PETA Plans for Protest of Python
I couldn’t believe it when I read this. Take a look at this news release from PETA -
http://www.peta.org/actioncenter/ActionAlerts-item/monty_python_SPAMALOT.
Basically, here are the good parts:
Columbus, OH- In recognition of World Week for Feathered Friends, PETA members, joined by replica parrot hand puppets and waving signs that say, “Python: Stop Killing Parrots!” will protest the showing of Monty Python’s SPAMALOT at the Ohio Theatre in an effort to persuade people to cease laughing at Monty Python videos, movies and live theatre acts until the company stops abusing the likenesses of animals. This protest is part of PETA’s international campaign against the England-based comedy troupe and their continued use of parrots, cows and cats in their sketch comedy.
Date: Friday, November 23, 2007
Time: 7:30pm
Place: Ohio Theatre, 39 E. State St. Columbus, OH 43215
Alice Stales with the Columbus branch of PETA said, “By using Python in their name, we knew it was a tip off that this group would abuse animals.” She added, “When I saw that cow go flying over the castle wall, I just cried.”
Several PETA members are taking time off from their Black Thursday or “Thanksgiving” demonstrations to prepare for the protest. Mark Jakes of Nelsonville admitted to being a Monty Python fan for years until his girlfriend got him involved with PETA, “There was that one skit where they sell raw, dead albatross. It’s not that funny if you were the albatross or albatross flavored. The crunchy frog skit was funny but not when I found out why they were crunchy.”
Alice Stales also admitted to harboring ambivalent feelings towards pythons in general, being that they're animals, but ones who kill and eat other, cuter, animals. “We’re teaching snakes to eat soy shaped rabbits.”
http://www.peta.org/actioncenter/ActionAlerts-item/monty_python_SPAMALOT.
Basically, here are the good parts:
Columbus, OH- In recognition of World Week for Feathered Friends, PETA members, joined by replica parrot hand puppets and waving signs that say, “Python: Stop Killing Parrots!” will protest the showing of Monty Python’s SPAMALOT at the Ohio Theatre in an effort to persuade people to cease laughing at Monty Python videos, movies and live theatre acts until the company stops abusing the likenesses of animals. This protest is part of PETA’s international campaign against the England-based comedy troupe and their continued use of parrots, cows and cats in their sketch comedy.
Date: Friday, November 23, 2007
Time: 7:30pm
Place: Ohio Theatre, 39 E. State St. Columbus, OH 43215
Alice Stales with the Columbus branch of PETA said, “By using Python in their name, we knew it was a tip off that this group would abuse animals.” She added, “When I saw that cow go flying over the castle wall, I just cried.”
Several PETA members are taking time off from their Black Thursday or “Thanksgiving” demonstrations to prepare for the protest. Mark Jakes of Nelsonville admitted to being a Monty Python fan for years until his girlfriend got him involved with PETA, “There was that one skit where they sell raw, dead albatross. It’s not that funny if you were the albatross or albatross flavored. The crunchy frog skit was funny but not when I found out why they were crunchy.”
Alice Stales also admitted to harboring ambivalent feelings towards pythons in general, being that they're animals, but ones who kill and eat other, cuter, animals. “We’re teaching snakes to eat soy shaped rabbits.”
Overcome by Emotion
Erik and Dave could not help themselves yesterday during the Ohio State win over Michigan. When the game was in the bag, they took the opportunity to let their overflow of emotions come to the surface in a physical show of their mutual love of football and each other.
Fix your virginity
If you lose your virginity and want to get it fixed, would you go to a cherry cobbler?
One Button Elevator?
Here is my doctor’s office elevator panel inside the elevator.
And here is my question: why should a building with only two floors have an elevator with two buttons? All you would need is one button that says, “Other Floor.”
I think I know why, but I’ll let you guess first.
And here is my question: why should a building with only two floors have an elevator with two buttons? All you would need is one button that says, “Other Floor.”
I think I know why, but I’ll let you guess first.
What happens after you eat a whole box of Boo Berry?
The kid flew around the house for about twenty minutes. The wife said his arms would give out, but they never did. We finally got a broom and trapped him in a corner. He pooped blue for three days.
Spot the Difference - Pirates
Can you see the three differences between the two photos?
1. sword missing
2. bead not dangling in face
3. hair out of place
1. sword missing
2. bead not dangling in face
3. hair out of place
Angry Sheep
This sheep scares me. He lives at the Columbus Zoo and when we visit, I always take his photo so that I can show other people why he scares me. I'm not sure if his teeth are sticking out or if he's just got an evil grin. He's definitely pissed at something and I think it's me.
Fox News Suffers Due to Writers Strike
The writers’ strike in Hollywood has programs like “The Tonight Show” and “The Office” stuck in rerun limbo. The strike has also affected Fox News’ ability to get their word out. 
David Jeffers, Fox News Producer lamented, “Without the writers, it’s pretty hard to create a day to day, positive spin on the war and Bush administration. We hate the striking bastards, but we need their creative flair.”
The writers’ strike, now well in to its first week, has caused Fox to re-run old news and focus on the weather. “We could really use a hurricane about now.” After a moment he changed his mind, “Well, actually it took about forty-two writers to get us though the last hurricane debacle… how about an earthquake?”
A Production Assistant, who chose to remain nameless, claimed that he had to write a recent story about the surge progress. “I kinda just used some action words and dropped in a few ‘terrorisms’… it actually wasn’t that tough.” The Production Assistant is credited for the claim that Al Qaeda was completely out of Baghdad. “Yeah, I made that up, too. But it seems to have stuck.”
Fox seems to have struck gold with OJ Simpson back in court. Their twelve hours of coverage actually doubled the amount of time OJ was actually in court. Jeffers added, “We are working on a brief to have the case moved to Reno so that we can stretch out the proceedings.”
“The hardest part of the week was not being able to make the overturning of Bush’s veto into a liberal slam fest. I’m sure those clever asshole writers would have thought of something.”
When asked about Bush’s trip to see the wounded veterans, Jeffers sighed and admitted, “We paid Limbaugh for some of his writers’ material. Most of his stuff comes in from Canada and Puerto Rico.”
Jeffers had one positive note. “Luckily we’ve got Hillary and Ron Paul campaigning out there. Some of the stuff they say… you just can't make that shit up.”
David Jeffers, Fox News Producer lamented, “Without the writers, it’s pretty hard to create a day to day, positive spin on the war and Bush administration. We hate the striking bastards, but we need their creative flair.”The writers’ strike, now well in to its first week, has caused Fox to re-run old news and focus on the weather. “We could really use a hurricane about now.” After a moment he changed his mind, “Well, actually it took about forty-two writers to get us though the last hurricane debacle… how about an earthquake?”
A Production Assistant, who chose to remain nameless, claimed that he had to write a recent story about the surge progress. “I kinda just used some action words and dropped in a few ‘terrorisms’… it actually wasn’t that tough.” The Production Assistant is credited for the claim that Al Qaeda was completely out of Baghdad. “Yeah, I made that up, too. But it seems to have stuck.”
Fox seems to have struck gold with OJ Simpson back in court. Their twelve hours of coverage actually doubled the amount of time OJ was actually in court. Jeffers added, “We are working on a brief to have the case moved to Reno so that we can stretch out the proceedings.”
“The hardest part of the week was not being able to make the overturning of Bush’s veto into a liberal slam fest. I’m sure those clever asshole writers would have thought of something.”
When asked about Bush’s trip to see the wounded veterans, Jeffers sighed and admitted, “We paid Limbaugh for some of his writers’ material. Most of his stuff comes in from Canada and Puerto Rico.”
Jeffers had one positive note. “Luckily we’ve got Hillary and Ron Paul campaigning out there. Some of the stuff they say… you just can't make that shit up.”
The Official List of Nudie Bar Rules
1. NO BODY GLITTER! LET THIS BE THE FIRST LAW.
2. All stripper perfume is allowed to initially smell like cotton candy or vanilla, but within five minutes of leaving the establishment, must transform to smell like church incense or library books.
3. Every private dance song will either be Alice’s Restaurant or In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.
4. Any garment that is not see through must be removed before the second song.
5. No dancing into the second trimester.
6. All stripper names must be named after cars. This will enable men to speak freely about their experiences and not get a beat down from the women folk.
7. No lactating. I mean it.
8. Before you leave the nudie bar, attendants will change back your ones for larger bills that are crisp with no folds or creases.
9. The following types of tattoos must be covered in lap dance proof makeup:
-other guys’ names
-Simpsons characters
-spiders
-kids’ names
-any reference to Daddy
-“exit only”
10. No cesarean section scars over two feet long.
11. No piercings with sharp edges.
12. No biting. I know you might think that we think it is hot (it is), but it requires us have our buddies create larger, cover-up bruises and then excuses for the bruises.
13. All nipples should face forward between 15 degrees up and 35 degrees down. Any nipples facing more than 35 degrees down will be immediately fined $10 for every degree.
14. Any dance garment that is wider than 3” is completely illegal.
2. All stripper perfume is allowed to initially smell like cotton candy or vanilla, but within five minutes of leaving the establishment, must transform to smell like church incense or library books.
3. Every private dance song will either be Alice’s Restaurant or In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.
4. Any garment that is not see through must be removed before the second song.
5. No dancing into the second trimester.
6. All stripper names must be named after cars. This will enable men to speak freely about their experiences and not get a beat down from the women folk.
7. No lactating. I mean it.
8. Before you leave the nudie bar, attendants will change back your ones for larger bills that are crisp with no folds or creases.
9. The following types of tattoos must be covered in lap dance proof makeup:
-other guys’ names
-Simpsons characters
-spiders
-kids’ names
-any reference to Daddy
-“exit only”
10. No cesarean section scars over two feet long.
11. No piercings with sharp edges.
12. No biting. I know you might think that we think it is hot (it is), but it requires us have our buddies create larger, cover-up bruises and then excuses for the bruises.
13. All nipples should face forward between 15 degrees up and 35 degrees down. Any nipples facing more than 35 degrees down will be immediately fined $10 for every degree.
14. Any dance garment that is wider than 3” is completely illegal.
Can you believe this product?
Miss Shelly saw this in a magazine, thought of me and cut it out. Thanks…
A drop of this miracle liquid in the toilet bowl is reported supposed to cover up 98% of bathroom stank.
First off, I have never tried the product and won’t, so I cannot give you an honest opinion (the shit might just work.) If you want a review, Chris Rockwell over at www.poopreport.com did an in depth study of the product. He has a theory about floating poop.
Second, how do you come up with a percentage of bathroom stink and then rate it on a scale? Here’s what I think… what they did was load up the fattest guy in the manufacturing plant with cabbage and white castles, had him drink draught beer for a day, killed him in the bathroom, let him sit for a week and then let his bowels loose with a whaling harpoon. Three independent judges in the bathroom would consider that smell 100% stink and judged other stanks based on the memory of that smell.
Third, even though it comes with a concealing carrying case, if you got caught with this product, it would be 1000x worse than having people call you out on your stinky poop. It’s like getting caught with Masturbation Wipes.
A few years ago, we had some clients in from California for a meeting in our one bathroomed, studio. One of the guys was not doing so well and hot sweat poured off his brow as his guts gurgled and churned. He called for a break and staggered off to the bathroom. The bathroom door only acted as an amplifier and the studio shook and reverberated as his bowels unclenched. The reek was horrific and every non-essential team member left for lunch at 10:00am. Holly did her best to cover the smell by lighting a coffee scented candle that had sat on her desk for the past two years. It had a layer of dust on it three inches deep that was stuffed in the protective plastic coating. She lit it anyways. The perfect storm of shit smell, burning dust, melting plastic and fake coffee came together and drifted up to the front of the office. Somehow the mingled, gas chamber combination made it to the meeting room and it smelled like burning wood. Actually, a pleasant smell. In some circles, it is still considered a miracle.
So unless this product can combine the essence of dust carbon, melting plastic and faux coffee… I ain’t buying it.
A drop of this miracle liquid in the toilet bowl is reported supposed to cover up 98% of bathroom stank.
First off, I have never tried the product and won’t, so I cannot give you an honest opinion (the shit might just work.) If you want a review, Chris Rockwell over at www.poopreport.com did an in depth study of the product. He has a theory about floating poop.
Second, how do you come up with a percentage of bathroom stink and then rate it on a scale? Here’s what I think… what they did was load up the fattest guy in the manufacturing plant with cabbage and white castles, had him drink draught beer for a day, killed him in the bathroom, let him sit for a week and then let his bowels loose with a whaling harpoon. Three independent judges in the bathroom would consider that smell 100% stink and judged other stanks based on the memory of that smell.
Third, even though it comes with a concealing carrying case, if you got caught with this product, it would be 1000x worse than having people call you out on your stinky poop. It’s like getting caught with Masturbation Wipes.
A few years ago, we had some clients in from California for a meeting in our one bathroomed, studio. One of the guys was not doing so well and hot sweat poured off his brow as his guts gurgled and churned. He called for a break and staggered off to the bathroom. The bathroom door only acted as an amplifier and the studio shook and reverberated as his bowels unclenched. The reek was horrific and every non-essential team member left for lunch at 10:00am. Holly did her best to cover the smell by lighting a coffee scented candle that had sat on her desk for the past two years. It had a layer of dust on it three inches deep that was stuffed in the protective plastic coating. She lit it anyways. The perfect storm of shit smell, burning dust, melting plastic and fake coffee came together and drifted up to the front of the office. Somehow the mingled, gas chamber combination made it to the meeting room and it smelled like burning wood. Actually, a pleasant smell. In some circles, it is still considered a miracle.
So unless this product can combine the essence of dust carbon, melting plastic and faux coffee… I ain’t buying it.
Goodnight Nobody…… I hope
I am in round two of reading books like “Goodnight Moon” by Margaret Wise Brown and Clement Hurd to my second kid. Way back in round one, I mentioned how a painting in “Goodnight Moon” that showed one rabbit fishing for another rabbit creeped me out.
Later I found out that painting is from another book by Brown/Hurd. Creepy, yes, but I get it now.
I was fine until recently when I came to this page:
It is exactly what you see. A blank page with “Goodnight nobody” at the bottom. On the next page he says “Goodnight mush” and they show a picture of mush in a bowl. I never thought anything about it until I really started to look at the page for anything. A dot or a shadow or a hint of a wall. There’s NOBODY there. And that is really starting to freak me out because he doesn’t say “Goodnight nothing,” he says “nobody” which means no person. Which means that he might have thought someone was there or there was someone there a minute ago and now they are gone. Who were they? Is the old woman whispering hush killed by “nobody” three pages later?
I could tear out that page, but it would really mess up the meter. I think the answer is for me to photoshop the earlier mentioned painting onto that page so that I can kill two birds with one stone: get rid of “nobody” and explain what that photo means.
Fixed!
Later I found out that painting is from another book by Brown/Hurd. Creepy, yes, but I get it now.
I was fine until recently when I came to this page:
It is exactly what you see. A blank page with “Goodnight nobody” at the bottom. On the next page he says “Goodnight mush” and they show a picture of mush in a bowl. I never thought anything about it until I really started to look at the page for anything. A dot or a shadow or a hint of a wall. There’s NOBODY there. And that is really starting to freak me out because he doesn’t say “Goodnight nothing,” he says “nobody” which means no person. Which means that he might have thought someone was there or there was someone there a minute ago and now they are gone. Who were they? Is the old woman whispering hush killed by “nobody” three pages later?
I could tear out that page, but it would really mess up the meter. I think the answer is for me to photoshop the earlier mentioned painting onto that page so that I can kill two birds with one stone: get rid of “nobody” and explain what that photo means.
Fixed!
Cancer Awareness Idiot
I saw this woman throw her cigarette out her window and then noticed her personalized Breast Cancer Awareness license plate.
Idiot.
Perhaps I am just an asshole, but it seems as if you support such a cause, you wouldn't engage in similar ,and very obvious, self-destructive activities.
And quit littering. I sometimes wonder if it is illegal to give someone back their cigarette butt by throwing it back in their car.
The Display of Chokables
This is one of eight or nine "high-up" places in the house where we put the small items that Ann might choke on. 99% of these items are off of Greg's toys. In about two or three days we'll either re-attach or trash. Re-attach is code for looking at an item for a few seconds and then putting it in the trash.
Though that Star Wars blaster might make the cut. That missile too. I always hated when those came up missing.
Fundamentalist Swimwear
Stephanie sent me an e-mail with a link to www.wholesomewear.com. What a treat! Who knew that there was such a resource for my Fundamentalist swim needs!
Culotte Swimmer
Here’s the Culotte Swimmer on what looks to be that girl from “Full House.” It’s for the more active swimmer. Culotte roughly translates to "virgin until thirty-five."
Skirted Swimmer
The Skirted Swimmer looks to be a bit racier. Probably for the Louisiana Fundamentalists. You can make your own "Blossom" comments on this one. (I also like the girl running the dynamite wire from the abortion clinic on the WWJD pink spool.)
Extended Slimming Swimmer
Finally, the Extended Slimming Swimmer for hiding those naughty, naughty calves. Or for covering up the “dinner was late” bruises.
And we laugh at the Burka…
Which reminds me of… the Burkini!
Culotte Swimmer
Here’s the Culotte Swimmer on what looks to be that girl from “Full House.” It’s for the more active swimmer. Culotte roughly translates to "virgin until thirty-five."
Skirted Swimmer
The Skirted Swimmer looks to be a bit racier. Probably for the Louisiana Fundamentalists. You can make your own "Blossom" comments on this one. (I also like the girl running the dynamite wire from the abortion clinic on the WWJD pink spool.)
Extended Slimming Swimmer
Finally, the Extended Slimming Swimmer for hiding those naughty, naughty calves. Or for covering up the “dinner was late” bruises.
And we laugh at the Burka…
Which reminds me of… the Burkini!
Jesus cartoon phase
I am sorry for my recent Jesus cartoon phase. I can't seem to get the big guy out of my head.
Give me a few days to get out of this rut and I'll try to get back up to speed.
Thank you.
Love,
HolyJuan
Give me a few days to get out of this rut and I'll try to get back up to speed.
Thank you.
Love,
HolyJuan
The Snowball Fight
Here is an entry for Handsome Joe, though you all have my permission to take a peek.
Joe, remember this night? See below for a translation.
2/25 - 2/26/93
Tonight was snowball heaven. Joe hit the dude that crossed over to the South Side and I hit the guy with the hat and knocked it off. We saw 2 or 3 guys arrested. We hit cops and went sledding down Music Building Hill. Who is the girl with the braces? We had a good time. Where's your bra. (I think it was about Lil' Deb.)
I'll re-tell this story tomorrow once I collaborate with Handsome Joe.
Joe, remember this night? See below for a translation.
2/25 - 2/26/93
Tonight was snowball heaven. Joe hit the dude that crossed over to the South Side and I hit the guy with the hat and knocked it off. We saw 2 or 3 guys arrested. We hit cops and went sledding down Music Building Hill. Who is the girl with the braces? We had a good time. Where's your bra. (I think it was about Lil' Deb.)
I'll re-tell this story tomorrow once I collaborate with Handsome Joe.
Skinny Dipping on Both Coasts
I used to love to go skinny dipping. Usually with a drink in to get the inhabitation out. Usually with some girl I was after and sadly some other guys who were after the same girl. And usually in a dank pond or Lake Erie or both. In 1994, during the Perseid meteor shower, I dipped in the Atlantic Ocean just outside of Boston. No story there. I was in and out just to say that I had been in both the left and the right oceans. It was in 1992 while working in Alaska that I went skinny dipping in the Pacific Ocean and lived this story.
Taylor was a big guy. He was genetically large and worked out on top of that. I only saw him get red once and that was resolved quickly when the cause of the red left the bar at a faster than medium pace. Taylor worked with me in a salmon canning factory in Ketichikan, Alaska. Taylor’s job at the fish cannery was to pull the full carts of freshly steamed canned salmon out of the retort ovens. He’d push around a whole series of loaded carts like they were empty. Dude was big.
We were drinking on the barge one night after work. We drank on the barge every night and this was just another one of those nights. Taylor took a lot of vitamins and supplements and he was sharing his niacin with me. I took a few and washed them down with some beer. He said, “You might start to feel hot.” In about ten minutes I thought my skin was going to peel off. He laughed and said that was normal. I haven’t taken any niacin since. Later in the night when we were all a bit more drunk than normal, Taylor suggested we take a drive to the beach. Three of us said yes, which would make a total of four except that on the way out we grabbed one more. I forget her name, but she was the second best looking girl at the cannery and I drunkenly thought I had a chance. (Sue was the best looking girl. She won’t be mentioned again.)
Taylor had a late 70’s Suburban. He had driven in up the Al-Can from California. I’m pretty sure 25% of the Suburban is still on the Al-Can in bits and pieces. We all got in and drove about five miles to the beach. We had to wind down the South Tongass Highway to the end of the island. In route we mistakenly turned into an empty lot beside the road that Taylor thought was the gravel road to the beach. In that dirt lot was an abandoned car with doors. He spun back out, drove on and got to the end of the road which happened to be the beach.
The beach was actually sandy. I was expecting jagged edges and boulders. We drank beer and ran through the waves. With my shoes off, I could drag my bare feet thorough the sand and scare up the microbes that glow in the dark. Though I didn’t know the word at the time, it was a bit surreal. Which of course is the best time to go skinny dipping. I tried to talk 2nd best looking girl into stripping down, but she said no more than once. So I stripped down and ran in the waves thinking that others would follow. About fifteen feet into the water, the absolute cold snuck its way past the beer and leftover niacin and tickled the little bit of sense I had left. Squealing like a little girl or a twenty one year old boy with shriveled testicles, I splashed to the shore. In my earlier haste to strip down, my clothes ended up getting wet. At this point I realized that I was very, very cold from the water and the warm beer feeling from earlier was very, very replaced by the knowledge that it was only about sixty degrees out. I put on my wet clothes and ran to the Suburban.
More realizations were handed out when we started driving back and Taylor said the heater in the Suburban didn’t work. I forgot about 2nd best looking and curled up just trying to keep warm. Maybe I should have thought about niacin, but I didn’t have the opportunity with Taylor slamming his Suburban into the abandoned car. On the way back to the cannery, Taylor remembered the abandoned car in the huge dirt lot and decided to crash into it. He did several times and then things got fun. One of the guys jumped out and opened the driver’s side door. Taylor drove into it from behind at about 20 mph. It snapped off more than a lot. I got out of the back seat to watch the passenger side door get bent impossibly backwards, but not broken off. We three tried to push it into a slammable position, but it wouldn’t budge. Taylor nudged the mighty Suburban right on the door edge and tried a bit of horsepower on it. That didn’t do anything but shove the car, stiff wheels protesting, backwards. That gave Taylor a great idea. He positioned his truck front bumper to the front bumper of the abandoned car and pushed it backwards, faster and faster. At a point, all the wheels stopped resisting and started to roll. Taylor slammed on his breaks and the car flew solo across the road and slammed, with a satisfying, glass breaking crunch into some trees. I had forgotten I was cold.
This story ends with me remembering I was cold. Taylor had fucked up his transmission in all the pushing and destruction. He spent twenty minutes between the driver and passenger seat, drunkly fixing the problem as I regained my shivers. He drove in first gear all the way home. Standing in the barge showers, fully clothed, I thought to myself that at some point in my life I should go skinny dipping in the Atlantic Ocean. Hopefully during warmer weather. Possibly during a meteor shower.
Taylor was a big guy. He was genetically large and worked out on top of that. I only saw him get red once and that was resolved quickly when the cause of the red left the bar at a faster than medium pace. Taylor worked with me in a salmon canning factory in Ketichikan, Alaska. Taylor’s job at the fish cannery was to pull the full carts of freshly steamed canned salmon out of the retort ovens. He’d push around a whole series of loaded carts like they were empty. Dude was big.
We were drinking on the barge one night after work. We drank on the barge every night and this was just another one of those nights. Taylor took a lot of vitamins and supplements and he was sharing his niacin with me. I took a few and washed them down with some beer. He said, “You might start to feel hot.” In about ten minutes I thought my skin was going to peel off. He laughed and said that was normal. I haven’t taken any niacin since. Later in the night when we were all a bit more drunk than normal, Taylor suggested we take a drive to the beach. Three of us said yes, which would make a total of four except that on the way out we grabbed one more. I forget her name, but she was the second best looking girl at the cannery and I drunkenly thought I had a chance. (Sue was the best looking girl. She won’t be mentioned again.)
Taylor had a late 70’s Suburban. He had driven in up the Al-Can from California. I’m pretty sure 25% of the Suburban is still on the Al-Can in bits and pieces. We all got in and drove about five miles to the beach. We had to wind down the South Tongass Highway to the end of the island. In route we mistakenly turned into an empty lot beside the road that Taylor thought was the gravel road to the beach. In that dirt lot was an abandoned car with doors. He spun back out, drove on and got to the end of the road which happened to be the beach.
The beach was actually sandy. I was expecting jagged edges and boulders. We drank beer and ran through the waves. With my shoes off, I could drag my bare feet thorough the sand and scare up the microbes that glow in the dark. Though I didn’t know the word at the time, it was a bit surreal. Which of course is the best time to go skinny dipping. I tried to talk 2nd best looking girl into stripping down, but she said no more than once. So I stripped down and ran in the waves thinking that others would follow. About fifteen feet into the water, the absolute cold snuck its way past the beer and leftover niacin and tickled the little bit of sense I had left. Squealing like a little girl or a twenty one year old boy with shriveled testicles, I splashed to the shore. In my earlier haste to strip down, my clothes ended up getting wet. At this point I realized that I was very, very cold from the water and the warm beer feeling from earlier was very, very replaced by the knowledge that it was only about sixty degrees out. I put on my wet clothes and ran to the Suburban.
More realizations were handed out when we started driving back and Taylor said the heater in the Suburban didn’t work. I forgot about 2nd best looking and curled up just trying to keep warm. Maybe I should have thought about niacin, but I didn’t have the opportunity with Taylor slamming his Suburban into the abandoned car. On the way back to the cannery, Taylor remembered the abandoned car in the huge dirt lot and decided to crash into it. He did several times and then things got fun. One of the guys jumped out and opened the driver’s side door. Taylor drove into it from behind at about 20 mph. It snapped off more than a lot. I got out of the back seat to watch the passenger side door get bent impossibly backwards, but not broken off. We three tried to push it into a slammable position, but it wouldn’t budge. Taylor nudged the mighty Suburban right on the door edge and tried a bit of horsepower on it. That didn’t do anything but shove the car, stiff wheels protesting, backwards. That gave Taylor a great idea. He positioned his truck front bumper to the front bumper of the abandoned car and pushed it backwards, faster and faster. At a point, all the wheels stopped resisting and started to roll. Taylor slammed on his breaks and the car flew solo across the road and slammed, with a satisfying, glass breaking crunch into some trees. I had forgotten I was cold.
This story ends with me remembering I was cold. Taylor had fucked up his transmission in all the pushing and destruction. He spent twenty minutes between the driver and passenger seat, drunkly fixing the problem as I regained my shivers. He drove in first gear all the way home. Standing in the barge showers, fully clothed, I thought to myself that at some point in my life I should go skinny dipping in the Atlantic Ocean. Hopefully during warmer weather. Possibly during a meteor shower.
Bolt meets windshield
Check out this photo from www.piaze.com.
Ouch. That made me want to look for other windshield debris:
Bike
www.flickr.com/photos/jaye_elle/
Trampoline
www.flickr.com/photos/noahpippen/1285484513/
Deer Face (it lived)
www.flickr.com/photos/fellowsfog/322109137/
Ouch. That made me want to look for other windshield debris:
Bike
www.flickr.com/photos/jaye_elle/
Trampoline
www.flickr.com/photos/noahpippen/1285484513/
Deer Face (it lived)
www.flickr.com/photos/fellowsfog/322109137/
How much money do you have?
Greg brought me a Star Wars product catalog and started pointing out all the things he wanted. It would have been quicker for him to show me the things he did not want.
I said, “How much money do you have?”
He said, “More than a lot.”
I am going to use that phrase as much as possible.
I said, “How much money do you have?”
He said, “More than a lot.”
I am going to use that phrase as much as possible.
Train Wreck
We went out for Dave's Birthday last night. I did not plan my eating/drinking correctly and ended up bailing at the last minute instead of going into Skully's.
I stood across the street from Skully's and thought to myself, If I go in there, I'll be up until 3:00am and completely destroyed. So I turned around and got back in my car and went home.
DNA Bench with H2O
Here is a great example of when artistic design gets a slap in the face from real life interaction.
Or another way of saying it would be when an artist gets slapped with a lawsuit.
I also hate it when a perfectly good climbing surface is called art and rendered unclimbable.
What kind of company logo/mascot is this?
We saw this logo on the side of a company van today:
(image from http://www.sewer-rat.org/)
What the fuck is that! That rat has one hell of a robotic, claw appendage extending from its groin or it's humping a drain snake. Add the Jesus Fish on his sleeve and the Ohio State hat and you've got yourself one hell of a mascot.
They are a plumbing company in Columbus Ohio called Swamp Rat. Next time I have a meat plug in the toilet during a Buckeyes game and I need some religion, I'm going to give them a call.
(image from http://www.sewer-rat.org/)
What the fuck is that! That rat has one hell of a robotic, claw appendage extending from its groin or it's humping a drain snake. Add the Jesus Fish on his sleeve and the Ohio State hat and you've got yourself one hell of a mascot.
They are a plumbing company in Columbus Ohio called Swamp Rat. Next time I have a meat plug in the toilet during a Buckeyes game and I need some religion, I'm going to give them a call.
Verizon gets your consent by not getting your consent.
Verizon’s definition of “getting your consent” is not getting your consent and unless you un-give them the original assumption of consent, you have, in their eyes, given your full consent.
It’s garbage day and that means that I can go through the mailbox and have the garbage cans right there to throw away all the crap mail. As I was disposing of the chaff, I saw an envelope from Verizon that stank of sales offers. The only thing that kept if from the trash was the black lettering on the outside that mentioned “changes to your account.”
Inside the envelope was a brochure with the first section titled, “You privacy is important to us.” (See scan below. Click to enlarge.) In the brochure, it clearly states that, “The Federal Communications Commission requires that (Verizon) obtains your consent to (share Customer Proprietary Network Information.)" The Customer Proprietary Network Information (CPNI) is information “such as, quality, technical configuration, type, destination, location, and amount of the use of the telecommunications services you purchase.” It also says that CPNI isn’t my name, address to telephone number, but I don’t give a shit…
I’m pissed that their definition of “giving consent” is doing nothing. To not give consent, I have to call a number and “opt out” of my consent that I never gave. One of my favorite sayings is, "Silence means consent," but this seems out of line. The FCC requires they get my consent and damnit they should have to get it from me.
I just called and the automated system was painless to un-consent.
Maybe I have not been reading my Customer Agreements and perhaps this is commonplace, but it just stinks. If you are a Verizon customer and want to “opt out” of your assumption of consent, do so at 800-333-9956.
If any of you know why this is something I should be un-opting out of, please help me by explaining why.
It’s garbage day and that means that I can go through the mailbox and have the garbage cans right there to throw away all the crap mail. As I was disposing of the chaff, I saw an envelope from Verizon that stank of sales offers. The only thing that kept if from the trash was the black lettering on the outside that mentioned “changes to your account.”
Inside the envelope was a brochure with the first section titled, “You privacy is important to us.” (See scan below. Click to enlarge.) In the brochure, it clearly states that, “The Federal Communications Commission requires that (Verizon) obtains your consent to (share Customer Proprietary Network Information.)" The Customer Proprietary Network Information (CPNI) is information “such as, quality, technical configuration, type, destination, location, and amount of the use of the telecommunications services you purchase.” It also says that CPNI isn’t my name, address to telephone number, but I don’t give a shit…
I’m pissed that their definition of “giving consent” is doing nothing. To not give consent, I have to call a number and “opt out” of my consent that I never gave. One of my favorite sayings is, "Silence means consent," but this seems out of line. The FCC requires they get my consent and damnit they should have to get it from me.
I just called and the automated system was painless to un-consent.
Maybe I have not been reading my Customer Agreements and perhaps this is commonplace, but it just stinks. If you are a Verizon customer and want to “opt out” of your assumption of consent, do so at 800-333-9956.
If any of you know why this is something I should be un-opting out of, please help me by explaining why.
Work Conversation by Two-Sack
Team member X: "Your computer is disgusting, and your keyboard is crusty."
Two-Sack: "You got something against DNA, a-hole?"
Team member Y: "And your touch pad is the worst."
Two-Sack: "That's my landing zone."
Two-Sack: "You got something against DNA, a-hole?"
Team member Y: "And your touch pad is the worst."
Two-Sack: "That's my landing zone."
Hanging out at the water cooler
This photo is so wrong on so many levels. That is a plastic thumb hanging out of my shirt. I'm not sure what those stains are. That look on my face is awful.
Put them together and they make one hell of a photo.
Gay Man’s Book Day
I don’t think it comes as a surprise to any of you that I am gay. Super gay. Here’s how gay:
Miss Sally goes out about once a week with her friends. Once she leaves the house and the kids are in bed, John will come over and we watch a movie and eat pop corn. We call it “Gay Man’s Movie Night.” We like to discuss the movie and laugh (Borat} or be sad {The Life Aquatic} or wonder what all the hype was about {Knocked Up.}
A few weeks ago, John and I were at a bar after an Ohio State football game. There were a lot of hot girls there. Hot, drunk girls. John and I stood around on the edge of the dance floor and debated a number of logic points in Stephen Donaldson’s most recent book. A girl sauntered off the dance floor and completely unprovoked she said to us, “You are both pathetic.” She then turned back out on to the dance floor. We were stunned. And then we laughed. It was true. Gay Man’s Date Night.
Tomorrow, Stephen R. Donaldson’s next book is coming out. I re-arranged my meetings so that I would be done by 11:00am. John took the day off. We’ll meet at the Barnes and Nobel around noon and buy two copies of the book. I expect that we will cuddle up next to each other on a couch in the cafe and read the first 100 pages or so. Gay Man’s Book Day.
And that's how gay I am.
If you have any other date selections for us, please let us know.
And P.S.: Robert Jordan can suck Donaldson’s balls. Donaldson writes circles around that hack. That was your Gay Man’s Author Critique.
Miss Sally goes out about once a week with her friends. Once she leaves the house and the kids are in bed, John will come over and we watch a movie and eat pop corn. We call it “Gay Man’s Movie Night.” We like to discuss the movie and laugh (Borat} or be sad {The Life Aquatic} or wonder what all the hype was about {Knocked Up.}
A few weeks ago, John and I were at a bar after an Ohio State football game. There were a lot of hot girls there. Hot, drunk girls. John and I stood around on the edge of the dance floor and debated a number of logic points in Stephen Donaldson’s most recent book. A girl sauntered off the dance floor and completely unprovoked she said to us, “You are both pathetic.” She then turned back out on to the dance floor. We were stunned. And then we laughed. It was true. Gay Man’s Date Night.
Tomorrow, Stephen R. Donaldson’s next book is coming out. I re-arranged my meetings so that I would be done by 11:00am. John took the day off. We’ll meet at the Barnes and Nobel around noon and buy two copies of the book. I expect that we will cuddle up next to each other on a couch in the cafe and read the first 100 pages or so. Gay Man’s Book Day.
And that's how gay I am.
If you have any other date selections for us, please let us know.
And P.S.: Robert Jordan can suck Donaldson’s balls. Donaldson writes circles around that hack. That was your Gay Man’s Author Critique.
See anything wrong with this school crossing sign?
(CLICK TO ENLARGE)
This was a school crossing sign I saw in Seville, Spain back in 1993. No photoshopping on my part. It's black and white because that's what you are 'sposed to take photos with in foreign countries.
Ad Placement... which are the conjoined twins?
I saw this news report about conjoined twins today. As I looked in the article I thought, "Those kids don't look like twins." As I watched, the photo flipped to an advertisement. Then I saw the real conjoined twins in the upper right hand corner. I waited until the ad cycled and took a screen shot.
Good Luck Miss Shelly!!
Good luck with your surgery Miss Shelly.
We'll be thinking of you.
Oh, and make sure you get everything they take out of you back in jars and labeled. I went in for a simple surgery and the surgeon removed three inches from my penis! Now, what am I supposed to do now that I only have eight inches?
We'll be thinking of you.
Oh, and make sure you get everything they take out of you back in jars and labeled. I went in for a simple surgery and the surgeon removed three inches from my penis! Now, what am I supposed to do now that I only have eight inches?
Rock Star Parking vs Movie Star Parking
Let’s say you are driving out to a restaurant and as you prepare to circle the block 18 times looking for a parking spot, a space appears right in front of the restaurant. What kind of parking do you call that? My friend Erik calls it Rock Star Parking. I call it Movie Star parking. Who is right?
I am biased, but I will try to be fair.
Erik is wrong. I am right. It's called Movie Star Parking
Rock Star Parking implies that because Rock Stars are famous/popular that a spot in front of a destination will be reserved for them. Or that they are so important that people will make room for them. Or perhaps they are so special that the parking god (I believe her name is Vera) just makes a spot magically appear.
The flaw in Erik’s logic is that Rock Stars don’t drive themselves. They have their driver or an entourage that drop them off at the front door. Even more likely, Rock Stars are dropped of at back doors to avoid the types of people that might save them a parking spot in front.
I refer to good parking as Movie Star Parking because no one in the movies ever parks more than ten steps away from an entrance. A space always is open. There usually isn’t a meter. They don’t even need to parallel park as there are three open spaces so they can glide in. Sometimes the scene in the movie just cuts to them getting out of an already parked car.
It’s Movie Star parking. An open space in front of a destination. I’m right. Erik’s wrong. I'm sure you all can agree to that.
I am biased, but I will try to be fair.
Erik is wrong. I am right. It's called Movie Star Parking
Rock Star Parking implies that because Rock Stars are famous/popular that a spot in front of a destination will be reserved for them. Or that they are so important that people will make room for them. Or perhaps they are so special that the parking god (I believe her name is Vera) just makes a spot magically appear.
The flaw in Erik’s logic is that Rock Stars don’t drive themselves. They have their driver or an entourage that drop them off at the front door. Even more likely, Rock Stars are dropped of at back doors to avoid the types of people that might save them a parking spot in front.
I refer to good parking as Movie Star Parking because no one in the movies ever parks more than ten steps away from an entrance. A space always is open. There usually isn’t a meter. They don’t even need to parallel park as there are three open spaces so they can glide in. Sometimes the scene in the movie just cuts to them getting out of an already parked car.
It’s Movie Star parking. An open space in front of a destination. I’m right. Erik’s wrong. I'm sure you all can agree to that.
Stop being nice on the road
You know who you are. You woke up on time. You were able to leave a little bit early for work. Your favorite song was on the radio. You drive up to a four way stop just before another car across the way does. He wants to turn left. You have the right of way, but you wave a friendly, “Go ahead!”
Just quit it.
I had a similar incident happen to me this morning. I was on a side road, waiting to turn a dangerous left over four lanes of traffic. I do this often, so I know there is a pause in traffic once ever sixty seconds. I waited for the traffic to go by and a person on the opposite side of the road wanted to turn left on to the side street I was turning out of. I waited for him to turn, but he stopped. I looked over and he was waving for me to go. “Go ahead friend! You go first! I’m nice!!” I pointed at him through the windshield and yelled, “YOU GO.” He had the audacity to stare at me with a pissy little screwed up face as he turned and sped by.
There is a time and a place for niceness. The road is not one of those places. Follow the rules. Do not be nice.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting people drive really fast and cut off others in traffic. That’s just not being nice, that dangerous and assholey. Share the road, but don’t give it away.
I really just want people to follow the rules of the road. Sure it may mean that someone may sit at an intersection for a longer amount of time, but it also means that there will not be an accident when a wave or head bob is misinterpreted as a “I’m nice, you go first Oh shit there’s a car coming… Oops!”
There are situations where you can be polite in your car. Parking lots, the modern day Road Warrior setting, could use a bit of niceness. An accident scene, where everyone has to play nice and merge, deserves a bit of humanity. I don’t think there is anything anyone can do to fix what happens after a concert in the parking lot.
All I ask is this: Share the road. Be polite within the rules of the road. And quit trying to be nice, asshole.
Oh, one other thing... if you are the first one in the left turn lane, pull up and take control of the intersection. It's yours. Take it. Mainly because I am the fourth car back and really need to get to work.
Just quit it.
I had a similar incident happen to me this morning. I was on a side road, waiting to turn a dangerous left over four lanes of traffic. I do this often, so I know there is a pause in traffic once ever sixty seconds. I waited for the traffic to go by and a person on the opposite side of the road wanted to turn left on to the side street I was turning out of. I waited for him to turn, but he stopped. I looked over and he was waving for me to go. “Go ahead friend! You go first! I’m nice!!” I pointed at him through the windshield and yelled, “YOU GO.” He had the audacity to stare at me with a pissy little screwed up face as he turned and sped by.
There is a time and a place for niceness. The road is not one of those places. Follow the rules. Do not be nice.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suggesting people drive really fast and cut off others in traffic. That’s just not being nice, that dangerous and assholey. Share the road, but don’t give it away.
I really just want people to follow the rules of the road. Sure it may mean that someone may sit at an intersection for a longer amount of time, but it also means that there will not be an accident when a wave or head bob is misinterpreted as a “I’m nice, you go first Oh shit there’s a car coming… Oops!”
There are situations where you can be polite in your car. Parking lots, the modern day Road Warrior setting, could use a bit of niceness. An accident scene, where everyone has to play nice and merge, deserves a bit of humanity. I don’t think there is anything anyone can do to fix what happens after a concert in the parking lot.
All I ask is this: Share the road. Be polite within the rules of the road. And quit trying to be nice, asshole.
Oh, one other thing... if you are the first one in the left turn lane, pull up and take control of the intersection. It's yours. Take it. Mainly because I am the fourth car back and really need to get to work.
Laminated List Week
It’s the first week of October and you know what that means! It’s UPDATE YOUR LAMINATED LIST week.
As you all know, a laminated list is the three famous people with whom you are allowed to have sex. If ever the opportunity presents itself, you and your partner agree that you have permission to have guilt free sex with the three people on that list.
Every year, during the first week of October, you are allowed to update the list.
So here is my list for 07’ – 08’…
1. Christina Ricci
2. Alyssa Milano (she’s back!)
3. Leelee Sobieski
Sarah Silverman has not made the cut, but she has until the end of this week to convince me.
Who’s on your list?
As you all know, a laminated list is the three famous people with whom you are allowed to have sex. If ever the opportunity presents itself, you and your partner agree that you have permission to have guilt free sex with the three people on that list.
Every year, during the first week of October, you are allowed to update the list.
So here is my list for 07’ – 08’…
1. Christina Ricci
2. Alyssa Milano (she’s back!)
3. Leelee Sobieski
Sarah Silverman has not made the cut, but she has until the end of this week to convince me.
Who’s on your list?
Rejection (Number two)
I suppose that knowing you are being rejected is better than never hearing anything back from a publisher. I've sent out "The Power of Soup" to five publishers and have only heard back from two including this one:
This letter was sent on a half sheet of 8 1/2 x 11 paper. I've got to give it to them for telling me to go fuck off and helping the environment with using 50% less paper.
This letter was sent on a half sheet of 8 1/2 x 11 paper. I've got to give it to them for telling me to go fuck off and helping the environment with using 50% less paper.
You have an interesting accent. Where are you from?
I was friends with a few illegal immigrants for a few months. These illegals were from England, so on the scale of illegals that people grind their teeth about, they were towards the acceptable end.
I was in Denver a few years back when the Californians were just starting to take over the real estate en mass. Right before I moved there, a friend of a friend gave me the name of a guy named Rob who lived in Denver and that I should get in contact with him if I wanted a drink. I wanted a drink, so I called Rob. Rob was very friendly and introduced me to his circle of friends. His circle included a couple of illegal aliens from England.
The one undocumented worker I hung out the most was a brick layer. I forget his name, so I’ll call him Mason. Mason had worked his way across the country. He would get a job at a construction site, give a fake social security number and claim 243 exemptions on his paycheck so that no taxes would be taken out. When Uncle Sam would come knocking, he’d run out the back door. He’d made it from New York to Colorado. Not bad. Mason was in a spot of trouble because he had fallen in love with one of Rob’s American female friends. Love means sticking around and hiding from the government. Love stinks.
We all got together in a bar one night with a large group of Rob’s friends. Two of Mason’s friends showed up as well. They were illegals from England who were working in Vail as midwives. How the hell do you get a job as a midwife when you don’t have residency? Oh well. I can just imagine her accent during the delivery, “Right luv, ya need ta push ‘arder if you wont that bah-bee ta come out. FUKIN' POOSH!”
I was smitten by one of the girls. She had a very think accent and thicker skin. She drank and drank. My two favorite qualities in a woman. She and I stood talking for a few minutes as I tried to pick her up with my endless charm. Another guy slid over and stood by listening in on our conversation, trying to harp in on my action. At some point, he found a pause to interject, “You have a very interesting accent. Where are you from?”
She turned to him and said plainly:
“Me mother’s cunt.”
The guy, though stiff with shock, rolled himself up into a very small ball and wobbled back across the room.
I fell even deeper into love.
But, she wanted nothing to do with me. I tried too hard. She found some other boy that night and I ended up with only this story.
I left Denver a few months later without ever hooking up with an illegal alien. I do not know if Mason stayed in love or continued his Westward run from Uncle Sam.
I was in Denver a few years back when the Californians were just starting to take over the real estate en mass. Right before I moved there, a friend of a friend gave me the name of a guy named Rob who lived in Denver and that I should get in contact with him if I wanted a drink. I wanted a drink, so I called Rob. Rob was very friendly and introduced me to his circle of friends. His circle included a couple of illegal aliens from England.
The one undocumented worker I hung out the most was a brick layer. I forget his name, so I’ll call him Mason. Mason had worked his way across the country. He would get a job at a construction site, give a fake social security number and claim 243 exemptions on his paycheck so that no taxes would be taken out. When Uncle Sam would come knocking, he’d run out the back door. He’d made it from New York to Colorado. Not bad. Mason was in a spot of trouble because he had fallen in love with one of Rob’s American female friends. Love means sticking around and hiding from the government. Love stinks.
We all got together in a bar one night with a large group of Rob’s friends. Two of Mason’s friends showed up as well. They were illegals from England who were working in Vail as midwives. How the hell do you get a job as a midwife when you don’t have residency? Oh well. I can just imagine her accent during the delivery, “Right luv, ya need ta push ‘arder if you wont that bah-bee ta come out. FUKIN' POOSH!”
I was smitten by one of the girls. She had a very think accent and thicker skin. She drank and drank. My two favorite qualities in a woman. She and I stood talking for a few minutes as I tried to pick her up with my endless charm. Another guy slid over and stood by listening in on our conversation, trying to harp in on my action. At some point, he found a pause to interject, “You have a very interesting accent. Where are you from?”
She turned to him and said plainly:
“Me mother’s cunt.”
The guy, though stiff with shock, rolled himself up into a very small ball and wobbled back across the room.
I fell even deeper into love.
But, she wanted nothing to do with me. I tried too hard. She found some other boy that night and I ended up with only this story.
I left Denver a few months later without ever hooking up with an illegal alien. I do not know if Mason stayed in love or continued his Westward run from Uncle Sam.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)