I Pronounce A Fatwa

Actually, I probably mispronounce it, but never mind.

I will give $1,000,000,(Peruvian. You could buy a coke!), to the person who brings me the head of whatever son of a bitch invented those stupid hard plastic tie things that every fucking toy maker seems compelled to use to secure every single toy to pieces of cardboard. A highly necessary security invention given that most of them now seem to be sealed in nearly impentrable vaccuum sealed plastic casings.

Other than the six or seven cuts on my hands I'm having a great vacation. Hope your holidays are going well too.

Seriously. Bring me their heads.

Merry Christmas

To all, and to all a good night.

When You Put It Like That, Who Can Argue

I heard this on the radio this morning. It was an ad for an alternative weekly paper in Massachusetts called "The Phoenix". I'm not sure what this has to do with selling newspapers, but I liked the sentiment. It went something like this.

Life should be lived in reverse.

You'd start out at death's door, old and decrepit. You'd be in a nursing home, getting round the clock care and possibly wearing diapers. Not much difference than how we start out now.

Gradually you'd get younger, stronger and in better health. Eventually you'd get too healthy and young and you'd be kicked out.

You're retired, so you'd play golf all day, or read, or travel, or whatever. You'd collect a pension or social security, (wouldn't count on that), and live off that.

Then you'd go to work for the next 40 years.

You'd "retire" at 22, at or near the peak of your health and good looks. You'd spend the next several years in college and high school, drinking too much and having irresponsible sex. And it wouldn't matter because you're already done working.

Eventually you'd regress to childhood, completely innocent and with nothing more pressing to do than watch Bugs Bunny and play with toys.

You'd spend your last nine months in a warm pool, a spa environment as the ad described it, getting round the clock nourishment and waste removal through a tube.

And your last moment before you blipped out of existence would be an orgasm.

It's Like They Know

We got a XMAS bonus this year. Not enough to take that trip to Tahiti I'd been planning on, (swinging by Syd's on the way to drop off the kids), but enough to upgrade some gifts from zirconium to cubic zirconium. My generosity knows bounds the way Mike knows hoops.

At any rate, this weekend I'm tossing around the football with my son and debating whether I should spend the bonus on a bottle of good scotch for me, (or 3-4 mediocre bottles), or take the family out to dinner at Chili's and just pray we avoid the e. coli monster. Out comes my daughter to join us, which is another way of saying "annoy her older brother", and she's wearing her winter coat. I think it's a hand-me down from some Pilgrim. It's old.

Me: "Hey, zip up your coat. It's not that warm out here"

Her: "I can't, it's busted"

Me: "Come here, I'll fix it"

She trots over, since she's learned that if she listens and obeys she gets treats. Her brother is a little slower at this and therefore eats lots of gruel. I lean over, expecting to unstick a zipper, and find that there is no zipper. At all.

Me: "Where's our zipper"

Her: "I dunno"

Me: "When did you lose it"

Her: "I think last year" (although she's five and this could mean last week)

Me: (sigh) "Get in the car. We're going shopping"

Now we're both warm. her with her new coat and me with a bottle of Old Rotgut #5.

Undoing All of Syd's Good Work for the State

This weekend I had some time to myself, which isn;t easy with a wife and two kids, and was quietly reading a special edition of Sports Illustrated. I had that time to myself because I ate something I shouldn't have, (seriously, I have an issue with throwing away leftovers, and if it's in the refrigerator and not actually developing the foundations of its own civilization when I open the lid, I'll probably eat it), and was comfortably ensconced in the bathroom. Which is actually the only way I get time to read the paper or a magazine. As my brother once memorably said when his girlfriend was asking why he was less willing to commit than a gay friend of theirs was with his new boyfriend "probably because he doesn't have to hide in the john to read the sports page". Or the fashion news, he said, making the obligatory gay joke.

But I digress.

This edition of SI was a special one, a compilation of all sorts of past entires they've had in their "Faces in the Crowd" section over the last 50 years. If you don't get SI, or just smoke a lot of pot and can't recall what you've read from one minute to the next, (note I don't condone that sort of behavior, but if you've got any, help a brother out eh?), that section is usually a list of 4-5 people from the ordinary sports world, with a small blurb about some extraordinary accomplishment they've achieved. Usually it's a high school kid breaking a state record, or some older guy breaking an age group record. For example, some 93 year-old broke the age group record for the 100-yard "dash", (running your age?), breaking the tape in some 51 seconds. I could totally kick his ass.

But also in this magazine was a section for unusual accomplishments highlighted in the past. While I am not sure this is still the case, at one point a few years back a Mississippi resident held the record for, (gives Syd a moment to smash head into desk)

tobacco spitting. I don't recall his name right this second, but he was quoted as saying that the ability to spit baccy, (I think he went about 20', for those who care), wasn't learned. "You're either born with it or you ain't" And I thought t"hat would make a great addition to the Missippi T-shirts Syd highlighted last week!"

You can see them too after Syd provides the link that I'd just fuck up if I tried it.

I'm Going To Hell For This

http://www.collegehumor.com/update:1708554/

OK, so once again I screwed up the link. I do not know what I'm doing, and in fact am so computer illiterate that it's a goddamn miracle I even find my way to this blog on a semi-regular basis. You've made your point. Now just take your mouse, highlight the link, copy and paste it onto your address line, and all will be well.

Gosh, I Hope He Comes To My House

The NFL has chosen Prince as the halftime entertainer for this year's Super Bowl. Which means that for roughly the 37th straight year I'll wander off and do something else during the halftime. When I originally heard this I thought that this was an odd choice, since I thought they wanted to avoid another Janet Jackson "Look At My Weirdly Decorated Boob" episode, and Prince is known as an artist with a habit of dry humping the stage, fellow band members, instruments, and pretty much anything he could wriggle his skinny little frame onto. Also, he wrote "Darling Nikki", about a lovely young thing he met, if the song is to be believed, "in a hotel lobby/masturbating in a magazine."

Again, hardly seems like the type the NFL looks to for one of their out-dated, slow, dull-as-dirt halftime shows. Although, (slightly off topic), I knew two girls in college who tried out for Up With People, those famously happy, clean-cut, well-scrubbed kids who ran around during the old halftime shows and butchered various pop songs. These two girls were, to put it mildly, partiers. Others might call them whores, in particular one of my friends who made the mistake of dating one of them. To be fair, they never made the squad, but I've always wondered about Up With People since then.

Back on topic, it turns out that the NFL isn't worried about Prince acting up due to some changes he's made in his personal life. Namely that he's become a

get this


Jehovah's Witness!!

Do you think he goes door to door and hands out copies of The Watchtower? How great would it be to see a long purple limo come out and see Prince walk up to your door to discuss religion? Would you let him in? I would. Then I'd ask him what it's like to screw Sheena Easton.

I don't think he'd come back. Especially after I told him that I think he's the thrid best musical act to come out of Minneapolis, (The Replacements and Husker Du rank 1-2), and that's only because I only know of three to begin with.

God I hope he does "Darling Nikki" at the Super Bowl. Or starts talking about Jehovah. I'll take either one.

NOT SAFE FOR WORK (and yet you opened it anyway)

I recently got a tattoo. This isn't it.






But I thought you pervs might appreciate it more.

Is That Irony I Smell?

Headline in yesterday's paper: "Cheney's Gay Daughter Pregnant" There was also a headline reading "NUKE SANK THE TITANIC!", but that might have been the Weekly World News. Chosen by well-read zombies since 1975. The other story appears to be real. There's a family with some issues in the future.

Now War is Declared, and Battle Come About

Fox News has declared victory in the long-running and bloody "War on Christmas". The reason victory is declared? Well, it seems Wal-Mart has decided to start greeting its shopers with "Merry Christmas" instead of the "Happy Holidays" greetings those heateh bastards were using over the last couple of years, thereby getting Bill O'Reilly's knickers in a twist and leading to all sorts of bloodshed over the proper way to celebrate the birth of Christ.

Or Hannukah.

Or Kwanzaa.

Or the Winter Solstice.

Or most important of all, my daughter's 6th birthday. Which is coming up and which Wal-Mart will have nothing to do with.

I can see where victory would be declared now that the mighty fortress of Wal-Mart has capitulated. After all, if Jesus stood for nothing else it was for low wages, poor health-care, employing undocumented workers and minors in dangerous jobs, and geenrally pricing community stores right out of business.

But this anti-Xmas guerilla isn't giving up the fight. Nope, I'll continue to avoid saying "Merry Xmas" as long as I can, and in fact, in light of this set-back, I'm breaking out the big guns. You say "Merry Christmas", I say "Go Fuck Yourself."


Actually, I probably won't say that, but since I finished my shopping yesterday, (except for Syd's gift, which it turns out is illegal in 49 states, two Canadien provines and most of Mexico) now's your chance to say it to me.

Deja Vu Vu Vu

Before we get to the meat of this post, (meat made up of poultry by-products), let me note that while reading yesterday's newspaper I came across an article about 7-8 Taco Bells in the New York/New Jersey area getting shut down because of e coli contamination. Apparently a bunch of people got sick after eating there. And the question that leapt immediately to my mind was "How could they tell that was e coli and not just the usual reaction to Taco Bell?" I think TB's new motto should be "Taco Bell: For the bulemic in all of us."

Now, this morning I'm listening to one of my favorite radio shows. Hell, I'll even plug it. "The Boris Rock Show" on 89.3. If you're in CT try to find it. They seem to randomly change the times, but he's on right now Wednesday mornings at about 11. Good luck. He played some early Midnight Oil, taking me back to my old high school days. Of course, he then burned a ton of credibility by playing, Lord knows why, Madonna, but whatever.

When I was in high school I got a job as a gas jockey. Fill your tank, check your oil, clean your window with a squeegee that was also used to mop up oil spills. Soory about that leukemia, but at least you could see at night. For some odd reason, that gas station was a magnet for high school girls. Possibly because one of my co-workers was also selling coke. All the girls thought I was just adorable in that "he's so sweet and nice and cute and he's just my best friend." Since the best friend never gets laid, I developed a healthy fascination with beer and, for some reason, schnapps. I worked the second shift, 3:00 to 11:30. I was usually good and buzzed by 10. After work, assuming that there wasn't a beer party in the bays, (and that was not an infrequent event), I'd hook up with my friend Pete.

Pete loved two things. Midnight Oil and beer. More importantly, Pete had a fake ID and could actually buy beer. So we'd pile in his car and we'd drive around and drink beer and play Midnight Oil really loudly. Rather than let the beer bottles pile up inside, we would dispose of them as quickly as we finished. But you had to do it in the approved way. And Pete's approved way was to hurl the bottle at the first road sign that came up after you finished. Points were awarded for direct hits, less for partial hits, "penalties", (when you're 18 having to drink another beer really isn't a penalty) for a miss, unless thie miss resulted in a satisfying smashing sound, in which case we'd just laugh. And drink anyway.

Good times, but all in all, I'd rather have gotten laid. Goddamn "best friend" status.

While we're talking, (OK "rambling"), about deja vu, my 20 year high school reunion is coming up. For the 20th year, I doubt I'll go. Yesterday I was taliing to one of the two guys I've kept in touch with from my graduating class. He says he was talking to a girl who went to our five year reunion. She tells him that supposedly a guy we both knew in school raped a girl in the bathroom of the boat where the reunion took place. My friend's says "Holy shit, what happened?" The girl says nothing, the alleged victim didn't tell the cops. So my friend asks how they know it really happened. "Oh, we heard it, but the door was locked"

Uhh, what? You heard someone BEING RAPED, but since the door was locked, you couldn't do anything about it? "Hey sorry Betty, we jiggled the door knob and everything. We just couldn't figure out what to do. Want a beer?" Gosh, I can't figure out why I don't spend more time with these people.

Coming from Behind

In the sense that last night I was catching up on clutural events that I had missed when they first came out. Which of course means that HBO is showing "Brokeback Mountain" and last night they finally showed it at a decent hour so I could sit down with the missues and bone-up on my homosexual love stories. And don't think that's the last bad pun you're going to read here.

By "decent hour" I mean that HBO finally started the movie after I put the kids to bed. They'd been starting it at 7:30 before, making me change the channel before having to explain awkward facts of life to the children, about how sometimes people get really lonely and it's just too cold to go outside and chase down a sheep. Or a chicken. I worked on a poultry farm once, so what?

So at 9 we start watching and while I'm wondering what the writer was possibly thinking calling one of the characters "Ennis", leading to a series of jokes so obvious even I'm not going there, I'm also wondering why Heath Ledger insists on delivering his lines in a barely decipherable mumble, as though he had a dick in his ...oh, oh never mind.

Seriously, I'm sure the last line was supposed to be really important, but neither one of us could hear it.

Anyway, I thought the movie was overblown, (last one), and if it didn't have two guys as the love interest no one would have paid any attention to it. But I will bet you that the Wyoming Board of Tourism is just tickled shitless at how Wyoming is portrayed. Cold, empty, poor and bigoted. Kind of like Kansas, but with mountains.

Somewhere, Nonny Rushes To Find An Application

Connecticut has a fairly well-known college in its midst called Wesleyan. Located in Middletown, it's famous for being ultra-liberal and full of kids who are enraged at the unfairness of the world and express this anger by only occasionally bathing and leading disorganized protests until the administration starts letting them write on the sidewalks with chalk again. I'm actually not making that up.

Wesleyan offers classes in making your own porno films, or at least it did, and the final exam was, you guessed it, make your own porno. I would have taken that class. And probably failed.

While the grubby little turds whine about the hardships they face as oppressed people/persons/womyn/dwarves/orcs/elves or whatever they're feeling like that day, their parents shell out in excess of $30,000 a year.

As you may have figured out by now, I generally have little use for these rich little crybabies, even if I probably agree with 80% of what they want politically. I'm such the leftist.

But credit must be given where credit is due. And soemwhere between whining about chalk and creating graffiti in the tunnels, these little bastards have come up with what might be the greatest campus-wide game ever.

Zombies vs. Humans.

I'll say that again while Nonny hyperventilates.

Zombies vs. Humans.

The game works like this. At the start there's more humans than zombies. The humans wear bandannas on their arms, the zombies on their heads. As the zombies succesfully attack humans, their ranks swell. The game continues until there's only one human left. The humans can fend off the zombies with various soft ammunition like nerf guns, marshmallows and rolled up socks. Classes and dorm rooms are safety zones, which is the one quibble I have with this game. What better way to liven up Statistics 101 than to come lurching in groaning "braiiiiinnnns, braiiiinnnnns", and proceeding to "eat" half the class before being brought down in a hail of Peeps? Hell, I'd go to class.

Of course, the porno class probably doesn't need any livening up, so that should stay a safety zone.

So hats off to the spoiled little dweebs. They've hit gold on this one. My application for a Master's program in zombie slaying is in the mail.