Yay! We're Halfway Through the Aughties!

HAPPY 2005, EVERYONE!

"Teach Your Children Well"

Border Patrol Pajamas at Talbots

"Mommy, what's a border patrol?"

"Honey, mommy doesn't have the time to talk right now. Ask your nanny."

"Hello, John. What Color Is the Sky in Your World?"

Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas has accepted tens of thousands of dollars worth of gifts since joining the high court, including $1,200 worth of tires, valuable historical items and a $5,000 personal check to help pay a relative's education expenses....

He also took a free trip aboard a private jet to the exclusive Bohemian Grove club in Northern California--arranged by a wealthy Texas real estate investor who helped run an advocacy group that filed briefs with the Supreme Court....

Thomas, through a court spokeswoman, declined to comment when asked in writing why he deemed it appropriate to accept some of the larger gifts. But a former clerk to Thomas defended the practice....

"I don't see why it is inappropriate to get gifts from friends," John C. Yoo, now a law professor at the UC Berkeley.... If one of these people were to appear before the Supreme Court, Justice Thomas would recuse himself."

Really? Hmm, let's check with Justice Scalia on that?

EEEEEEEEW!

Jessica Simpson's father JOE made the singer promise to stay a virgin until she married, during a ceremony when she was twelve.

Simpson sr, who doubles as Jessica's manager, handed the 24-year-old a promise ring and vowed to be the only man in her life until she married.

Joe adds, "What better gift to give her husband? Never touched by another man."

...besides her dad.

I hope that when I'm a father -- by which I mean when failed birth control drags me kicking, screaming, and crying into parenthood -- I hope I'm a little less creepy than that guy. For yecch's sake, that blurb gave me the jibblies.

I Don't Care How Accurate It Is. "Hey, Baby. What's your Life Path Number?" Is a Terrible Pick-up Line.

You are a visionary and a bit reckless at the same time. ... Your challenges in life are to achieve a high degree of detachment, and to understand that power and influence must be used for the benefit of mankind. ... Your Life Path treads that dangerous ground where power and corruption life. You may become too self-important, arrogant, and domineering, thing that your way is the only way. This leads inevitably to isolation and conflict. The people you run the risk of hurting the most are those you love: your family and friends.

Apparently, I am a powerful Jedi whose Life Path leads to the Dark Side. Thanks for the heads up, Yoda.

Actually, that excerpt comes from this Numerology site. Check it out if you need a laugh or two.

Beware, though, if you're susceptible to this kind of stuff. Read enough of it, and you're likely to find something with the ring of truth--"More than most people, your failures in marriage can be extremely expensive for you." The next thing you know, you're bald, neutered, sitting around the dormitory in a track suit and some Old School Nikes, waiting for the Mothership to take you home.

That's not a good look for anyone.

Good Enough for Government Work

A former state worker has been charged with second-degree stalking, accused of mailing dead rats, dead birds and used condoms as part of a pattern of harassment against 14 people.

Well, when he's released, he should think about migrating south, to the Old North State. He'd fit right in, here, although he'd need to learn a thing or two in prison about stalking and harassment to avoid developing an inferiority complex. Other than that, though, .... I'm thinking he should try for the state department of revenue.

He'd be Employee of the Year.

"Baby On Board/How I've Adored/That Sign on My Car's Windowpane/...."

"Mr. Blachman writes an opinion column for the law school newspaper and composes songs for the law school a capella group, Scales of Justice, ...."

That names reminds me of a line from The Simpsons, said when Homer, Apu, Principal Skinner, and Barney are trying to come up with a name for their barber-shop quartet: "We need a name that's witty at first, but that seems less funny each time you hear it."

To me, though, the funniest part of the article comes when young Blachman talks about how the "law doesn't inspire him," how he yearns to write--as if he were interested in producing high art or something--and, then, how he wants to move to L.A. and write for television--great googlely mooglely! That may not be high art, but it is high comedy.

A Movie Recommendation

The Life Aquatic

For those of you who enjoy pomo/postructuralist theories on hyper-reality and identity as performance, here's a recommendation: Go see The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou." You'll enjoy it.

For those of you who don't, you probably won't anymore than these people did.

Me? I laughed, I cried, I recalled too many books I've read over the past couple of years (I mean that in a good way.)

Lawrence Welk, Now, That Man Was an Artist

I love my nephews, Adam and David. Being their uncles is one of the greatest gifts Life has given me.

Yesterday, I spent most of Christmas dinner laughing and joking with Adam. That's what usually happens when we're together. We joke, we laugh.

My mom--who goes out of her way to seat each next to one another, to avoid shouting over another family member and ruining his meal--says it because we're so much alike, which is kind of her to say, but isn't really true. He's polite and smart and funny and honest joy to be around. I'd like to be him when I grow up.

After dinner, I went over to spend equal time with David, who was pushing the tolerance level on the sullen teenager pose, sitting by himself, tuning us out, listening to music on his portable CD player.

I went over, tapped on the right side of his headphone, and asked whom he was listening to. "Eminem," he said. With a chill born of utter disappointment, I gave him that look that fogeys through the ages have reserved for moments like these, the one that says, "Son, you are dead to me now."

His mom got a look in turn. With nary a word, I communicated everything I needed to say with one steely glance: "I suspect you haven't been as faithful to my brother as you've been letting on. I'm on to you, Sister. Watch your butt."

But don't let all that fool you. This was still one of the better Christmases, the Loman family has had.

Define "Friend": A Friend Is...

I found this in The New York Times Magazine Obituary Issue. It's from the orbit of Vaughn Meader. (No, I hadn't heard of him before now, either.)

"Vaughn was a good friend; he was a true friend," says his friend Liz Munster, who met him 20-odd years ago when she caught his act at the Rockwood Motor Inn in Maine. A good friend will bail you out of jail. Vaughn, being a true friend, would be sitting right next to you in jail, laughing, saying, 'Damn, wasn't that fun?'"

I have a lot of friends like that. In that regard, I'm an undeservedly fortunate man. (By the way, if any of you are reading this, about all those awkward moments in job interviews and added questions to your governmental background checks, my bad. I'm sorry.)

I still don't have any A.C. friends. At least, I don't think I do.

A.C., Al Cowlings, is the avatar of friendship according to George Clooney. In the latest issue of Esquire magazine, he says,

I embrace Al Cowlings for being the guy O.J. called up and said, "Dude, they're framing my ass. Start up the car. Get me $20,000 and a passport. Let's get on the road." It's very easy to be a friend when the pressure's not on. I embrace the man who can get in a car and drive his buddy in the blindness of all reality and truth--which is his buddy just murdered two people. Total blindness. I admire that. I'd like to have friends like that. I'd like to think I'm that friend.

Hell, everyone would like to think he's that friend, and, as long as you promise never to need me to come up with$20,000, your passport, and a getaway car, I am that friend. Count on me. In the event of an actual double murder, though, not so much. Then, it would be best if you'd think of me as your drive-you-to-the-law-guy-and-chip-in-on-bail pal.

It doesn't mean I love you any less than A.C. loved O.J.; it simply means, I'm less dependable.

Merry Christmas From James!!!

Somebody's got the Christmas spirit.

Here Comes Santa Claus! Here Comes Santa Claus!

I would've loved this as a kid. As an adult, though, I just want to see a clip of St. Nick getting pulled over and patted down by the TSA.

Merry Christmas to all of you who believe or celebrate the holiday! Peace and love to everyone, regardless.

"We Got Hosed, Tommy. We Got Hosed."

The boys are back. Those wacky Lutherans are going to take another crack at educating the masses and reaffirming the beliefs of the faithful with everyone's favorite claymation pair, Davey and Goliath. I wish them the best of luck.

I spent a lot of time as a kid watching their old shows, and even though I can't recall a single Christian message from the viewings, I do recall thoroughly enjoying the shows. I don't know why that is, but it probably has something to do with the cataracts of cynicism that color the way I see the world.

I'm guessing that's also why I can remember every word and the simple message of this Davey and Goliath skit. There's nothing in it to filter out.

(For those of you without Quicktime--you poor, poor bastards--there's a transcript here.)

I'm in Love Again (and, Obviously, More Fickle than a Man Has a Right To Be)

As you know, I'm not given to hyperbole. That should be the context for reading the following statement: This is the best written bio on the Internet.

And I am smitten, full of smit.

If that makes me fickle, so be it.

Update: Thanks, Blackout Bill. (See comments.)

Who's Yo' Daddy?

There's not much laughter today at the home of a Pasadena information technology specialist who has decided to auction off his kids' Christmas presents--and possibly dismantle the family tree--because the youngsters, ages 9, 11, and 15, have been naughty, not nice.

...The family discord has been in progress for about two weeks, said the man, attributing it, in part, to the laxness of previous discipline.

"It seems like we'd say what we were going to do, then bend and back off a little," the father, 41, said. ...It decayed to the point that groundings don't work, putting them in their room, timeouts don't have any effect."

The man said he and his wife announced the possible in a family meeting earlier this week.

...The boys pledged to reform, he said, but were back at their rowdy ways early the next morning.

...The next evening, a second family meeting was held to announce that the top level of presents--about $700 in video games--would be sold on the computer auction site. The oldest boy, the man said, responded with a challenge to carry out the threat.

That's when dad said, "No soup for you!"

I'm amazed. My parents were from the "Spare the rod, and you'll never have any fun" school of discipline, so, frankly, that the oldest kid is still drawing breath is a Christmas miracle to me.

If You Believe, Pray for Us. If You Don't, Pray for Us, Anyway. It Costs You Nothing, and We Could Us the Help

"These people need tough love," [Rev. Oliver S.]Robinson said.I don't feel comfortable with it. God don't get no pleasure punishing us. But he does it. Jesus would have done the same thing."

Really? Jesus would have been spiteful and petty? Good to know. It breaks my heart that a man of God believes that, but it makes me feel better about sleeping in on Sundays.

I just wish that could offset the shame I feel about this happening in my home state.

As you've probably noticed from previous posts, North Carolina has its share of idiots. No, North Carolina has more than its share of idiots. In fact, if your state is missing its share of lip diddlers, North Carolina probably has them. (They heard the call and returned to the mothership. You can take their faces off the milk cartons, now that you know.) I wish that weren't the case.

The only bright spot in this is that when prompted to cast herself as Mary in the Christmas story, Valan Garland, the pregnant woman booted from the homeless shelter, balked. Yeah, that's nothing, but when you live here, you take what you can get.

"Click Here for My Recipe on Jailhouse Commode Wine"

Excerpts from the latest prison missive from Martha Stewart,

...I am fine, really.... I have had time to think, time to write, time to exercise, time to not eat the bad food, and time to walk and contemplate the future. I've had my work here too. Cleaning has been my job--washing, scrubbing, sweeping, vacuuming, raking leaves, and much more. But like everyone else here, I would rather be doing all of this in my own home, and not here--away from family and friends.

I want to thank you again, and again, for your support and encouragement. You have been so terrific to me and to everyone who stood by me. I appreciate everything you have done, your emails, your letters, and your kind, kind words. If it weren't for you (and the sex with the big winner of the nightly cigarettes-and-chocolates poker game--ooh, such a good thing), I surely would have taken my life by now. I would have dyed my sheets to match my hair color, using some tea and pen ink, tied one end into a tasteful hangman's noose and the other to my tawdry light fixture, and leapt off my assigned chair before my skin could crawl at the touch of the sheet's cheap material and shoddy craftsmanship--seriously. So again, thank you.

And Happy Holidays,

Martha*

*Due to space limitations, editing was necessary and license was taken to present the real truth of her message in this medium. No inmates were hurt in the editing.

He's, Either, the Unluckiest Prosecutor in the World, or Someone Dropped a Sou on Him

Police suspect a French prosecutor of paying a prostitute with a stolen credit card just hours after addressing a conference on ethics, a Justice Ministry source says.

She charged him?! What, they've never heard of professional courtesy over there?

Richard Gere Spotted in Savannah, Georgia, Trying to Pass as a 25-Year-Old Coke Head

Police are looking for two women they say sexually assaulted a man with a pair of cooking tongs in a drug-related attack. Savannah-Chatham Metropolitan police say the victim, a 25-year-old man, awoke Saturday morning with a metal object protruding from his body.

...The victim's cousin took him to Memorial Health University Medical Center Saturday after he complained of pain. Doctors surgically removed an object identified as "one half of a pair of food tongs," and turned it over to police.

...The two women are wanted on aggravated sexual battery charges, but police say they aren't having much luck find them.

"We have no descriptions of the women, being that (the victim) is not cooperating with the police," police spokesman Sgt. Mike Wilson said. "And there's little we can do to urge cooperation."

Why they can't get the fingerprints off the tongs is beyond me. Or have I been watching too much CSI?

Song Lyrics

I had nothing better to do, so I thought I'd do this for fun, list a few lyrics from my favorite songs and see if anyone could guess the songs or artists.

1. I would stand in line for this. There's always room in life for this.
2. I said I was the cops, and your husband's in jail. The State looks down on sodomy.
3. Bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse assail him, impale him with monster-truck force.
4. Someone's on the phone, three o'clock in the morning, talkin' about how she can make it right.
5. Every day, I get up and pray to Jah, and he decreases the number of clocks by exactly one.
6. I've loved all; I've needed love -- sordid details following
7. I can't go away with you on a rock-climbing weekend. What if something's on t.v., and it's never shown again.
8. I clean the house. I put all your books in an order. I make up a colorful border. I clean my mouth, cause froth comes out.
9. It almost seems like you're avoiding me. I'm okay alone, but you've got something I need.
10. I feel I must interject here. You're getting carried away feeling sorry for yourself with these revisions and gaps in history. So let me help you remember. I've made charts and graphs that should finally make it clear. I've prepared a lecture on why I had to leave.
11. Each morning I get up, I die a little, can barely stand on my feet; take a look in the mirror and cry"Lord, what you're doing to me?!"
12. I know all about the warehouse fire. I know squirrels didn't chew the wire. Three people have my number, the other two were with me. I don't stand tall, but I'm not your patsy. This time you have gone too far with me.
13. He put me in a bath tub, made me squeaky clean, really clean.

"Anything Goes when It Comes to Ho's...And I'm Big Pimpin'"

One of the things most hype about being an elevated player is having a name that mothafuckas respect. It's that one thing that punks who don't have your money always remember to yell while you're beating them down. "No, Ice Master Biff Rockefeller! Please don't beat me down...! I left my money in my other pants....!

That's right: My pimp name is Ice Master Biff Rockefeller, because I went here and clicked "Pimpafy." It's going to look so good on the "Cashville."

(Hey, some guys buy sports cars. I buy big, black, bejeweled goblets. They overcompensate in their ways; I overcompensate in mine.)

St. Peter's "The Holy Apostolic Cafeteria"

"Yeah, Father, give me a macchiato, stained in a Shroud of Turin pattern, and one of those Communion Wafer biscotti.

"How much? Three Our Fathers and seventy-six Hail Marys?

"Jeez, no offense, Father, but if I wanted to get screwed over a half-assed espresso, I'd go to Starbucks.

"I know, I know. I'll meet you in the confessional as soon as I'm finished here. Don't bust a cassock."

Like It Wasn't Hard Enough to Recruit Enlistees for the Iraqui National Guard

A North Carolina National Guard member thought to be the first U.S. soldier convicted of murdering an Iraqi said he "snapped and shot the 17-year-old boy after they had consenual sex, according to court-martial records released this week.

[Pvt. Federico Daniel] Merida was sentenced Sept. 25 to 25 years in prison and reduced in rank. He will be dishonorably discharged.

Maj. Robert Carver, a spokesman at the N.C. National Guard's Raleigh headquarters, said Guard leaders here knew little about the case. He said that if there was anything positive about the unpleasant case it was that it should serve notice to Iraquis about how justice should work.

Somehow, I don't think they're going to see it that way.

What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

A Carrboro police officer who long suspected a man in the death of a missing woman testified Wednesday that he concocted a scheme to use a fake arrest warrant and letter from the district attorney's office to make the man think he was being charged with first-degree murder.

A while back on the blogs devoted to legal issues, there were stories about the dangers of police officers who knew suspects were guilty, but lacked any credible evidence to support their beliefs. Add this to the file.

"I'm Going Down to the Crossroads, in Eutawville, S.C. Down to the Crossroads..."

Robert D. Johnson was sentenced Thursday for castration, kidnapping and assault after being found guilty in July. Johnson, a member of the Bloods gang, was free on bond during his trial and disappeared before his trial ended.

[He] was sentenced to 15 to 21 years in prison after being convicted during the summer of castration and other charges in a gang-related shooting.

Wow, "the Summer of Castration": Who knew? Oh, oh, now, I see: "During the summer. Of castration and other charges..." For a minute, there, ...

And, no, we don't view gang members as immediate flight risk, here, in the N.C. Why do you ask?

The 12 STDs Of Christmas*

The National Health Service of the U.K. developed this carol for the season. And you may never sing "five golden rings" again without snickering.

You have to love it. Since they forced all the puritans to immigrate here, they're free to have a little fun with sex and sex education without a big hue and cry about it.

Good on them.


*(Thanks to The Law Guy for the link)

Next on MTV's Pimp My Ride

(Paul Stender)

In the U.K., they call it a "Turbo Loo." Here, in the States, we call it "A Waste of $10,000."

Here Come da' Judge! Here Come da' Judge!

Judge Who Wore Black Face Is Suspended

A Houma judge who donned blackface makeup to complement his orange prison jumpsuit, handcuffs and afro wig for extra laughs at a Halloween party should be suspended for six months and take a course in racial sensitivity training, the state Supreme Court ruled Monday.

...[Judge] Ellender admitted wearing the racially insensitive costume Halloween 2003 at a Houma seafood restaurant, owned by a relative. He has since said he meant no harm or insult to the African American community.

...Ellender testified that he wore the costume to complement the police uniform his wife wore. He was her prisoner, he said.

My attorney says a judge should never wear blackface, but you know attorneys, always pushing the ounce of prevention, over the pound of cure. Here, though, he may be right: It's probably a bad idea for judges to go around telling (or miming, in this case) nigger jokes.

People--and I don't want to stereotype, but they tend to be the darker ones--take offense to it. They never seem to find the funny. Instead, they begin to doubt that justice can come from a guy reveling in bigotry and racism in his off hours, and the next thing you know, someone's taking racial sensitivity training to commute part of his sentence.

Of course, if the Louisiana state Supreme Court really found Ellender's actions an affront to the law, they would've sent him packing for a new line of work, but, that's another blog entry.

"It's Okay, Doc. I Still Have One Finger Left. Let Me Show It to You"

When Marine Lance Cpl. David Battle learned he'd either have to sacrifice his ring finger or the wedding band he wore, he told doctors at a field hospital in Iraq to cut off the finger.

Doctors were preparing to cut off Battle's fing to save as much of his finger as they could.

"But that would mean destroying my wedding ring," he said. "My wife is the strongest woman I know. She's basically running two people's lives since I've been gone. I don't think I could ever repay her or show her how grateful...how much I love my wife, my soul mate."

With his approval, doctors severed his finger, but somehow in the chaos that followed, they lost his ring.

If you're thinking, "'...somehow in the chaos that followed?!' What chaos?! Why would there be chaos?!" you've never spent any time in the military hospital system. Those of us who have read that story and thought, "Man, is he lucky. Usually, when they try to remove a finger, they take an eye, instead. And, then, they lose the wedding band. (They just like doing that: It's their thing.)"

This Is No Way to Run a Railroad

At a time when some U.S. troops in Iraq are complaining they have to scrounge for equipment, six Ohio-based reservists were court-martialed for taking Army vehicles abandoned in Kuwait by other units so they could carry out their own unit's mission to Iraq.

There's something to be said about maintaining discipline within the ranks even under the most trying of circumstances. This ain't it.

Girl With Cup of Coffee

I may be in love.

Nice Guy Jumps to His Death from Window

I said a prayer for him. He was a nice guy. ...

"We only heard the ambulance come. He was always riding around on his bicycle."

Cyclist, huh? Freak.

Funny, whenever something like this happens -- someone discovers a head in the refrigerator, a wife buried in the yard, a psycopath living in the house next door -- a version of this dialogue pops up in the news report:

Reporter: What was he like?

Neighbor: He was quiet; never bothered anyone; mostly kept to himself; was good to his mother; kept a neat yard; just a good guy.

Reporter: Really? So you don't believe he did it?

Neighbor: Oh, no, he did it. It's all he ever talked about. All I'm saying is, he was a good neighbor -- nuttier than bat shit -- but a good neighbor. Till yesterday.

So are you local or national news?

I Re-Watched "Kaiser Blade" This Afternoon. Some People Call It "Sling Blade." I Call It "Kaiser Blade." Mm, hm. Still Love It, I Reckon.

The Climax (Big Spoiler)

KARL

How does a feller go about gettin' ahold of the police?

DOYLE

Pick up the fuckin' phone and call 'em, I guess.

KARL

What numbers do you punch?

DOYLE

I told you to get away from here, didn't I?...
(notices blade)
What are you doin' with that piece of iron?...

KARL

I aim to kill you with it.

DOYLE

...Well, to get the police you push 911. You'll need to tell 'em to send an ambulance, too. Or a hearse, you fuckin' idiot, if you're gonna kill me.
(laughs)

Minutes later,

KARL

(into phone)
Yes, ma'am. I need the police over here at the Wheatley house.
(pause)
I've killed somebody with a mower blade.
(pause)
Yes, ma'am, I'm right sure of it....
(pause)
...I'll be a settin' here waitin' on ye. Besides sendin' the police, Doyle said you might want to send a ambulance or a hearse. Thank ye.

With all the hoopla over his personal life, it's easy to forget Billy Bob Thonton is a singular talent, one worth celebrating. He wrote, directed, and starred in this piece. It's a great place to start if you're unfamiliar with his work, and would like to check him out.

Please do.

Ahh, I Love the Smell of Spin in the Morning. It Smells Like Bullshit

Spc. Thomas Wilson had asked the defense secretary, "Why do we soldiers have to dig through local landfills for pieces of scrap metal and compromised ballistic glass to up-armor our vehicles?" Shouts of approval and applause arose from the estimated 2,300 soldiers who had assembled to see Rumsfeld.

Rumsfeld hesitated and asked Wilson to repeat his question. ...

Rumsfeld said the Army was sparing no expense or effort to acquire as many Humvees and other vehicles with extra armor as it can. What is more, he said, armor is not the savior some think it is.

"You can have all the armor in the world on a tank and a tank can (still) be blown up," he said.

Yeah, yeah: And the race does not always go to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. But, to quote Woody Allen, "that's the way to bet."

And if I were in Iraq -- pause so everyone can laugh -- I'd want the armor, despite its obvious shortcomings. Thank you, anyway, Rummie.

Of course, if he really wanted to make his point, he could have eschewed his armored caravan and taken a local cab to the airport.

I'm just saying.

I'll Have a Blue Christmas without You

That sound you heard was my liver hyperventilating. It's okay now. Tanqueray, Guinness, and Cuervo are all in the Blue.

It's not that I would have stopped drinking those brands if they weren't; it just that it would've been a lot harder for me to continue on as a progressive poseur if they were. Whew. Dodged that teetotaling bullet.

Of course, I won't sleep easy until I find out where the boys at Wild Turkey send their disposable income.

Funny. I Don't Look Mandinkan

The Mandinka tribe of Gambia, Africa, adheres to a religious practice completely unique to its people--they worship actress Salma Hayek's breast!

"Salma's chest globes are magnificent forces of nature," gushes Kianga. "They are large and firm and perfectly formed. Whenever they appear on screen, it is almost as though they are calling to us: 'We're here for you. Take power from us. Let us be your energy force. Close your eyes and let us engulf you.'"

I know. I know: The Weekly World News. I shall wash, but I shall not be clean.

Gee, Thanks for the Heads Up

"For the life of me, I cannot understand why the terrorists have not attacked our food supply because it is so easy to do," [Health and Human Services Secretary Tommy Thompson] said.

Well, in their defense, they are kind of busy at the moment.

"It's Good to Be the King"

Delays can be frustrating and disillusioning; they make judges seem imperious to litigants, ....

Ha! It's not the delays that are doing that. They're not helping, no argument, there, but they are not the reason.

Judges seem imperious to litigants because judges act imperious towards litigants, forcing them to stand when their Honors enter the courtroom, talking to them as if they, the citizens, were children, bullying them with the Courts' power to hold them in contempt. Tradition, the trappings of judicial power, whatever, the men and women of the bench wear that crap as easily as their robes, and they come across as arrogant asses, not public servants.

But if you're the kind of person who believes judges are impartial administrators of justice, noble guardians of our nation's laws and the public's trust, then, okay, it's the delays that are making them look imperious. Sure. If that's what gets you through the night, ...

"Grandpa! So That's Where You've Got To"

A drunken man who kicked two girls and hit them in the head because they were wearing pierced earrings has been arrested, police said.

Because It's Been a Long Time Since I Posted the Results of an Internet Quiz

You scored as Drunk Cat. Put down the bottle, Cheech. Sign up for some AA classes and drink a glass of water. Bars are ok once in a while, but you shouldn't be sleeping at them.

Drunk Cat 100%

Pissed at the World Cat 83%

Love Machine Cat 50%

Derranged Cat 50%

Ninja Cat 42%

Couch Potato Cat 33%

Nerd Cat 0%
Which Absurd Cat are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

I don't want to sound ungrateful. All things considered, Drunk Cat sums me up pretty accurately; but, only 83% for Pissed at the World Cat?!

Have the folks at Quizfarm not been reading this blog?

That's One Atomic Wedgie

A 10-year-old boy almost lost a testicle when schoolmates copied a prank they had seen on a cartoon and pulled his trousers up as far as they could go.

Jack Watson has to have an emergency hour-long operation to reattach a testicle to the lining of his scrotum after friends gave him the excruciating "wedgie."

His friends gave it to him?! What, they don't have bullies in Yorkshire?

Sesame Street Is Brought to You by the Letters G and T

I played three rounds of this. If they'd updated the game—used more cookies from the adult world—I'd still be playing, now.

"Sir, Step Out of the Car. ... All Right. Get Back In. Thank You. Have a Safe Night"

NewsChannel5's Jonathan Costen reported that a Medina Township officer pulled over the driver of a Jeep late Monday night for driving without headlights.

When the driver, Cloverleaf High School teacher Mark Wurstle, stepped out of the vehicle, he was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, along with a pair of panties.

While his outfit wasn't breaking the law,....

...it was coming about as close to it as a man's ensemble can.

Obviously, he doesn't have someone at home who'll say, "You're not going to wear that, are you?"

They Taught That at My School

I think Ron Artest taught a lot of kids a valuable lesson that day. (Huey Freeman, Boondocks Dec. 2, 2004)

I learned that lesson at an early age, and it has saved my life more than once.

On the Bright Side, If You Make It on the Plane, Free Headphones

TSA Employee: "They actually had the passenger remove the clothing that covered the sensitive area and perform a duck walk to see if something would fall out."

They mean, something besides her dignity.

Whatever: The 10 Least Successful Holiday Specials of All Time

Ayn Rand's A Selfish Christmas (1951)

In this hour-long radio drama, Santa struggles with the increasing demands of providing gifts for millions of spoiled, ungrateful brats across the world, until a single elf, in the engineering department of his workshop, convinces Santa to go on strike. The special ends with the entropic collapse of the civilization of takers and the spectacle of children trudging across the bitterly cold, dark tundra to offer Santa cash for his services, acknowledging at last that his genius makes the gifts--and therefore Christmas--possible. ...

Yeah, that sounds pretty bad, but, I like the idea of an Algonquin Round Table Christmas (1927). It reminds me of home (drunken back-biting: ah, good times, good times).

Now, Tequila, There's a Cure for What Ails You

I was on this for a time, right after college. It didn't seem to work, which was quite disappointing. A huge proponent of better living through chemicals, I hate it when they let me down.

"No, We Did Not Drop Any Napalm on Iraqi Targets. That's a Lie. You Can't Print That We Did. What?! Oh, Firebombs? Sure, We Dropped Tons of Them."

During the war, Pentagon spokesmen disputed reports that napalm was being used, saying the Pentagon's stockpile had been destroyed two years ago.

Apparently the spokesmen were drawing a distinction between the terms "firebomb" and "napalm." If reporters had asked about firebombs, officials said yesterday they would have confirmed their use.

What the Marines dropped, the spokesmen said yesterday, were "Mark 77 firebombs." They acknowledged those are incendiary devices with a function "remarkably similar" to napalm weapons.

and my favorite part,

"This additive has significantly less of an impact on the environment," wrote Marine spokesman Col. Michael Daily, in an e-mailed information sheet provided by the Pentagon.

Oh, how very Dr. Strangelove of you.

Do you remember when we were young and innocent, when all we did was pick daisies, run through streams in our bare feet, and laugh heartily at the press conferences of this guy? It seems like only yesterday, doesn't it? Good times, good times.

"The United States Is Our Friend, Whether We Like It or Not"

When Mr. Bush was asked by a Canadian reporter at a joint news conference with Prime Minister Paul Martin why public opinion polls showed the two countries drifting apart, and whether he bore responsibility, he responded, "You know, I haven't seen the polls you look at, and we just had a poll in our country where people decided that the foreign policy of the Bush administration ought to be--stay in place for four more years." ("Bush, Visiting Canada, Aims to Smooth Ruffled Relations," The New York Times.)

To most of the English-speaking world, it would appear that the president didn't answer question, and not only that, that he totally discounted the thoughts and opinions of the Canadian public with the answer he did give to boot. That's because most of the English-speaking world speaks, well, English.

Our president speaks Hubris-ese. While the two are close, they are not the same. For instance, in English, it appears the president is saying the opinions of the Canadian people are meaningless when compared to the votes of 50 million Americans--which is a fairly decent--if superficial--interpretation. What you don't get by only speaking English (you poor, poor bastard) is the subtext and subtlety. What we Hubris speakers get when we read that response is this: "Fuck you, you Molson-slurping fur trappers, and pray every night for the next four years that Dick and Donald don't discover some natural resource up here that my major donors are interested in." Do you see the difference? the nuance lost in the English in translation?

It's okay. There's no need to thank me. I'm just glad to be of some help to you, our friends up North and other regions abroad, because, you know, I'm a giver.