*ACTUAL TRUTH MAY VARY--particularly in the sketchier areas of human knowledge and achievement: business, mathematics, the hard sciences, and the like -- oh! and economics. (I really suck at economics.)
Thursday, January 31, 2008
What? Were They Out of Chocolate?
Spicy ice cream? Yep. So spicy, in fact, customers have to sign a waiver before they even taste it. It's mixed with three types of pepper and two types of hot sauce. One of the first customers to try it had to go to the bathroom pretty much immediately and throw up. He's had it several times since then and hopes to go for the record—14 ounces in one sitting.
And here's a fun video of a morning show DJ attempting to eat a cup of Cold Sweat. Warning: there is an emergency trip to the bathroom involved at the end.
To paraphrase that axiom about how to get yourself out of a hole, the first step to stopping spicy ice cream from burning a path through your colon and exploding out of your capsaicin-kissed and now blistered ass is to to stop eating. Write that down.
I couldn't figure out how a 27-year-old teacher at an alternative school for trouble teens could afford a Jaguar. (Hell, I can't figure out how a teacher in Mississippi can afford a vanity plate.) Then, I remembered my scripture.
It might be seen as a vindication for small-breasted women everywhere.
After suffering through decades of bra-cup envy, those with diminutive décolletages in their late teens and early 20s may enjoy a lower risk of developing type 2 diabetes later in life than their fuller-chested counterparts—or at least, that's what a new study suggests. …
Results showed that, compared with women who recalled having an A cup or smaller at the age of 20, women who recalled having a D cup or larger had about three times higher risk for developing type 2 diabetes.
I'd like to see the research methodology and results, to see if the study's conclusions are valid, its methods reliable, but I can't. The story doesn't provide that information. So instead of de-bunking their conclusions, let me just say, ladies, diabetes treatment has come a long way since our big-breasted mothers were kids…
Over the years, I’ve been deeply moved by the people who’ve told me they wished they could feel inspired and hopeful about America the way people did when my father was president. –Caroline Kennedy in The New York Times, Jan. 27, 2008
Over the years, I've been deeply within earshot when people have mentioned that they wish my father would put his shirt back on. This sense is even more profound today, the day after the annual neighborhood-wide golf tournament. That is indirectly related to why I am supporting a presidential candidate for our Hill View Neighborhood Watch from my immediate family: my dad.
My reasons are patriotic, political, and fear-inspired, and the last one far outweighs either of the first two. All my life, people have told me that my father just farted, that they had to change tables because the smell was so unsavory. And the people who were lucky enough not to be seated near him have complained about his terribly obscene baseball hat logos. I meet people who were born long after my dad moved to this town, yet who still ask me about the time he literally removed his pants and urinated all over Frank Janson's cat after an unsatisfactory haircut. …
Most of us would prefer to base our voting decision on looks. However, the candidates' physical appearances are similar. They all have brown hair and are roughly around five foot ten. So qualities of brute strength, quickness to rage, and a foul mouth play a larger role than usual.
My dad has demonstrated these qualities, a lot. …
My dad is running a strange and uninspired campaign. He has cussed at great length about the lack of faith in his life, and also pointed out that he can't read. And when it comes to judgment, my dad is alarmingly racist.
I want a Neighborhood Watch president who understands that his responsibility is not to shout profanities at the Packers game; who holds himself, and those around them, as well-rested on something less than 14 hours of sleep a night; who appeals to those who do not necessarily hate work in all its forms; and who can lift our spirits by succeeding in not killing any kittens on that particular day. Instead, I am endorsing a president like my dad.
Tell It All, Sister. Tell It All. Oh. I Wouldn't Have Told All That.
Recently my friend Mark was at a tattoo parlor here in Houston. A rough-looking older lady who worked at the bar down the street walked in and with an accent almost exactly like Granny Clampett declared loudly “I want two tattoos on my tits.” …
On one boob she wanted a heart with “Tiff” written on it, and on the other she wanted a broken, bleeding heart. … Someone asked who “Tiff” was and Granny thought for a few seconds before finally deciding “Well, I guess she's my girlfriend”. She got a call on her cell phone just as the artist was finishing up and she started screaming indignantly “No, I am NOT at the tattoo parlor! I'm at work, dammit!”
Low Self Esteem and Daddy Issues: Getting American Half-Wits and Feebs Blown since 1789
From the Arrest Warrant:
On January 6, 2008 Billie Pelley … came to the Sheriff's Office for an interview concerning the incident with her and Inmate Bobby Mann … I advised Ms. Pelley I needed to clear some things up concerning what happened with Mr. Mann. Ms. Pelley stated she would talk to me.
I had Ms. Pelley read, initial and sign the Miranda Warning. … After Ms. Pelley signed the Miranda I asked her if anything more happened between her and Mr. Mann. Ms. Pelley looked away and said, “what did Bobby say.” I advised Ms. Pelley Mr. Mann stated there was oral sex involved. Ms. Pelley stated there was (oral sex). I asked Ms. Pelley is she would write a statement. …
Ms. Pelley wrote in her statement, she entered cell 10 with Bobby Mann. Ms. Pelley stated the two of them kissed for a while. Ms. Pelley stated she then performed oral sex on Mr. Mann. Ms. Pelley stated she stopped after thinking about what she was doing. Ms. Pelley stated after she stopped Andrea (Million-dispatcher) came into cell 10. Ms. Pelley stated when Ms. Million entered cell 10 she was sitting on the side of the bed. …
From the complaint:
I, Max Cook, the undersigned District Attorney…give information that in said County of Okfuskee and in the State of Oklahoma (“Go Sooners!”), BILLIE LEE PELLEY, did then and there unlawfully, willfully, knowingly and wrongfully commit the crimes(s) of:
When I first read about this, I couldn't believe it. “Arrested? For a blow job? Really?”
Now, that I've read the complaint, It's more like “Penetration? Of the Penis? With her mouth?”
A bad and painful blow job: Oh, yeah, that's criminal.
And she stopped before completing the act. I don't care how bad it was, stopping before finishing? Oh, yeah, that's a felony. That's a felony if there ever were one.
“Okay, Which One of You Made the Family Circus Comic about ‘Pube Cake?’” “ Ida Know. Not Me.
“Every wise cartoonist knows never to quibble with their editor! Especially if you're married to the bitch! But seriously, my wife, Mommy, never lets me have any fun. People often ask me, ‘hey, Bil, what happened to the other ‘L’ at the end of your name?’ After I've had a few drinks I tell 'em Mommy stuck it up her ass on our wedding night and it's been there ever since! Anyway, this special edition contains a few of my favoirte panels that Mommy and our lawyers don't want anyone to see. Well, they can suck my withered, old, flaccid cock…and best of all…so can you!” –Bil Keane
Every so often, I am able to forget the treacle passing for comedy in the Family Circus, which might be the least funny collection of squiggles and pablum ever described as a comic strip. Then, someone will leave a newspaper open to the comics page and I'll get a loving, nuclear family facial courtesy of Daddy, Mommy, Jeffy, Billy, Dolly, P.J. and their shenanigans. Oh joy!
So when someone returns the favor by parodying them, I don't worry about the humor going too far. I just link to them. Enjoy.
Happy MLK Day! In His Honor, Remember, I Love You. I'm Just Not in Love with You
“Contemplating the Clinton-Obama racial war, some Republicans were so excited you’d have thought Ronald Reagan had risen from the dead to slap around a welfare deadbeat.
Never mind that the G.O.P. is running on empty, with no ideas beyond the incessant repetition of Reagan’s name. A battle over race-and-gender identity politics among the Democrats, with its acrid scent from the 1960s, might be just the spark for a Republican comeback. (As long as the G.O.P.’s own identity politics, over religion, don’t flare up.) …
“Here's what Dr. King got out of the Sermon on the Mount. On Nov. 17, 1957, in Montgomery's Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, he concluded the learned discourse that came to be known as the ‘loving your enemies’ sermon this way: ‘So this morning, as I look into your eyes and into the eyes of all of my brothers in Alabama and all over America and over the world, I say to you: “I love you. I would rather die than hate you.”’” – Sara Vowell
As he stood at the pulpit of Ebenezer Baptist Church here, addressing worshipers at the former congregation of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Senator Barack Obama was doing something Sunday that he has rarely done in his months of campaigning for the presidency.
He was appearing before a black audience, and he was speaking about race. …
He presented his candidacy as an opportunity to build on the ideals that began four decades ago here in Atlanta's Sweet Auburn neighborhood.
“The division, the stereotypes, the scapegoating, the ease with which we blame the plight of ourselves on others—all of that distracts us from the common challenges we face: war and poverty, injustice and inequality,” said Mr. Obama, of Illinois. “We can no longer afford to build ourselves up by tearing each other down.” …
“None of our hands are clean,” Mr. Obama said, speaking over approving “Amens” that resounded throughout the sanctuary. “So let us say that on this day of all days, each of us carries with us the task of changing our hearts and minds. Each of us carries with us the task of changing our hearts and minds.”
For Mr. Obama, the appearance at Ebenezer Baptist marked a rare time that a service at a predominantly black church has been included on his campaign schedule. It was the beginning of a transition in his strategy, as the primary moves to more diverse states, aides say, and he brings to the fore his effort to appeal to black voters while working to reassure some skeptics of his electability.
In doing so, Mr. Obama told his audience a story of a young campaign aide in South Carolina named Ashley Baia. He prefaced the story by pointing out that she is white, and because of her belief in Mr. Obama, black voters are signing on. He highlighted one man who was drawn toward his campaign.
“By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man, that's not enough to change a country,” Mr. Obama said. “But it is where we begin.”
It is weird observing MLK Day this year. Instead of the usual comments on racial unity and progress, 2008 marks the first time the holiday is serving as a lens for viewing race as a chip in the political primaries poker game. It's almost as bizarre as seeing a MLK White Sale.
When the primaries started, I was an Edwards supporter. I still am. Although I'm glad to see Obama talking about them now, a few months, the only candidate addressing the “common challenges we face: war and poverty, injustice and inequality” was Edwards. He continues to do so. And since I believe he's the only candidate likely to build a politics around solving those issues, I continue to send his campaign money and support his run for the White House.
But now that the race card has been played, I find myself focusing more and more on the front runners, and how they're treating the issue. It hasn't left me with the big, warm fuzzie you would expect from the Democratic party.
As we move towards the South and the South Carolina primary, I'm reminded of 2000, when John McCain's race for the Republican Party's nomination was torpedoed by push polling from the Bush camp. If you're not familiar with it, push polling is a technique campaigns use to sway voters using information disguised as a poll. They ask polling questions designed to “push” voters to the pollster's side of the ballot. In 2000, the Bushies asked likely voters “Would you be more likely or less likely to vote for John McCain for president if you knew he had fathered an illegitimate black child?” They played the race card and well, and that was it. I was pissed at the Bushies.
I was pissed off more, though, when McCain forgave them for it—which is the point, here.
I'm an Edwards supporter, but I find myself writing about Hillary more because on a day-to-day basis, she's pissing me off with her Bush-like campaign tactics. She's vetted his background for damaging information (“in kindergarten, he said he wanted to be president”), she's used surrogates to sling mud, and she's played the race card. Frighteningly enough, her attacks beginning to resemble this:
Next thing you know, she'll be push polling South Carolinians: “Would you be more or less likely to vote for Obama if you knew he fathered a black child?” If she does, though, she'll lose me. I won't vote for her—ever.
Hello, I'm James Taylor, and welcome to Afternoon Delight—the show that's all about you and your sex-fetish inquiries. As you know, each week I'm joined by a guest host, selected from an endless pool of talented 1970s singer songwriters, and together we do our best to address your fetishistic concerns. Whether your gag ball got stuck somewhere it didn't belong or you're just looking for an inside line on a pair of assless chaps, we can help.
My co-host will join us in a minute, but first let's take a caller:
Caller: Hi, James. Big fan. It's an honor. O.K. Here's my question: My wife and I have been married for 25 years and enjoy a good amount of role play. But last week, during a hot wax nipple session, she distinctly ignored my safe word. Since then, I just haven't felt safe being submissive. Am I wrong? And, Oh! My safe word is “Sweet Baby James.” You rule!
James Taylor:Well, thank you, caller. I always love to hear when my music has found a place into the hearts of lovers and their dirty sex play. Let me say that ignoring a submissive's safe word is never cool. I remember once in '77, I was backstage at a Cat Stevens concert with a groupie and my favorite vaginal speculum. I was just about to increase the dilation a click, when she cried out, “Banapple Gas!” But I didn't stop. I thought she was shouting out a song request for Cat. You see, by a horrible coincidence “Banapple Gas” was also her safe word, and I'd forgotten. Which is understandable because I was mainlining heroin at the time. Anyway, not long after, Cat rode the “Peace Train” out for an encore, and all was forgiven. But that doesn't change what I did. Safe words are sacred, man. You keep your nipples to yourself until you get that straight with your lady. …
Ah, “You keep your nipples to yourself” takes me back to my kindergarten days. Good times, good times.
The Monkey Cage, Still the Best Exhibit at the Zoo
http://view.break.com/434614 - Watch more free videos The guy who taught him that is soooooooo getting fired, even though you would think drinking his own urine would be punishment enough.
I Can't Tell You How Many Times I've Dreamed of Resting My Head on a Big Clitoris
For Sale—beautiful pink “vagina couch” that I made in art school and no longer have space for. The couch is large: measures 5′ 3″ long, 3′ 3″ wide at the middle, and stands 2′ 3″ tall (and is heavy like a couch). The pics are from my portfolio and are several years old; as a result, the couch has some scuffmarks and stains around the bottom from …
I stopped there, because, frankly, I didn't like the direction that description was going in.
Needless to say, I refuse to believe anyone could “no longer have space for” that couch. Simply. Refuse. For the record, I would never grow tired of it.
In fact, I'd keep it until my dying day. And in my will, I'd ask my executor to have it converted into a coffin, so I could spend eternity resting peacefully, up to my neck in vagina couch.
By the way, that second picture is exactly why no one likes kids. Just when you've got the fit the way you like it, one of those bastards comes along and stretches it out.
And, yeah, the professionals can sew it up after the tear, but it's just not the same—just not the same.
Although the economies of countries like China and India are growing at an incredible rate, the US remains the nation with the highest GDP in the world—and by far: US GDP is projected to be $13,22 trillion (or $13.220 billion) in 2007, according to this source. That's almost as much as the economies of the next four (Japan, Germany, China, UK) combined.
The creator of this map has had the interesting idea to break down that gigantic US GDP into the GDPs of individual states, and compare those to other countries' GDP. What follows, is this slightly misleading map—misleading, because the economies both of the US states and of the countries they are compared with are not weighted for their respective populations.
Pakistan, for example, has a GDP that's slightly higher than Israel's—but Pakistan has a population of about 170 million, while Israel is only 7 million people strong. The US states those economies are compared with (Arkansas and Oregon, respectively) are much closer to each other in population: 2,7 million and 3,4 million.
And yet, while a per capita GDP might give a good indication of the average wealth of citizens, a ranking of the economies on this map does serve two interesting purposes: it shows the size of US states' economies relative to each other (California is the biggest, Wyoming the smallest), and it links those sizes with foreign economies (which are therefore also ranked: Mexico's and Russia's economies are about equal size, Ireland's is twice as big as New Zealand's). Above's a run-down of the 50 states, plus DC.
“You? Gay? No! I Mean, How…? If You're Gay, Who Amongst Us Can Count Himself Straight? My World Is Upside Down.” *
Despite the fact that everyone he meets obviously assumes he is gay, 34-year-old Toledo-area homosexual Jeremy Schuitt still thinks he's in the closet, local sources reported Tuesday.
A graphic designer who secretly frequents Cruisers, a local dance club, Schuitt has told only four people about his homosexuality. However, nearly all of his friends, co-workers and relatives are well aware of it, as is the clerk at the neighborhood Starbucks where Schuitt orders a “double mocha ‘capp’ in [a] paper [cup]” every day before work. …
Schuitt's invention of “Jacqueline”—his French-Canadian fiancée currently touring Canada with the Montreal Ballet—is just one of the many cover stories Schuitt has created to hide his homosexuality from those in whom he cannot confide.
Unbeknownst to Schuitt, every one of his efforts has been unsuccessful. Even those friends who have not accidentally found Manhole Magazine's 1998 Boy-Toy Revue video Schuitt keeps hidden behind his entertainment center have noted the other tell-tale signs of homosexuality around his apartment, such his extensive collection of pierrot figurines and coordinated futon cover and curtain set.
Progressive and open-minded, Schuitt's friends have fully accepted his closeted status and have tried to create a comfortable environment for his sexual denial. But despite their open-mindedness, many of these friends were shocked and uncomfortable upon discovering that Schuitt was not yet “out.”
“Of course, I've always respected his right to privacy regarding that very personal decision,” friend Erin Chance said. “But there's no doubt about it“he's gay. Not just a little gay, really gay.”
The funny part is that as ham-fisted and inexpert as their straight acts are that's as nuanced and spot on as your performance of Surprised Friend has to be when they finally come out to you.
The last time it happened to me, I was not at my best (think Shatner in T.J. Hooker, just a little too unctuous for the material), so the scene's ending was a little anti-climatic:
“You knew, didn't you? “Little bit, yeah.”
*In my defense, we had had a few beers before he told me, and beer tends to fuel my sarcastic side.
“What? Again? Baby, Please. I'm Not from Havanna.”
Ah, yeah… That's right, baby.
Girl, tonight, we're going to make love. You know how I know, baby? 'Cause it's Wednesday, and Wednesday night is the night that we make love. Tuesday night is the night that we go and visit your mother, but Wednesday night is the night that we make love, 'cause everything is just right. Conditions are perfect.
You lean in close and say something sexy, like “I might go to bed. I've got work in the morning.” I know what you're trying to say, baby. You're trying to say, “Ooh, yeah, it's business time. It's business time.” …
That's what you're trying to say. You're trying to say, “Let's get down to business. It's business time.”
Ooh. Next thing you know we're in the bathroom, brushing our teeth. That's all part of it. That's foreplay. Then, you go sort out the recycling. (That's not part of it, but it's still very important.)
Then, we're in the bedroom. You're wearing that ugly, old, baggy t-shirt from that team-building exercise you did for your old work. And it's never looked better on you. Ohhhh, team-building exercise—not tonight! (Oh, you don't know what you're doing to me.) I remove my jeans, but trip over them because I've still got my shoes on. But then, I turn it into a sexy dance. …
Ooh, making love, making love for two, making love for two minutes. When it's with me, you only need two minutes, 'cause I'm so intense. …
You say something like, “Is that it?” I know what you're trying to say. You're trying to say, “Ahh, yeah, that's it.”
Then you tell me you want some more. Well, I'm not surprised.
But I'm quite sleepy.
Finally, there's a replacement for Barry White. Pop in the Flight of the Conchords CD, and let the seduction begin.
The failure of the New Hampshire pre-election surveys to mirror the outcome of the Democratic race is one of the most significant miscues in modern polling history. All the published polls, including those that surveyed through Monday, had Senator Barack Obama comfortably ahead with an average margin of more than 8 percent. These same polls showed no signs that Senator Hillary Clinton might close that gap, let alone win.
While it will take time for those who conducted the New Hampshire tracking polls to undertake rigorous analyses of their surveys, a number of things are immediately apparent.
First, the problem was not a general failure of polling methodology. These same pollsters did a superb job on the Republican side. …
Second, the inaccuracies don’t seem related to the subtleties of polling methods. The pollsters who overestimated Mr. Obama’s margin ranged from CBS and Gallup (who have the most rigorous voter screens and sampling designs, and have sterling records in presidential elections) to local and computerized polling operations, whose methods are a good deal less refined. Everyone got it wrong.
Third, the mistakes were not the result of a last-minute trend going Mrs. Clinton’s way. Yes, according to exit polls the 17 percent of voters who said they made their decision on Election Day chose Mrs. Clinton a little more than those who decided in the past two or three weeks. But the margin was very small … too narrow to explain the wide lead for Mr. Obama that kept showing up in pre-election polls.
Fourth, some have argued that the unusually high turnout may have caused a problem for the pollsters. It’s possible, but unlikely. While participation was higher than in past New Hampshire primaries, the demographic and political profile of the vote remains largely unchanged. …
Hmm, what could that possibly be. I haven't a clue, but I have noticed the Clinton spin doctors are talking about race as much as possible lately.
Of course, if it backfires, like the cocaine-abuse fiasco, someone will be fired.
You know the fiasco I'm talking about, right? The fiasco where the Clintonians went out of their way to deny they were bring up Obama's drug past: “We're not talking about his cocaine abuse THAT HE ADMITTED TO IN HIS BOOK, because that would be low. To bring up his cocaine abuse. Which he wrote about in his book. His biography, the life story of Democratic presidential candidate Barack HUSSEIN Obama. And his life with cocaine. Bringing somehting like that up would be very low, indeed.” It became a fiasco, because voter turned against the negative campaigning. So the Clinton leadership denied having anything to do with it, and fired an old friend.
They still want to pursue that campaign strategy, apparently, but with all the spare staffers fired what are they to do? Well, find someone they don't have to fire to sling their mud:
“Robert L. Johnson, the founder of Black Entertainment Television, who appeared at a rally with Mrs. Clinton in Columbia, S.C., seemed to allude to Mr. Obama's use of cocaine as a young man.
“‘To me, as an African-American, I am frankly insulted that the Obama campaign would imply that we are so stupid that we would think Hillary and Bill Clinton, who have been deeply and emotionally involved in black issues since Barack Obama was doing something in the neighborhood — and I won’t say what he was doing, but he said it in the book — when they have been involved,’ Mr. Johnson said.”
Here's my favorite part, though: “Mr. Johnson later issued a statement saying he was referring to Mr. Obama's work as a labor organizer in Chicago, which he described in his book ‘Dreams From My Father.’” Yes, being a labor organizer was the thing so awful that Johnson couldn't bring it up.
Oh, well, I guess on the bright side, if you're race-baiting, you don't have time to lie about your record on the Iraq War:
Bill and Hillary Rodham Clinton have repeatedly invoked the name of Senator Chuck Hagel, a longtime critic of the Iraq war, as they defend Mrs. Clinton’s 2002 vote to authorize the war.
In interviews and at a recent campaign event, they have said that Mr. Hagel, Republican of Nebraska, helped draft the resolution, which they said was proof that the measure was more about urging Saddam Hussein to comply with weapons inspections, instead of authorizing combat.
Mrs. Clinton repeated the claim Sunday during an interview on “Meet the Press,” …
“It was a vote to use the threat of force against Saddam Hussein, who never did anything without being made to do so,” Mrs. Clinton said.
Reverend Potty-mouth: And then, the following week, last week, we were talking about Lot. And we were talking about Sodom and Gomorra. And we were talking about how Lot chose to go pinch his tits… And we were talking about how Lot chose to pierce his penis and, generally, let his freak flag fly.
And we were talking about how a couple of Lot's friends came over and decided they'd rather donkey punch the angels staying with Lot than tea bag his daughters, like they usually did on the Sabbath.
And we were talking about how god stepped in and ruined everyone's good time, despite the protests of Sodomites and Gomorrans screaming “Hey, god, why don't you go practice your hate crimes elsewhere, man?”
Look. If Your Entire Act Is Going to be Based on Racial Stereotypes, It Had Better Be Funny
Earthquake: …You know, black people could never be no terrorist. We don't fit that profile—'cause you got to be on time with a bomb.
A brother fuck around, oversleep. BOOM! “Ain't this a bitch! I knew I forgot to do something. I knew I should've set it for Saturday. I knew I didn't have enough time to drop this bomb off and go by the check cashing joint.”
Okay, well played. But could you try to keep it down to the stereotypes that are easily refuted?
It Makes Sense. Cocaine Shrinks the Penis. Since Quitting Is Out of the Question, Users Can Be Expected to Compensate
News Anchor: …a major drug sweep in Minnesota. Few details are being release, but we do know that they made one bust in Maplewood. That's where Jeff Curley's standing by right now. Jeff, what do you have going on for us?
Jeff Curley: They're still inside searching for evidence. I'm told six people have been arrested and charged with intent to possess and deliver cocaine. I'm told as much as forty-four pounds of cocaine.
As I said, they're still inside. They used a battering ram to break through glass and a steel-reinforced door here. …
A battering ram? If the police want to take my sex toys, they'd better bring more than that—a lot more.
My cocaine? Oh, that's easy to get. It's under the mattress.
I have been looking for a syringe bulb type douche for travel, at home I use an attachment I have hooked up to the bath. Well, I think this is about aas good as you are going to get. I, personally like to use A LOT of water, and this bulb fills up pretty well. I usually only have to fill this a couple of times to clean out completely. At home, I will remain loyal to my shower attachment...but in times of need, this works. One word of advice, make sure that the sink and the toilet are in the same room. In some older bed and breakfast the toilet and the sink are sometimes separate (I mean two different rooms!) and it's a little embarrassing to walk between the toilet room and the sink room to refill and clean.
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Actually, “Be Here when I Get Back” Is Your Cue to Exit
A 21-year-old man was shot in the groin and upper left leg about 11:55 p.m. Friday at a North Toledo bar after a bouncer told the man he couldn't enter, police said.
Lamar Allen … was taken to St. Vincent Mercy Medical Center…
Police said Mr. Allen and two other men went to Marteds Cafe, 2853 Lagrange St. Police said that Mr. Allen was not allowed in because he did not have valid identification and a witness told police, he was recognized as being part of a disturbance on New Year's Eve.
Police said Mr. Allen began to yell and push his way in and punched the bouncer who tried to stop him.
My cousin Reggie ran a nightclub in Chicago, and one night he was called to the door to help his bouncers managers handle a customer who was demanding to see “someone in charge.” Unruly nightclub patrons being what they are, this section of the story ends with my cousin getting punched, the two men—my cousin and the fine Chicago gentleman—being separated by the managers, and my cousin hissing at the man, “You be here when I get back.”
Point of information: if there's one sentence you can count on to be absent from the conclusion of a Loman Family story, it is this one: “Luckily, cooler heads prevailed.”
So, it's amazing to me that the guy waited.
He must have come from a family where good things always came to he that waited, a clan life filled with rainbows, cotton candy, and unicorns that kissed your ouch-ies away. That's not where I come from.
Knife fights break out at Loman family funerals. That considered, on the spectrum of possible conflict resolution outcomes, count to 10, collect oneself, and return, ready to hug the problem out is diametrically opposed to anything a Loman is likely to do.
Let's just say, the bouncer in Toledo, mentioned above, could be related to me.
