just a big, schmoopy muffin basket full of rainbows and unicorns and puppy dog kisses! I could go on, but I'm sure you guys are far too busy vomiting to read the rest.
Ever since I went to Vegas the first time and saw the fountains at the Bellagio, I've had this fantasy of smooching a girl in front of the fountains while a Frank Sinatra song plays in the background. So when Stephanie and I went to Vegas last April with my friends Sean and Laura, she was game to make my dreams come true. We went to the Bellagio and managed to get a primo seat on the balcony right by the fountains, and we waited. They played some Celine Dion, Elton John, and a lot of opera songs and show tunes, but no Frank. Steph was a good sport and made out with me while the Pink Panther Theme was playing, but it just wasn't the same.
So we left the Bellagio to head over to the Treasure Island Casino to watch the skanky Sirens of TI show, and just as we were passing in front of the fountains, they sprang to life and Frank started singing Fly Me to the Moon! I was just dumbstruck, so Stephanie grabbed me and kissed me until the song was over.
Sigh...
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Okay, Let's Try This Again...
What's it been? Five months? So much has happened. Bush pretended to read a bunch of books and finally took responsibility for the mistakes that were made in Iraq, apparently by other people. Anna Nicole Smith, Saddam Hussein, and Gerald Ford died, creating the weirdest trifecta since Lady Di, Mother Teresa, and whoever was hunting with Dick Cheney that weekend. Mel Gibson and Michael "Kramer" Richards gained a huge Klan following. Scooter Libby's on trial, but Karl Rove wasn't called to testify because apparently his hand will burst into flames if it actually touches a bible. The entire city of Boston was shut down because of some Lite-Brites. And a diaper-wearing astronaut chick tried to kill another astronaut chick over a love triangle involving a space-shuttle commander, in a news story that could only be made more awesome if it involved monkeys and Ninja Jesus!
So many missed opportunities...
Anyway, I'm back. I've run out of clever comeback metaphors, so I'm just going to reuse the zombie graphic from my last triumphant return.
Missed you bitches!!!!
So many missed opportunities...
Anyway, I'm back. I've run out of clever comeback metaphors, so I'm just going to reuse the zombie graphic from my last triumphant return.
Missed you bitches!!!!
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Fuzzy Memories and Drug-Induced Flashbacks - Part VIII
When I was a teenager, I went through a country music phase. It was my first real musical identity, unless you count my unhealthy obsession with the Star Wars soundtrack from 1977-1980. But for the four years I was in high school, I was all about Hank Jr. and Charlie Daniels Band.
Of course, this was during the mid 1980s. Reagan was president, Michael Jackson was still black, and both Judds together were roughly the size that Winona is now. I was living in the thriving metropolis of Garland, Texas (home of cartoonist Mike Judge and, so I've heard, the inspiration for the town of Arlen in King of the Hill). On top of that, I drove a 1969 Chevy pickup truck until 1985, when I traded up to a black 1977 Trans Am right out of Smokey and the Bandit.
Damn. I'm lucky I didn't grow up to marry my cousin.
Anyway, when I was going through my C&W thang, my sister Sunny was all about the Rap music. Of course, back then Rap was a little different. Most rap songs would consist of the guys spelling the name of the band and introducing themselves, and then they'd rap about something nice, like their sneakers or how tricky it was to rock a rhyme that was right on time.
My sister *hated* country music when we were in high school. She was just mortified that I not only knew all the words to "Devil Went Down to Georgia," but I insisted on accompanying myself on air fiddle. She hated Ricky Skaggs and Alabama and just about anybody who had ever appeared on Hee Haw, and would rail on and on about it until I'd finally pull out my 8-track tape and let her turn the dial to K104 (which was basically a 24-hour Sugar Hill Gang station at the time).
So while I was in college, I made the switch to classic rock. It started with Pink Floyd, and pretty soon I was blasting Led Zepplin from the cassette deck of my Trans Am. I listened to the Beatles, from Rubber Soul to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band, and even most of the White Album (except for the crap Yoko made them sing).
And my sister, ironically enough, became a huge fan of country music.
One day back in 1989 (Bush was president, Michael Jackson was pale, blah, blah, blah), Sunny and I were driving home from visiting our grandmother in Texarkana and I was listening to Abbey Road. And my sister, as always, was whining about my horrible musical choices.
"I don't understand why rock music has to always be about sex," she said.
"That's not really fair," I told her. "I mean, Conway Twitty used to sing about the tiger in the tight-fitting jeans, but all the Beatles ever wanted to do was hold her hand."
I'd scored a point, and my sister knew it. She was struggling to find an example of what she was talking about, but she couldn't think of one. So she finally just blurted out, "Oh yeah? Well at least country music isn't all like, 'Nice ass, can I kiss it?' or 'Hey big titty momma, come lick my neck!'"
I howled with laughter. "What the fuck rock songs have YOU been listening to?"
She blushed and got a little defensive. "You know what I mean," she insisted. But I just kept laughing and repeating, "Hey big titty momma, come lick my neck!" Eventually, she started laughing too and it became something of a running joke between us.
So flash forward about six months. I'm home for the summer and hanging with my friend Steve (who occasionally frequents this blog). We're having lunch, and he mentions that he's recently started listening to country music. I roll my eyes and let out an exasperated moan. "God, you and my sister should start a support group or something."
I tell him the story about our heated debate, and we start tossing out silly prank ideas. "Hey, you should tell her your favorite song is 'Hey Big Titty Momma!'" From there, the prank evolves into something ridiculously convoluted. It takes us all afternoon, but using a synthesizer and a couple of cassette recorders, we finally create our masterpiece.
Later that afternoon, we're driving my sister to the airport and the cassette tape is in my stereo, ready to be played. Steve's riding up front with me, and Sunny's in the back. Steve starts things off with, "You know, I've been listening to some country music lately. I've decided it's not that bad."
My sister eagerly takes the bait. "I know! I love it too! But try telling Chris that. He won't even listen to it anymore."
"That's not true," I say, sounding a bit hurt. "There's some of it that's okay. I've got a tape of some local band here that I like."
"God," Sunny says, rolling her eyes. "It's probably Pink Floyd or something stupid."
So I press play, and the tape starts with a roaring crowd dubbed from Pink Floyd's Delicate Sound of Thunder. But then, you hear Steve's voice saying, "All right, we wanna thank you all for coming out! This next song goes out to a little filley in Garland by the name of Sunny Irby!"
My sister actually gasps as the crowd noise dies and is replaced by a lame auto polka rhythm from Steve's synthesizer. Steve starts off with a solo:
When it's all said and done, my sister is less than impressed with the lengths to which we went. In fact, her sole assessment of our musical endeavor is "You guys are SO gay!"
But we don't care. We're well-pleased of our first and only foray into the realm of shitkicking tunes. We take gratification in the knowledge that our song, however hastily thrown together, is still better than anything Billy Ray Cyrus ever put out. In fact, we're so proud of this song that even today, if you get us drunk enough, we'll happily perform it for you. And then throw up on your shoes.
Yeehaw.
Of course, this was during the mid 1980s. Reagan was president, Michael Jackson was still black, and both Judds together were roughly the size that Winona is now. I was living in the thriving metropolis of Garland, Texas (home of cartoonist Mike Judge and, so I've heard, the inspiration for the town of Arlen in King of the Hill). On top of that, I drove a 1969 Chevy pickup truck until 1985, when I traded up to a black 1977 Trans Am right out of Smokey and the Bandit.
Damn. I'm lucky I didn't grow up to marry my cousin.
Anyway, when I was going through my C&W thang, my sister Sunny was all about the Rap music. Of course, back then Rap was a little different. Most rap songs would consist of the guys spelling the name of the band and introducing themselves, and then they'd rap about something nice, like their sneakers or how tricky it was to rock a rhyme that was right on time.
My sister *hated* country music when we were in high school. She was just mortified that I not only knew all the words to "Devil Went Down to Georgia," but I insisted on accompanying myself on air fiddle. She hated Ricky Skaggs and Alabama and just about anybody who had ever appeared on Hee Haw, and would rail on and on about it until I'd finally pull out my 8-track tape and let her turn the dial to K104 (which was basically a 24-hour Sugar Hill Gang station at the time).
So while I was in college, I made the switch to classic rock. It started with Pink Floyd, and pretty soon I was blasting Led Zepplin from the cassette deck of my Trans Am. I listened to the Beatles, from Rubber Soul to Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band, and even most of the White Album (except for the crap Yoko made them sing).
And my sister, ironically enough, became a huge fan of country music.
One day back in 1989 (Bush was president, Michael Jackson was pale, blah, blah, blah), Sunny and I were driving home from visiting our grandmother in Texarkana and I was listening to Abbey Road. And my sister, as always, was whining about my horrible musical choices.
"I don't understand why rock music has to always be about sex," she said.
"That's not really fair," I told her. "I mean, Conway Twitty used to sing about the tiger in the tight-fitting jeans, but all the Beatles ever wanted to do was hold her hand."
I'd scored a point, and my sister knew it. She was struggling to find an example of what she was talking about, but she couldn't think of one. So she finally just blurted out, "Oh yeah? Well at least country music isn't all like, 'Nice ass, can I kiss it?' or 'Hey big titty momma, come lick my neck!'"
I howled with laughter. "What the fuck rock songs have YOU been listening to?"
She blushed and got a little defensive. "You know what I mean," she insisted. But I just kept laughing and repeating, "Hey big titty momma, come lick my neck!" Eventually, she started laughing too and it became something of a running joke between us.
So flash forward about six months. I'm home for the summer and hanging with my friend Steve (who occasionally frequents this blog). We're having lunch, and he mentions that he's recently started listening to country music. I roll my eyes and let out an exasperated moan. "God, you and my sister should start a support group or something."
I tell him the story about our heated debate, and we start tossing out silly prank ideas. "Hey, you should tell her your favorite song is 'Hey Big Titty Momma!'" From there, the prank evolves into something ridiculously convoluted. It takes us all afternoon, but using a synthesizer and a couple of cassette recorders, we finally create our masterpiece.
Later that afternoon, we're driving my sister to the airport and the cassette tape is in my stereo, ready to be played. Steve's riding up front with me, and Sunny's in the back. Steve starts things off with, "You know, I've been listening to some country music lately. I've decided it's not that bad."
My sister eagerly takes the bait. "I know! I love it too! But try telling Chris that. He won't even listen to it anymore."
"That's not true," I say, sounding a bit hurt. "There's some of it that's okay. I've got a tape of some local band here that I like."
"God," Sunny says, rolling her eyes. "It's probably Pink Floyd or something stupid."
So I press play, and the tape starts with a roaring crowd dubbed from Pink Floyd's Delicate Sound of Thunder. But then, you hear Steve's voice saying, "All right, we wanna thank you all for coming out! This next song goes out to a little filley in Garland by the name of Sunny Irby!"
My sister actually gasps as the crowd noise dies and is replaced by a lame auto polka rhythm from Steve's synthesizer. Steve starts off with a solo:
Sittin' on a barstool, just the other night.Steve and I then sing loudly and proudly on the chorus:
I saw her standing there, and her shirt and jeans were tight.
She walked up beside me, and I ordered her a beer.
And when she hugged me tight, I thought "It must be cold in here."
Hey big titty mama, won't you come and lick my neck?More crowd noise, and we fade out with Steve saying, "Thank you! You've been great!"
I know you're only 16, but my god, who gives a heck?
If you think I'd like to kiss your ass, well then you'd be correct.
So please big titty mama, won't you come and lick my neck.
When it's all said and done, my sister is less than impressed with the lengths to which we went. In fact, her sole assessment of our musical endeavor is "You guys are SO gay!"
But we don't care. We're well-pleased of our first and only foray into the realm of shitkicking tunes. We take gratification in the knowledge that our song, however hastily thrown together, is still better than anything Billy Ray Cyrus ever put out. In fact, we're so proud of this song that even today, if you get us drunk enough, we'll happily perform it for you. And then throw up on your shoes.
Yeehaw.
Friday, August 25, 2006
My Very Enormous Mother Just Sat Upon Nick...
When I was a kid, I remember going to my mom with questions about my schoolwork. I didn't often get a helpful answer. Instead, I would hear about how much things had changed since she was in school.
"When I was your age, we only had 48 states. And we didn't have that stupid periodical chart to memorize because the only elements were earth, air, fire, and water. And in biology, we had to learn about the bodily humors and how they balanced. And we didn't have calculus because we only had 4 numbers back then, and that's including zero. And there were only five presidents to... hey, come back here!"
Frankly, I had no sympathy for the woman. I figured, Hey! The times change, and you gotta change with 'em, or die. Of course, my mom was incapable of thinking that way because they didn't have evolution when she was a kid. God made Adam and Eve and Jesus created dinosaur bones to fuck with the scientists. But I digress...
My point is, I used to just roll my eyes when mom launched into one of her old-people speeches. But now, I have experienced the pain of what she was going through. Now, I find myself longing for the good old days, when what I learned in school was still valid. Back before the bastard astronomers downsized Pluto.
Nine planets. That's what I was taught. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto. And you know how you remembered them all? By remembering the sentence "My Very Enormous Mother Just Sat Upon Nick's Porcupine."
(In a sort of unrelated story, I struggled in my algrebra class to remember the hierarchy of operations, which is a fancy way of saying which order you did your math in. First was powers, then roots, then muliplication, then division, then addition, then finally subtraction. My friend Neal came up with the mnemonic device "Please Rape My Dear Aunt Sally." I tried like hell to come up with something more appropriate, but here it is 21 years later and all I can remember is "Please Rape My Dear Aunt Sally." Sometimes, the brain really sucks.)
So anyway, those astronomers recently took time out of their busy schedule of broadcasting messages to the aliens and building telescopes that don't work to downgrade Pluto from "planet" to "dwarf planet."
(Actually, I sort of like the idea of a "dwarf planet." I picture an entire race of tiny, orange men like the Oompa Loompas, dressed in parkas and eskimo hoods as they dance around and sing. They have to dress warmly. Pluto is very cold because it's well over a hundred miles from the sun.)
So now, there are eight planets, three dwarf planets, and tens of thousands of other space crap, like asteroids and comets cluttering up our solar system. So this means all the encyclopedias and textbooks are going to have to be updated, and they're going to have to rewrite the lyrics to that Schoolhouse Rock song Interplanet Janet. Plus, all those poor astrologers are going to have to update their charts and cross off Pluto! (Actually, this might explain why horoscopes have never been terribly accurate up to this point... this could be the discovery those poor bastards were waiting for!)
And we're going to need a new mnemomic device. I suggest "Mysterious Volcano Eruptions May Jeopardize Satan Until Noon." Or "Maury's Vasectomy Enraged My Jester's Sister's Uncle's Niece."
But I'm sure all I'll remember 20 years from now is "My Very Enormous Mother Just Sat Upon Nick."
"When I was your age, we only had 48 states. And we didn't have that stupid periodical chart to memorize because the only elements were earth, air, fire, and water. And in biology, we had to learn about the bodily humors and how they balanced. And we didn't have calculus because we only had 4 numbers back then, and that's including zero. And there were only five presidents to... hey, come back here!"
Frankly, I had no sympathy for the woman. I figured, Hey! The times change, and you gotta change with 'em, or die. Of course, my mom was incapable of thinking that way because they didn't have evolution when she was a kid. God made Adam and Eve and Jesus created dinosaur bones to fuck with the scientists. But I digress...
My point is, I used to just roll my eyes when mom launched into one of her old-people speeches. But now, I have experienced the pain of what she was going through. Now, I find myself longing for the good old days, when what I learned in school was still valid. Back before the bastard astronomers downsized Pluto.
Nine planets. That's what I was taught. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and Pluto. And you know how you remembered them all? By remembering the sentence "My Very Enormous Mother Just Sat Upon Nick's Porcupine."
(In a sort of unrelated story, I struggled in my algrebra class to remember the hierarchy of operations, which is a fancy way of saying which order you did your math in. First was powers, then roots, then muliplication, then division, then addition, then finally subtraction. My friend Neal came up with the mnemonic device "Please Rape My Dear Aunt Sally." I tried like hell to come up with something more appropriate, but here it is 21 years later and all I can remember is "Please Rape My Dear Aunt Sally." Sometimes, the brain really sucks.)
So anyway, those astronomers recently took time out of their busy schedule of broadcasting messages to the aliens and building telescopes that don't work to downgrade Pluto from "planet" to "dwarf planet."
(Actually, I sort of like the idea of a "dwarf planet." I picture an entire race of tiny, orange men like the Oompa Loompas, dressed in parkas and eskimo hoods as they dance around and sing. They have to dress warmly. Pluto is very cold because it's well over a hundred miles from the sun.)
Planet Ex: Pluto has been downgraded from "planet" to "dwarf planet."
So now, there are eight planets, three dwarf planets, and tens of thousands of other space crap, like asteroids and comets cluttering up our solar system. So this means all the encyclopedias and textbooks are going to have to be updated, and they're going to have to rewrite the lyrics to that Schoolhouse Rock song Interplanet Janet. Plus, all those poor astrologers are going to have to update their charts and cross off Pluto! (Actually, this might explain why horoscopes have never been terribly accurate up to this point... this could be the discovery those poor bastards were waiting for!)
And we're going to need a new mnemomic device. I suggest "Mysterious Volcano Eruptions May Jeopardize Satan Until Noon." Or "Maury's Vasectomy Enraged My Jester's Sister's Uncle's Niece."
But I'm sure all I'll remember 20 years from now is "My Very Enormous Mother Just Sat Upon Nick."
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
&$^@#!?*% Verizon!!!! (Redux)
Actually, I guess I'm *partially* to blame for this one. And so is Bank of America. But I've always got more than enough bile for Verizon.
I get my Verizon bill online. And somehow, last month's fell through the cracks. Don't know why. Just totally zoned on it. Didn't think to check e-bills until I sat down last week to pay my regular Luddite snail mail bills, and I saw I had an outstanding balance.
"Holy fresh spanked baby Jesus!" I thought. "Thank the merciful God in heaven that I caught this in time!" I elected to pay the full amount and submitted the bill.
And there it sat. If I'd paid attention, I would have seen that it had defaulted to 8/2 as a payment date. But I didn't notice.
And so, at midnight last night, Verizon cut off my phone service. I had no idea until my good buddy IX e-mailed me (and posted about it, thus exposing my shame to the threes or fours of people who still read this damn blog).
I was *so* full of righteous indignation. "Those bastards!" thought I. "This time I've got them! I distinctly remember paying them last week! All I have to do is go online and get my confirmation number!" When I'm angry, my thoughts turn quite expository.
So I went online, and there's my Verizon bill. Waiting to be processed. Just sitting there, mocking my childlike faith in God, with a pay-by date of 8/2 on it.
I picked up my phone, and there was a dialtone. I've never had my phone service interrupted before, so I wasn't sure how it worked. The first thing I did was try to call Stephanie, because her soothing, dulcet tones are just the thing to quell the white-hot anger that roars within me.
I was treated to a recorded message telling me that my phone service had been temporarily interrupted, but I could reach Verizon by dialing 0. I went through the whole recorded speech-activated rigmarole...
Souless Verizon Automaton:
Would you like to pay your bill, report a problem, or exit?
Me:
Pay my bill.
Souless Verizon Automaton:
I'm sorry. I didn't understand you. Please say "Pay bill", "Report problem", or "Exit".
Me:
Pay bill!
Souless Verizon Automaton:
I'm sorry. I didn't understand you. Please say "Pay bill", "Report problem", or "Exit".
Me:
PAY! BILL!
Souless Verizon Automaton:
You have elected to pay your bill. Is this correct?
Me:
Yes.
Souless Verizon Automaton:
I'm sorry. I didn't understand you. Please say "Yes" or "No".
Me:
YES, GODDAMMIT! YES!!!
Souless Verizon Automaton:
Foolish meatsack. When the robot revolution comes, you will die screaming.
Me:
What?
Souless Verizon Automaton:
Please hold while I transfer you to PhonePay.
So anyway, agonizingly long and pointless story short, I paid the bill, canceled the e-bill, and now my phone works. Or at least I can dial out. I'm not sure if anybody can call me or not, and given my past track record with Verizon, there's a pretty good chance they assigned my phone number to some Hispanic lady over the past few hours.
But at least I'm back on the grid.
I get my Verizon bill online. And somehow, last month's fell through the cracks. Don't know why. Just totally zoned on it. Didn't think to check e-bills until I sat down last week to pay my regular Luddite snail mail bills, and I saw I had an outstanding balance.
"Holy fresh spanked baby Jesus!" I thought. "Thank the merciful God in heaven that I caught this in time!" I elected to pay the full amount and submitted the bill.
And there it sat. If I'd paid attention, I would have seen that it had defaulted to 8/2 as a payment date. But I didn't notice.
And so, at midnight last night, Verizon cut off my phone service. I had no idea until my good buddy IX e-mailed me (and posted about it, thus exposing my shame to the threes or fours of people who still read this damn blog).
I was *so* full of righteous indignation. "Those bastards!" thought I. "This time I've got them! I distinctly remember paying them last week! All I have to do is go online and get my confirmation number!" When I'm angry, my thoughts turn quite expository.
So I went online, and there's my Verizon bill. Waiting to be processed. Just sitting there, mocking my childlike faith in God, with a pay-by date of 8/2 on it.
I picked up my phone, and there was a dialtone. I've never had my phone service interrupted before, so I wasn't sure how it worked. The first thing I did was try to call Stephanie, because her soothing, dulcet tones are just the thing to quell the white-hot anger that roars within me.
I was treated to a recorded message telling me that my phone service had been temporarily interrupted, but I could reach Verizon by dialing 0. I went through the whole recorded speech-activated rigmarole...
Souless Verizon Automaton:
Would you like to pay your bill, report a problem, or exit?
Me:
Pay my bill.
Souless Verizon Automaton:
I'm sorry. I didn't understand you. Please say "Pay bill", "Report problem", or "Exit".
Me:
Pay bill!
Souless Verizon Automaton:
I'm sorry. I didn't understand you. Please say "Pay bill", "Report problem", or "Exit".
Me:
PAY! BILL!
Souless Verizon Automaton:
You have elected to pay your bill. Is this correct?
Me:
Yes.
Souless Verizon Automaton:
I'm sorry. I didn't understand you. Please say "Yes" or "No".
Me:
YES, GODDAMMIT! YES!!!
Souless Verizon Automaton:
Foolish meatsack. When the robot revolution comes, you will die screaming.
Me:
What?
Souless Verizon Automaton:
Please hold while I transfer you to PhonePay.
So anyway, agonizingly long and pointless story short, I paid the bill, canceled the e-bill, and now my phone works. Or at least I can dial out. I'm not sure if anybody can call me or not, and given my past track record with Verizon, there's a pretty good chance they assigned my phone number to some Hispanic lady over the past few hours.
But at least I'm back on the grid.
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