Read this.
How many times have you asked a complete stranger -- for lack of anything better to say -- what he did for work?"
For my part, more times than I could count.
So, here we go, a list of conversation openers that don't reference money or work:
1) The time I snapped a wet towel at my brother so hard it drew blood.
2) The time I skied into a drift fence and smashed it to pieces in front of my friends and about 30 ski lift passengers.
3) The time I crapped my pants at work and tossed my boxers into the dumpster out back of the building.
4) The time my martial arts instructor choked me so hard I blacked out (and the other time that happened, with a different instructor. What fun.)
5) The many times I've been kicked in the balls.
6) The greatest animated movies I've ever seen, which include but aren't limited to: Princess Mononoke and Heavy Metal.
7) The thrill of sport, and the agony of defeat.
8) The world's greatest electric guitar tones, including Hendrix, Van Halen, Zappa and Nugent.
9) The allure of the female breast.
10) Why rare meat is better than well-done.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Mattie
Early girl, backwards girl
floppy, skinny little girl
blue skin, brown hair and the prettiest little lips
She never was hard to look at
even when filthy and foul
she extracts a father's smile almost every time.
Light year dream
Beautiful points of light
expand into vacant space
infinite lengths of time
this is the road ahead
a lonely light-year dream
I've come so far
who could have known
soft lips and warm hands
could make going home so hard?
Never be the same again
since the day I let her in
since the day I beamed her up
since the day I inhaled her breath
in geosynchronous orbit above her parents' house.
expand into vacant space
infinite lengths of time
this is the road ahead
a lonely light-year dream
I've come so far
who could have known
soft lips and warm hands
could make going home so hard?
Never be the same again
since the day I let her in
since the day I beamed her up
since the day I inhaled her breath
in geosynchronous orbit above her parents' house.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Best photos of aliens on the net
Studly.
Gross.
Moldy pubic hair -- eww!
Awwww.... Isn't she precious?
Sexy flirt!
Monday, October 09, 2006
Ten things I won't do
1) I'll never eat human feces (on purpose).
2) Never stick a rusty fork in my eye.
3) Won't slap a bitch
4) Won't hunt the "ultimate prey"
5) Won't buy a Ford.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Hugo Strange Winterhalter, Esquire -- civilian, not-for-profit spy
Civilian observer, Hugo Strange Winterhalter, reporting his observances during a short walk today. These records come only from this observer's memory:
1) A woman, smoking a cigarette, driving a white Cadillac with a military entrance sticker affixed to the windshield.
2) An Arab-looking guy, driving a Metro taxi.
3) Followed by two black guys, one of them a kid with his head out the window, riding in a tan SUV.
4) A man or woman -- couldn't tell -- driving a silver car with a handicap tag hanging from the rear-view mirror.
5) A woman, whose face I couldn't see, driving a tan van with dark-tinted windows.
6) A woman, driving a yellow convertible.
7) Another woman -- this one dark-skinned, perhaps asian, kind of cute -- driving a tan car with the window rolled down.
8) A person with a dark-skinned arm -- couldn't see the face -- driving a turquoise-colored car -- maybe a Ford Tempo or something like that.
9) An old man with a red baseball cap, eyeglasses and a gray beard, driving a powder blue 70s or 80s- model American car -- maybe a Ford or Mercury.
11) Two Mexicans trimming branches from a tree at the entrance of a cemetery maintenance facility. One was thin, older, with a mustache, short hair. He looked like a Mexican movie star from the '20s. Very handsome.
12) On the highline trail: While studying a model of a sailing ship that was displayed in a high window of a condo (on either side were situated models of lighthouses) a man in a yellow shirt and red baseball cap rode by on his bicycle. He wore shorts of unknown color, green socks and brown shoes.
13) A woman on a bike, wearing a red and white helmet. She sported blue, opaque sun glasses and gray-blonde hair.
14) Two more Mexicans, tending to the lawn of a condominium complex. One was wearing a white, sleeveless shirt and brown pants. His overshirt (teal-blue) hung on a fence nearby. He operated a rake. The other wore a similar teal-blue short-sleeved shirt and denim, long shorts. He was raking leaves as well.
15) A woman who spoke to squirrels. She chattered and clicked into the trees. She was holding a bag of bread crumbs.
16) A gathering of old ladies, perhaps as many as five. A few of them had white poodles. They sat on benches, laughing and joking with each other.
17) A man in a white baseball cap, a dark long-sleeved shirt, and rather large sunglasses, riding his bike toward me. I believe he wore a fanny pack.
18) A older man, bald, but not totally bald, messing around with his car, closing the door, locking it. He wore a sleeveless, white shirt, sweat pants, and sandals. He spotted me, but I don't think he paid me any attention.
19) A woman with a large black dog -- Rotteweiller mix, maybe -- wearing a red skirt, and a shirt with horizontal stripes (red and white). She also wore a straw hat, sunglasses, and flat-footed slip-on shoes -- gray or tan in color -- possibly suede. She appeared afraid, which could explain the large dog.
20) A couple, holding hands and walking away from me. They walked a small, white dog -- goofy looking, the kind with a squished face. The man was tall, wore a blue T-shirt, tucked smartly into his jeans, which were lashed to his frame with a no-nonsense brown leather belt. Unfortunately, he also wore white tennis shoes, which in this observer's opinion is a fashion error -- tennis shoes are for tennis and tennis only. He held in his right hand the left hand of his lover, a woman in a large white T-shirt and blue, long shorts. She had a fat ass, but that's certainly not her fault. She had long blond hair and wore Birkenstock-style sandals. They turned off the trail into the parking lot of a condominium complex.
21) Where, TWO MORE Mexicans were tending to the lawns. One wore a red T-shirt, the other a brown or tan one. Both wore orange ear plugs. They quickly disappeared behind a garage.
22) Down the way a few more paces, another Mexican rode a mower. He wore a light-green, long-sleeved shirt, a straw hat and sunglasses. Also, he wore ear plugs. This observer spotted a forth Mexican around the corner of the building, using either a push mower or perhaps a weed-whacker. This forth Mexican was partially obstructed by foliage, but he appeard to be wearing a dark T-shirt, jeans and a baseball cap.
23) On Dayton, a black man was spotted riding golf cart through the parking lot of another condominium complex. He wore a baseball cap. Strapped to the back of the cart was a short, stubby ladder. This observer could not keep up.
24) At the corner of Dayton and Mississippi, a large tractor of some sort was being parked by the driver -- couldn't see the driver.
25) In the intersection of Dayton and Mississippi, a blond woman with a long ponytail, dressed in an orange safety vest, was writing on a clip board. She wore a yellow T-shirt and jeans. She also wore boots. Were she not a tall, big-boned woman, she might have looked out of place. As it was, she fit right in.
26) A tall, thin, very dark-skinned black guy, wearing black pants and a black T-shirt, stood beneath the shade of a tree near a bus stop. He wore a baseball cap. Accompanying the man was a little girl, wearing a football jersey (Denver Broncos, number 24 -- Champ Bailey, defensive back with the Broncos since 2004, with Washington Redskins since his rookie year in 1999). The little girl was very cute, with two puffy pig tails on either side of her head. She was a little black girl.
[The man asked this observer if this observer knew if the busses were still running on this route. This observer said he didn't know, but that probably, yes, they were still running. This observer then thought maybe that was a stupid thing to suggest, since this observer actually did not know a damn thing about the bus routes in this area. This observer will not make that mistake again.]
27) A man in a large white T-shirt and green shorts, either unloading or loading his SUV in the parking lot of the Breakers condos. The man carried a laptop on his shoulder and at his feet was a traveling garment back. Both items were black. He was white.
28) On Mississippi, this observer noted the following westbound cars: A dark Ford SUV, A dark pickup truck with an Oakland Raiders sticker affixed to the lower right corner of the rear window, followed by another dark Ford SUV.
29) There were many other observances, but this observer has run out of time to describe them...
Consider this report FILED!
1) A woman, smoking a cigarette, driving a white Cadillac with a military entrance sticker affixed to the windshield.
2) An Arab-looking guy, driving a Metro taxi.
3) Followed by two black guys, one of them a kid with his head out the window, riding in a tan SUV.
4) A man or woman -- couldn't tell -- driving a silver car with a handicap tag hanging from the rear-view mirror.
5) A woman, whose face I couldn't see, driving a tan van with dark-tinted windows.
6) A woman, driving a yellow convertible.
7) Another woman -- this one dark-skinned, perhaps asian, kind of cute -- driving a tan car with the window rolled down.
8) A person with a dark-skinned arm -- couldn't see the face -- driving a turquoise-colored car -- maybe a Ford Tempo or something like that.
9) An old man with a red baseball cap, eyeglasses and a gray beard, driving a powder blue 70s or 80s- model American car -- maybe a Ford or Mercury.
11) Two Mexicans trimming branches from a tree at the entrance of a cemetery maintenance facility. One was thin, older, with a mustache, short hair. He looked like a Mexican movie star from the '20s. Very handsome.
12) On the highline trail: While studying a model of a sailing ship that was displayed in a high window of a condo (on either side were situated models of lighthouses) a man in a yellow shirt and red baseball cap rode by on his bicycle. He wore shorts of unknown color, green socks and brown shoes.
13) A woman on a bike, wearing a red and white helmet. She sported blue, opaque sun glasses and gray-blonde hair.
14) Two more Mexicans, tending to the lawn of a condominium complex. One was wearing a white, sleeveless shirt and brown pants. His overshirt (teal-blue) hung on a fence nearby. He operated a rake. The other wore a similar teal-blue short-sleeved shirt and denim, long shorts. He was raking leaves as well.
15) A woman who spoke to squirrels. She chattered and clicked into the trees. She was holding a bag of bread crumbs.
16) A gathering of old ladies, perhaps as many as five. A few of them had white poodles. They sat on benches, laughing and joking with each other.
17) A man in a white baseball cap, a dark long-sleeved shirt, and rather large sunglasses, riding his bike toward me. I believe he wore a fanny pack.
18) A older man, bald, but not totally bald, messing around with his car, closing the door, locking it. He wore a sleeveless, white shirt, sweat pants, and sandals. He spotted me, but I don't think he paid me any attention.
19) A woman with a large black dog -- Rotteweiller mix, maybe -- wearing a red skirt, and a shirt with horizontal stripes (red and white). She also wore a straw hat, sunglasses, and flat-footed slip-on shoes -- gray or tan in color -- possibly suede. She appeared afraid, which could explain the large dog.
20) A couple, holding hands and walking away from me. They walked a small, white dog -- goofy looking, the kind with a squished face. The man was tall, wore a blue T-shirt, tucked smartly into his jeans, which were lashed to his frame with a no-nonsense brown leather belt. Unfortunately, he also wore white tennis shoes, which in this observer's opinion is a fashion error -- tennis shoes are for tennis and tennis only. He held in his right hand the left hand of his lover, a woman in a large white T-shirt and blue, long shorts. She had a fat ass, but that's certainly not her fault. She had long blond hair and wore Birkenstock-style sandals. They turned off the trail into the parking lot of a condominium complex.
21) Where, TWO MORE Mexicans were tending to the lawns. One wore a red T-shirt, the other a brown or tan one. Both wore orange ear plugs. They quickly disappeared behind a garage.
22) Down the way a few more paces, another Mexican rode a mower. He wore a light-green, long-sleeved shirt, a straw hat and sunglasses. Also, he wore ear plugs. This observer spotted a forth Mexican around the corner of the building, using either a push mower or perhaps a weed-whacker. This forth Mexican was partially obstructed by foliage, but he appeard to be wearing a dark T-shirt, jeans and a baseball cap.
23) On Dayton, a black man was spotted riding golf cart through the parking lot of another condominium complex. He wore a baseball cap. Strapped to the back of the cart was a short, stubby ladder. This observer could not keep up.
24) At the corner of Dayton and Mississippi, a large tractor of some sort was being parked by the driver -- couldn't see the driver.
25) In the intersection of Dayton and Mississippi, a blond woman with a long ponytail, dressed in an orange safety vest, was writing on a clip board. She wore a yellow T-shirt and jeans. She also wore boots. Were she not a tall, big-boned woman, she might have looked out of place. As it was, she fit right in.
26) A tall, thin, very dark-skinned black guy, wearing black pants and a black T-shirt, stood beneath the shade of a tree near a bus stop. He wore a baseball cap. Accompanying the man was a little girl, wearing a football jersey (Denver Broncos, number 24 -- Champ Bailey, defensive back with the Broncos since 2004, with Washington Redskins since his rookie year in 1999). The little girl was very cute, with two puffy pig tails on either side of her head. She was a little black girl.
[The man asked this observer if this observer knew if the busses were still running on this route. This observer said he didn't know, but that probably, yes, they were still running. This observer then thought maybe that was a stupid thing to suggest, since this observer actually did not know a damn thing about the bus routes in this area. This observer will not make that mistake again.]
27) A man in a large white T-shirt and green shorts, either unloading or loading his SUV in the parking lot of the Breakers condos. The man carried a laptop on his shoulder and at his feet was a traveling garment back. Both items were black. He was white.
28) On Mississippi, this observer noted the following westbound cars: A dark Ford SUV, A dark pickup truck with an Oakland Raiders sticker affixed to the lower right corner of the rear window, followed by another dark Ford SUV.
29) There were many other observances, but this observer has run out of time to describe them...
Consider this report FILED!
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
My worth, stated as the product of my weight and the price of gold
At current gold prices, my value is $1,355,768.70.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
A Frank Confession of a Fallen Information Technology Professional
Dear Sirs:
I am so sorry.
I know I promised "I'd take care of everything," and I might have made some exaggerated statements implying that your company's failed e-mail system was
"probably just a user error" or some "simple, bone-headed misconfiguration" that had idled the workforce for days, but I was clearly wrong.
I've worked for 42 straight hours repairing your broken e-mail systems, and I'll be Goddamned why the errors just won't go away. Every command I typed generated another horrifying beep of failure from the poor machine's tiny little speakers!
I still hear it -- the terrible digital reproach amid the endless hiss of all those whirring cooling fans:
"Beep!" WRONG!
"Beep, beep!" WRONG, AGAIN!
"Beep, beep, beep!" YOU ARE A LOSER AND YOU ARE
KILLING ME!
I have failed...
There, I said it.
I'm a technical idiot.
I'm the one who is broken. I'm weak and impotent and I apologize for all the frustration and heartache I've caused your workforce.
It's clear to me now that all
of the computer glitches, data corruption and unannounced network outages that you fine people have endured during my tenure as your IT Director were a DIRECT RESULT of my foolish, impetuous actions in the data center. I shouldn't be allowed near a typewriter, let alone a glorious network like the one yours used to be before I laid my clumsy hands on it.
It has been a shock to realize that I've always found a way to blame you beautiful people for all of the untraceable technical problems I had created. There was always a mysterious "human anomaly" and you were all "stupid users" to me. I just couldn't understand why computer concepts were so hard for you to grasp ("It's very simple -- you have to import the data tables FIRST, AND THEN convert them into comma-delimited format before uploading the file to the server using the PROPER commands... SHEESH!")
And I was so sensitive to criticism. You barely knew how to turn a computer off, and yet you dared offer your "hypothesis" on why your icons have all disappeared?
I feel sick.
I was so self-centered.
I'm embarrassed running away like this, in the middle of the night, leaving you with nothing but a massive spaghetti-tangle of cables, two smoking file servers and a hand-scribbled note Scotch-taped to your front door.
You deserve better from your network engineer.
You're all fine workers who have been rendered useless for who knows how many days because of my ignorance, my ego and my technical hubris. You never doubted for a second that I would repair your failed e-mail system because I never gave you the chance.
The truth is, the only thing I have mastered in
my career is a large vocabulary of obfuscating acronyms like TCP/IP, SMTP and LDAP. You had no idea what I was talking about, and neither did I.
As for your company's missing confidential accounting data -- it's just gone. I don't know what else to say. My tape backup solution was nothing more than a stack
of cards and wishful thinking. It's like the data never even existed.
What am I saying? For all practical purposes, it's like the ENTIRE COMPANY never existed!
What a foolish ass I am!
(teardrop stains smear the ink)
So I'm leaving now, never to return. Please forgive me -- or better yet, forget we ever met.
(teardrop)
I wish I was never born.
Shamefully,
Wilson Dortmunder,
MCSE, CCNA and B.S. in Computer Science, Metropolitan
State Community College.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
If I don't find some inner peace out here, you're a dead man
Fishing is a horrible way to pass the time.
I went fishing yesterday after the ol' nine-to-five. Spent the majority of my time tying flies to my leader and untangling my flies from trees, rocks and even from my own rod.
The evening basically went like this: Tie fly to leader, untangle, cast, untangle fly from weeds, cast, cast, untangle fly from weeds on opposite bank, cast, untangle, untangle, untangle, tie new fly on leader to replace lost fly, cast, untangle, etc.
Meanwhile, happy little fish splish-splashed to and fro, upstream and down, free of fear that I had even an idiot's chance of catching them.
Finally I snapped.
This is embarasssing to admit, but I threw a wild tantrum.
I threw my rod into the creek, and then picked it up and threw it into a tree, where it got stuck. I climbed up a steep embankment and retrieved my rod, and commenced whacking the crap out of every tree and rock I could reach. Then I beat the crap out of the river until I broke my rod and damaged the reel.
And the fish swam, to and fro, upstream and down, free of fear or harm.
I wish I could say that I feel better now, but I don't.
I went fishing yesterday after the ol' nine-to-five. Spent the majority of my time tying flies to my leader and untangling my flies from trees, rocks and even from my own rod.
The evening basically went like this: Tie fly to leader, untangle, cast, untangle fly from weeds, cast, cast, untangle fly from weeds on opposite bank, cast, untangle, untangle, untangle, tie new fly on leader to replace lost fly, cast, untangle, etc.
Meanwhile, happy little fish splish-splashed to and fro, upstream and down, free of fear that I had even an idiot's chance of catching them.
Finally I snapped.
This is embarasssing to admit, but I threw a wild tantrum.
I threw my rod into the creek, and then picked it up and threw it into a tree, where it got stuck. I climbed up a steep embankment and retrieved my rod, and commenced whacking the crap out of every tree and rock I could reach. Then I beat the crap out of the river until I broke my rod and damaged the reel.
And the fish swam, to and fro, upstream and down, free of fear or harm.
I wish I could say that I feel better now, but I don't.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Esta una historia Cinderalla en Alemania 2006!
Team Archucatelectl victorious in first match! [STOP] Exceeds all expectations! [STOP] Proceeds to next round. [STOP]
GOOOOAAAAAALLLLLL...
...OOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!
Latin American futol champ Rojelio Galban, in Germany:
"It waz very exciting, this match!"
"We ran at our opponents very fast..."
"...we made very hard kicks..."
"... and our balls flew into their goals many, many times!"
Team Archucaltelectl: 4, Team Germany: 1
GOOOOAAAAAALLLLLL...
...OOOAAAAAAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!
Latin American futol champ Rojelio Galban, in Germany:"It waz very exciting, this match!"
"We ran at our opponents very fast..."
"...we made very hard kicks..."
"... and our balls flew into their goals many, many times!"
Team Archucaltelectl: 4, Team Germany: 1
I stroke my organ almost every day...
I touch it, and "tickle" it with my fingers. I tap it and POKE IT WITH MY FOOT. This gets me hot and sweaty, because I do it in my garage, where there's no air conditioning.
I stroke my organ every chance I get.
My organ has wood...
My organ is large...
My organ is old...
I stroke my organ every chance I get.
My organ has wood...
My organ is large...
My organ is old...
Friday, May 19, 2006
My organ
What we have here is the backside of my 1968 Lowry electric organ, with the cover removed. Cool, yes?
A few words from our friend, international soccer champ Rojilio Galban
I'm busy working at the moment, but I think Latin American superstar futbol champ Rojilio Galban has something to say:
"Keeds, drugs y alcohol might seem fun and exciting, but I can say from personal experience that they're not. And while it's true that drugs can open our minds to fantastic new experiences that not even U.S. astronauts on the moon can comprehend, that's no reason to risk wasting your money or ruining your life. Also, you might hear from commie pinko leftist Democrats that drugs are not as dangerous as we've been led to believe -- do not fall for that mierda. Dios mio no!"
"So, keeds, please follow my advice: focus on one game at a time, concentrate on your defense, and just try to put la pelota through the goal."
"Keeds, drugs y alcohol might seem fun and exciting, but I can say from personal experience that they're not. And while it's true that drugs can open our minds to fantastic new experiences that not even U.S. astronauts on the moon can comprehend, that's no reason to risk wasting your money or ruining your life. Also, you might hear from commie pinko leftist Democrats that drugs are not as dangerous as we've been led to believe -- do not fall for that mierda. Dios mio no!"
"So, keeds, please follow my advice: focus on one game at a time, concentrate on your defense, and just try to put la pelota through the goal."
Thursday, April 27, 2006
It's time, I suppose, for babytalk...
Several times in the past weeks, the lady has wondered aloud why I have thus far failed to mention in these ethereal pages the growing bundle of joy she carries in her gut these days.
Well, here it is, the worldwide photo debut of our child:
This is the baby, displaying the razor-sharp sense of humor it likely inherited from its dad. It's also an athletic little turk, and day by day, the creature grows stronger. Someday soon it could very possibly punch its way out of the lady's womb --rather than exit in the regular way. But the lady's a tough specimen. I'm sure she'll be fine.
Neither she nor I know whether this kid will be little "Matilda" or little "Jude." The two of us have decided to remain ignorant, even in the face of so much modern technology. That doesn't stop the lady from refering to the baby as "he" instead of using a more appropriate, gender-neutral term like "the creature," "the alien," or "that [expletive] thing that relentlessly punches my lungs and lower intestines."
She probably calls the baby "he" just to save time.
Well, here it is, the worldwide photo debut of our child:
This is the baby, displaying the razor-sharp sense of humor it likely inherited from its dad. It's also an athletic little turk, and day by day, the creature grows stronger. Someday soon it could very possibly punch its way out of the lady's womb --rather than exit in the regular way. But the lady's a tough specimen. I'm sure she'll be fine.
Neither she nor I know whether this kid will be little "Matilda" or little "Jude." The two of us have decided to remain ignorant, even in the face of so much modern technology. That doesn't stop the lady from refering to the baby as "he" instead of using a more appropriate, gender-neutral term like "the creature," "the alien," or "that [expletive] thing that relentlessly punches my lungs and lower intestines."
She probably calls the baby "he" just to save time.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Gooooooaaaaaaaaaaal!
What an upset! Let's talk to Team Archucualtelectl Goalkeeper Rojilio Galban: "Yes, this was an upset win for some people, but it really was a team effort...
... We knew that we had to... to focus on putting the ball through the goal...
...defense was solid...
and our... our offense came up with some key plays...
...one game at a time..."
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Turbo Tax is trying to screw me over
Dear Sirs at the Internal Revenue Service:
I swear to God I didn't mean to request such a huge tax return this year. I tried my damnedest not to claim anything, but Turbo Tax wouldn't have any of it.
Turbo Tax website copy: "Your tax return amounts to a no-interest loan from you to the government! Find out how you can keep that money to yourself."
See what I'm saying? If it were up to me, you guys could keep it all -- hell, I'd probably fork over another $650 if you just asked. Of course I wouldn't like it, but I'd eventually crumble beneath The Man's withering glare. I'm sure you already know that.
I just thank you in advance for not asking, and also for turning a blind eye to my pitiful tax return this year. You and I both know that $17,000 in gross income is hardly worth fighting over. God knows how I came to own a house on that income, but it goes without saying that I really appreciated the several-thousand dollar deduction for mortgage interest. Now, I acknowledge that you're returning $420 this year, but come on -- that's nothing compared to the $6,000 bill you sent me a few tax seasons yon. Remember those days? Boy, I sure do.
Anyhow, it's good we can get together like this. Tax day is such a nice time of year to crunch my numbers and relive the financial missteps I made during the past 12 months. The weather is always so nice for this type of grueling indoor arithmetic: flowers blooming, trees budding, and winter's dust giving way to warm Chinook and endless sunshine. Long, long days filled with kittens, warmth and the laughter of children in the streets -- such a nice time to sit quietly indoors at a computer, sifting through long-forgotten receipts:
This one represents a business meeting during which I got drunk. That one is a failed business trip that cost more money than it made. These others I can't remember exactly, but they certainly had some critical business purpose and likely led to the demise of my business and the financial ruin that followed. We'll just chalk them all up to "entertainment meals."
Aw, shucks -- we win some, we lose some. That's the way I see it, and I hope that's the way you see it, too. Can't wait until next year.
Your friend, taxpayer and faithful American,
Hugo Strange Winterhalter.
I swear to God I didn't mean to request such a huge tax return this year. I tried my damnedest not to claim anything, but Turbo Tax wouldn't have any of it.
Turbo Tax website copy: "Your tax return amounts to a no-interest loan from you to the government! Find out how you can keep that money to yourself."
See what I'm saying? If it were up to me, you guys could keep it all -- hell, I'd probably fork over another $650 if you just asked. Of course I wouldn't like it, but I'd eventually crumble beneath The Man's withering glare. I'm sure you already know that.
I just thank you in advance for not asking, and also for turning a blind eye to my pitiful tax return this year. You and I both know that $17,000 in gross income is hardly worth fighting over. God knows how I came to own a house on that income, but it goes without saying that I really appreciated the several-thousand dollar deduction for mortgage interest. Now, I acknowledge that you're returning $420 this year, but come on -- that's nothing compared to the $6,000 bill you sent me a few tax seasons yon. Remember those days? Boy, I sure do.
Anyhow, it's good we can get together like this. Tax day is such a nice time of year to crunch my numbers and relive the financial missteps I made during the past 12 months. The weather is always so nice for this type of grueling indoor arithmetic: flowers blooming, trees budding, and winter's dust giving way to warm Chinook and endless sunshine. Long, long days filled with kittens, warmth and the laughter of children in the streets -- such a nice time to sit quietly indoors at a computer, sifting through long-forgotten receipts:
This one represents a business meeting during which I got drunk. That one is a failed business trip that cost more money than it made. These others I can't remember exactly, but they certainly had some critical business purpose and likely led to the demise of my business and the financial ruin that followed. We'll just chalk them all up to "entertainment meals."
Aw, shucks -- we win some, we lose some. That's the way I see it, and I hope that's the way you see it, too. Can't wait until next year.
Your friend, taxpayer and faithful American,
Hugo Strange Winterhalter.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Wal Mart wants your money -- and your money's money
This country's capacity to sell itself out is amazing.
Lifted straight from the Colorado Pols website:
U.S. Rep. Bob Beauprez, who is running for governor of the beautiful state of Colorado, says he has earned a bachelor of science in education from the University of Colorado, but it's only a B.S. in Physical Education.
Who knew the stately University of Colorado offers a Bachelor of Science in physical education?
I mean really! Who would spend $30,000 and four years studying dodge ball and step aerobics?
Beauprez Still Claiming BS…in Education
Who knew the stately University of Colorado offers a Bachelor of Science in physical education?
I mean really! Who would spend $30,000 and four years studying dodge ball and step aerobics?
Beauprez Still Claiming BS…in Education
Thursday, March 23, 2006
(Yawn) A day in the life... (yawn)... of a raptor
Wow. Tough job.
This Colorado Horned Owl hasn't done a damn thing in the past 24 hours except sleep and stare off into the distance.
See if it's doing anything now, and while your there, check out the exciting lives of other raptors who have made their homes among the smoke stacks of power plants.
Now, the Peregrine Falcon on the other hand -- that's a busy bird.
Just look: He's immersed in his carnivorous schemes.
Wednesday, March 22, 2006
A moment-by-moment account of a dude with little to do on a Wednesday night
Thoughts on thought:
1 To describe a thought, first consult an online thesaurus for suitable synonyms for the word "thought".
1.1 Upon finding only two, acknowledge that the digital realm lacks everything except zero and one.
2 Locate a printed thesaurus.
2.2 Revel in the possibilities: Faculty of reason, pondering, meditation, deliberation, cogitation, rumination, musing, mulling, reflection, introspection, contemplation, consideration, cerebration, idea, notion, theory, opinion, intention, plan, design, purpose, aim, judgement, conclusion, appraisal, assessment, estimation, opinion, point of view, position, stance, feeling, sentiment, belief, conviction.
2.3 Praise yourself for your adventurous spirit.
Thoughts on reggae:
1 Most "educated" white folks love the stuff, while the uninitiated couldn't care less.
1.1 If you're a white person with a casual appreciation for reggae, all you'll ever need can be found on the Toots and the Maytals anthology. Burn your Bob Marley.
2 If you're an uninitiated white person who could care less about reggae, you should still listen to the Toots and the Maytals anthology, as you'll probably understand what all the fuss is about. If you're already a fan of reggae, you probably have this already, or better yet, you have all the original vinyl albums (lucky you!)
Thoughts on cleanliness:
1 When your keyboard is so dirty that you mistake the "I" key for the "L" key, it's time to do something about it.
Thoughts on analog:
1 Records are pretty freaking cool, but c'mon... As the proprietor of a local independent music store recently told me, "You really have to question why you'd buy a vinyl album that was orignally recorded in digital." (That's a rough paraphrase, but accurate in the sense that it communicates the spirit of his opinion.)
2 Man, I sure wish all those "new" vinyl pressings didn't suck.
1 To describe a thought, first consult an online thesaurus for suitable synonyms for the word "thought".
1.1 Upon finding only two, acknowledge that the digital realm lacks everything except zero and one.
2 Locate a printed thesaurus.
2.2 Revel in the possibilities: Faculty of reason, pondering, meditation, deliberation, cogitation, rumination, musing, mulling, reflection, introspection, contemplation, consideration, cerebration, idea, notion, theory, opinion, intention, plan, design, purpose, aim, judgement, conclusion, appraisal, assessment, estimation, opinion, point of view, position, stance, feeling, sentiment, belief, conviction.
2.3 Praise yourself for your adventurous spirit.
Thoughts on reggae:
1 Most "educated" white folks love the stuff, while the uninitiated couldn't care less.
1.1 If you're a white person with a casual appreciation for reggae, all you'll ever need can be found on the Toots and the Maytals anthology. Burn your Bob Marley.
2 If you're an uninitiated white person who could care less about reggae, you should still listen to the Toots and the Maytals anthology, as you'll probably understand what all the fuss is about. If you're already a fan of reggae, you probably have this already, or better yet, you have all the original vinyl albums (lucky you!)
Thoughts on cleanliness:
1 When your keyboard is so dirty that you mistake the "I" key for the "L" key, it's time to do something about it.
Thoughts on analog:
1 Records are pretty freaking cool, but c'mon... As the proprietor of a local independent music store recently told me, "You really have to question why you'd buy a vinyl album that was orignally recorded in digital." (That's a rough paraphrase, but accurate in the sense that it communicates the spirit of his opinion.)
2 Man, I sure wish all those "new" vinyl pressings didn't suck.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
It's a worldwide web for two
This blog seems to have degenerated into a two-way conversation between me and the lady. She is the only one who cares, apparently. Thanks for the support, sweetie! Love you!
I for one am morbidly ecstatic to have such immediate and convenient access to the greatest of the world's networks -- the American Internet! Its has improved my life immeasurably. I just don't know what I'd do without it. The "other" networks are so poor, I wouldn't even waste my urine on them.
I want it all to myself. I claim it in the name of Hugo Winterhalter. I am revoking your permission to use it.
SO I ORDER ALL YOU FUCKS TO STAY OFF THE INTERNET!
It's mine and the lady's.
HSW.
I for one am morbidly ecstatic to have such immediate and convenient access to the greatest of the world's networks -- the American Internet! Its has improved my life immeasurably. I just don't know what I'd do without it. The "other" networks are so poor, I wouldn't even waste my urine on them.
I want it all to myself. I claim it in the name of Hugo Winterhalter. I am revoking your permission to use it.
SO I ORDER ALL YOU FUCKS TO STAY OFF THE INTERNET!
It's mine and the lady's.
HSW.
Monday, March 20, 2006
It's time... to "Tally the Bullshucks!"
A short list of BS I've heard in the last few days, starting with this weekend's weather forecast:
1. Brrr! Twelve inches of snow coming! Batton down the hatches, Colorado!
Hell hath frozen over. When you awake, don't be surprised to find the roof of your house collapsed, your pets frozen to death, your car crushed, and every roadway littered with scores of weather-induced traffic casualties! You'll be lucky to survive, but stay tuned for minute-by-minute updates detailing yet again how freakin' pointless TV weather forcasters really are!
2. The past three years of the U.S. occupation of Iraq were a smashing success, and the next three years should be even better!
Here's a new tally:
2,313 U.S. soldiers killed in action.
7,912 U.S. soldiers wounded so severely they could not return to Iraq.
9,212 U.S. soldiers wounded in action, but only slightly.
33,000 to 37,000 Iraqis estimated to be killed during the U.S. occupation. (from 158 to 177 deaths per week
God knows how many Iraqis Saddam Hussein killed during his 24-year reign, but some estimates place the numbers in the 300,000 to 1 million range (which equals 240 to 801 per week.)
Well, the good news is we're not as bad as Saddam Hussein.
3. Beth Orton fans should arrive early to see her opening act, the accoustic and vocal stylings of Willie Mason! Of Mason, a London reviewer said this: "Clearly, decades ahead of his time, he mixes the blues, folk and country influences of Hooker, Williams and Cash with hard spoken words of hope, truth and wisdom in a style all of his own, yet kin to a youthful Bob Dylan."
None of that gibberish is true.
Thankfully, Beth Orton's voice is so powerful that she can -- with a single note -- wake the dead, revive limp lettuce, and stop fleeing audience members in their tracks, forcing them to turn around, forcing them to listen. It's as if Orton thanks the audience for its tolerance, begs her fans to stick around, promises them that they won't be disappointed.
And just like that, as her voice hammers off the walls, not a single person in the joint cares that 30 minutes earlier, Mason nearly bored them to death.
1. Brrr! Twelve inches of snow coming! Batton down the hatches, Colorado!
Hell hath frozen over. When you awake, don't be surprised to find the roof of your house collapsed, your pets frozen to death, your car crushed, and every roadway littered with scores of weather-induced traffic casualties! You'll be lucky to survive, but stay tuned for minute-by-minute updates detailing yet again how freakin' pointless TV weather forcasters really are!
2. The past three years of the U.S. occupation of Iraq were a smashing success, and the next three years should be even better!
Here's a new tally:
2,313 U.S. soldiers killed in action.
7,912 U.S. soldiers wounded so severely they could not return to Iraq.
9,212 U.S. soldiers wounded in action, but only slightly.
33,000 to 37,000 Iraqis estimated to be killed during the U.S. occupation. (from 158 to 177 deaths per week
God knows how many Iraqis Saddam Hussein killed during his 24-year reign, but some estimates place the numbers in the 300,000 to 1 million range (which equals 240 to 801 per week.)
Well, the good news is we're not as bad as Saddam Hussein.
3. Beth Orton fans should arrive early to see her opening act, the accoustic and vocal stylings of Willie Mason! Of Mason, a London reviewer said this: "Clearly, decades ahead of his time, he mixes the blues, folk and country influences of Hooker, Williams and Cash with hard spoken words of hope, truth and wisdom in a style all of his own, yet kin to a youthful Bob Dylan."
None of that gibberish is true.
Thankfully, Beth Orton's voice is so powerful that she can -- with a single note -- wake the dead, revive limp lettuce, and stop fleeing audience members in their tracks, forcing them to turn around, forcing them to listen. It's as if Orton thanks the audience for its tolerance, begs her fans to stick around, promises them that they won't be disappointed.
And just like that, as her voice hammers off the walls, not a single person in the joint cares that 30 minutes earlier, Mason nearly bored them to death.
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Announcing the latest CD release from Jim "Butterfingers" LeSavage: Smooth Roads, Easy Times
It's been a long time coming for Jimmy LeSavage's latest musical triumph, but according to light-rock afficionados, it was worth every minute!
Jimmy spent countless hours on location in Maui as well as in studios in both New York and Los Angeles to create this masterful opus, Smooth Roads, Easy Times.
Jimmy's latest work showcases his fantastic command of his instrument of choice: the acoustic guitar. Using his renown musical punctuality and his lyrical rigor, Jimmy gives us a peek into the startling world of a drug-addled killer running loose on the broken-down streets of America's inner cities. Jimmy's mild fret work, coupled with studio technician Walter Finkle's copious re-engineering will "yank listeners from the comfort of their living rooms and propel them into a terrible waking nightmare they hope never to experience again, but which they will never forget," according to New York Times Critic Benjamin Feist.
"I wanted to bring easy-rock listeners into my world," Jimmy states. "I worked hard in hopes that it would be my greatest work. I think I've achieved that."
Jimmy smashed all boundaries when producing this album, employing revolutionary recording concepts to portray a drug addict's most intimate moments. During the gripping acoustic solo three minutes into the first track, "Needle Fuck," Jimmy musically describes the moment his alter ego, Diego The Druggie, injects mind-altering liquids into his bloodstream. And in the ballad, "Fuck a Dude for Drugs," we can almost hear the woeful voice of another fictional character, Phillip The Druggie, as he wanders the late-night city streets trading demon sex for money.
"It did take a long time to produce this album," Jimmy acknowledges. "For starters, we made many of the recordings on my back porch. I wanted the beach breezes and birdsong of the jungle to mingle with the notes from my guitar. Capturing these sounds took a lot of time. During the recording sessions, there were many distractions, such as the world-class surfing beaches as well as the plentiful Polynesian whores."
Jimmy spent countless hours on location in Maui as well as in studios in both New York and Los Angeles to create this masterful opus, Smooth Roads, Easy Times.
Jimmy's latest work showcases his fantastic command of his instrument of choice: the acoustic guitar. Using his renown musical punctuality and his lyrical rigor, Jimmy gives us a peek into the startling world of a drug-addled killer running loose on the broken-down streets of America's inner cities. Jimmy's mild fret work, coupled with studio technician Walter Finkle's copious re-engineering will "yank listeners from the comfort of their living rooms and propel them into a terrible waking nightmare they hope never to experience again, but which they will never forget," according to New York Times Critic Benjamin Feist.
"I wanted to bring easy-rock listeners into my world," Jimmy states. "I worked hard in hopes that it would be my greatest work. I think I've achieved that."
Jimmy smashed all boundaries when producing this album, employing revolutionary recording concepts to portray a drug addict's most intimate moments. During the gripping acoustic solo three minutes into the first track, "Needle Fuck," Jimmy musically describes the moment his alter ego, Diego The Druggie, injects mind-altering liquids into his bloodstream. And in the ballad, "Fuck a Dude for Drugs," we can almost hear the woeful voice of another fictional character, Phillip The Druggie, as he wanders the late-night city streets trading demon sex for money.
"It did take a long time to produce this album," Jimmy acknowledges. "For starters, we made many of the recordings on my back porch. I wanted the beach breezes and birdsong of the jungle to mingle with the notes from my guitar. Capturing these sounds took a lot of time. During the recording sessions, there were many distractions, such as the world-class surfing beaches as well as the plentiful Polynesian whores."
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Bah! A pox on thee! A fortnight of Fetid Breath!
For thine cruel misbehavances, poor performances and dishonorous utterances; I curse thee thusly:
1. Thine skins shalt chaffe, very near to the balls.
2. Thine hair shalt winde tightly into a large machine.
3. Thine bowels shalt leak in public.
4. Two score and a half sewer rats shalt besiege thine pantaloons.
5. Thine love dreams shalt feature naught but thee, thine mother and thine father.
6. Aye! The work of thine life shalt whither, and thou shalt earn thine wage as a Gong Farmer (emptyin' latrines barehanded), a Barnyard Whore (fellatin' livestock for antibiotics) or a Street Idiot (pronouncin' thine cerebral lackings to the Publick At Large.)
7. Thou shalt lust for hideous animals, and thou shalt abide that lust.
8. Thine perspirances shalt offend thee most of all.
9. During meals, thou shalt mistake thine tongue for a meatball at each and every bite.
10. Finally, thou shalt, night and day, until the end of your days, know the flavor of a hobo's anus on thine lips.
Good luck to you, cursed scab. May your wretched life be long and fruitless.
1. Thine skins shalt chaffe, very near to the balls.
2. Thine hair shalt winde tightly into a large machine.
3. Thine bowels shalt leak in public.
4. Two score and a half sewer rats shalt besiege thine pantaloons.
5. Thine love dreams shalt feature naught but thee, thine mother and thine father.
6. Aye! The work of thine life shalt whither, and thou shalt earn thine wage as a Gong Farmer (emptyin' latrines barehanded), a Barnyard Whore (fellatin' livestock for antibiotics) or a Street Idiot (pronouncin' thine cerebral lackings to the Publick At Large.)
7. Thou shalt lust for hideous animals, and thou shalt abide that lust.
8. Thine perspirances shalt offend thee most of all.
9. During meals, thou shalt mistake thine tongue for a meatball at each and every bite.
10. Finally, thou shalt, night and day, until the end of your days, know the flavor of a hobo's anus on thine lips.
Good luck to you, cursed scab. May your wretched life be long and fruitless.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Woe... What is it good for?
Absolutely nuthin...
Say it again...
There are bad days, and then there are bad weeks. I'm living both simultaneously.
No details because they suck. Just know that I'm not in a good mood at the moment: approximately 7 p.m., March 6, 2006. If you were to see me now, ask me how I'm feeling, I'd say to you, "Not so good." I wouldn't elaborate, and then I'd wander away to be alone with my not-so-good thoughts.
If you were to follow me and pester me with questions like, "Is there anything I can do?" I'd probably say no.
I'd say no because if I did start talking about it, I'd go insane with anger, frustration, disappointment and other such sourpuss emotions. You'd probably leave at that point, feeling like your good-natured ways would better serve someone else -- like maybe a retard or a recent quadriplegic.
At times like these, everything sucks, and everyone sucks... Nothing personal.
Boo. Hoo.
Say it again...
There are bad days, and then there are bad weeks. I'm living both simultaneously.
No details because they suck. Just know that I'm not in a good mood at the moment: approximately 7 p.m., March 6, 2006. If you were to see me now, ask me how I'm feeling, I'd say to you, "Not so good." I wouldn't elaborate, and then I'd wander away to be alone with my not-so-good thoughts.
If you were to follow me and pester me with questions like, "Is there anything I can do?" I'd probably say no.
I'd say no because if I did start talking about it, I'd go insane with anger, frustration, disappointment and other such sourpuss emotions. You'd probably leave at that point, feeling like your good-natured ways would better serve someone else -- like maybe a retard or a recent quadriplegic.
At times like these, everything sucks, and everyone sucks... Nothing personal.
Boo. Hoo.
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
President Bush bogarts local kind bud in Golden, Colorado
President Bush: "Man, that is good shit..."
National Bioenergy Center director Mike Pacheco (giggling): "Common, dude... Give me the bong..."
When animal husbandry goes terribly wrong
It's hard to say what PETA should do about this -- punish or praise?
This photo is so icky, I really didn't want to post it. But then what would such censorship say about my insatiable journalistic integrity? Besides, I don't have much else to write these days...
The worst part is I know the sexual deviant in this photo (that meaty hand belongs to a friend of mine. I've never met that slutty cat.) Find the details here. If you do seek them, just understand that you are a sick f*ck and should be imprisoned by angry Turks for your shameful curiosity.
And also remember this: it was an act of mercy.
Yuck.
This photo is so icky, I really didn't want to post it. But then what would such censorship say about my insatiable journalistic integrity? Besides, I don't have much else to write these days...
The worst part is I know the sexual deviant in this photo (that meaty hand belongs to a friend of mine. I've never met that slutty cat.) Find the details here. If you do seek them, just understand that you are a sick f*ck and should be imprisoned by angry Turks for your shameful curiosity.
And also remember this: it was an act of mercy.
Yuck.
Monday, January 30, 2006
The Incident with a Cellphone in the Library...
'Twas a chilly day, the wind gusting off the Rocky Mountains like a frozen aluminum baseball bat swung forcefully into the genitals. But thick glass squelched the icy howling, the bitter chill a faint memory for those of us encamped in near-silent government documents section of the Denver Public Library (third floor, northwest corner.)
We poured over our books and weighty documents. You could taste the concentration.
And then he came, sat, and shuffled his personal items. Finally, he placed a call on his cellphone, using the phone's speaker function. He wore a fedora hat indoors...
[Hello? a tinny voice said.]
"Where are you?"
[Broadway and Alameda.]
We'll I'll be done soon, maybe you can pick me up at the library?
[Yeah, I'll pick you up at the library. Should we go to Wild Oats?"]
Yes, I think that would be best.
It went on like that, but not for long. It wasn't a loud conversation, nor was it particularly soft. The man with the fedora spoke calmly, as if he were sitting at his office desk, making a routine phone call to a colleague. Perfectly normal conversation.
One that provoked a dangerous amount of hostility.
The fedora man later gathered his items, stood, streched, and glanced over his surroundings -- only to meet my derisive glare, a glare as ICY AS THE MOUNTAIN WIND BLOWS!
He froze for a full sixty seconds when his eyes met my mine. This part is true -- a minute, maybe more. It was, to my recollection, the weirdest thing I'd ever done. To stare at a complete stranger for such a long time, the feat itself is unusual. Both of us were frozen in place and neither was willing to give even one inch. Sixty seconds, non merde! "What a strange thing I'm doing," I thought as I glared, frozen in my chair, like some paralyzed John Wayne wearing a stoic blue baseball cap emblazoned with the words "40-year-old Virgin."
Finally, the fedora man broke the trance.
"Read any good books lately?"
"I'm trying to," said I.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Your cell phone conversation disturbed me."
"It was a brief conversation," said he.
"There are plenty of places in this library where you could have made your call and not disturbed anyone. This is the quietest place in the library. You don't need to use your cell phone here."
(This classic Jedi mind trick failed to put the man into a hypnotic state, one that would have enabled me to make him jump from a balcony -- Ed.)
"People use their cell phones in this library all the time," he said. "I find it disturbing, which is why people come here, I guess."
"Yes, it is."
And then the fedora man disappeared amid the stacks. Lucky for him. I was a dangerous man at the moment. He could have been killed.
God help the next man who gets crosswise with me while wearing a fedora hat.
We poured over our books and weighty documents. You could taste the concentration.
And then he came, sat, and shuffled his personal items. Finally, he placed a call on his cellphone, using the phone's speaker function. He wore a fedora hat indoors...
[Hello? a tinny voice said.]
"Where are you?"
[Broadway and Alameda.]
We'll I'll be done soon, maybe you can pick me up at the library?
[Yeah, I'll pick you up at the library. Should we go to Wild Oats?"]
Yes, I think that would be best.
It went on like that, but not for long. It wasn't a loud conversation, nor was it particularly soft. The man with the fedora spoke calmly, as if he were sitting at his office desk, making a routine phone call to a colleague. Perfectly normal conversation.
One that provoked a dangerous amount of hostility.
The fedora man later gathered his items, stood, streched, and glanced over his surroundings -- only to meet my derisive glare, a glare as ICY AS THE MOUNTAIN WIND BLOWS!
He froze for a full sixty seconds when his eyes met my mine. This part is true -- a minute, maybe more. It was, to my recollection, the weirdest thing I'd ever done. To stare at a complete stranger for such a long time, the feat itself is unusual. Both of us were frozen in place and neither was willing to give even one inch. Sixty seconds, non merde! "What a strange thing I'm doing," I thought as I glared, frozen in my chair, like some paralyzed John Wayne wearing a stoic blue baseball cap emblazoned with the words "40-year-old Virgin."
Finally, the fedora man broke the trance.
"Read any good books lately?"
"I'm trying to," said I.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Your cell phone conversation disturbed me."
"It was a brief conversation," said he.
"There are plenty of places in this library where you could have made your call and not disturbed anyone. This is the quietest place in the library. You don't need to use your cell phone here."
(This classic Jedi mind trick failed to put the man into a hypnotic state, one that would have enabled me to make him jump from a balcony -- Ed.)
"People use their cell phones in this library all the time," he said. "I find it disturbing, which is why people come here, I guess."
"Yes, it is."
And then the fedora man disappeared amid the stacks. Lucky for him. I was a dangerous man at the moment. He could have been killed.
God help the next man who gets crosswise with me while wearing a fedora hat.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Osama bin Laden: a government PR tool?
Could it be true?
Al Jazeera doubts Osama bin Laden's latest audio tape is authentic, suggesting the only scientific analysis of the tapes comes from the CIA.
Well, so what if they're fake? And isn't Al Jazeera a terrorist-loving rag-head newspaper anyway?
Yes, it is. But it still raises an interesting point, because these audio tapes seem to whip up our fury for war-making and distract us from the real horrors that war creates.
Also, the tapes seem to give politicians opportunity to say things like, "We don't negotiate with terrorists... you have to destroy them. It's the only way to deal with them."
These jokers gotta be in heaven. Under normal circumstances, a public official could never get away with openly uttering such sentiments. Got to seize the moment when it comes, I suppose.
Wouldn't be the first time I suspected Osama bin Laden was a fake. Now, I'm not going to say it -- how this idea resembles a certain book in which certain agents openly modified certain media accounts to report things like we've always been at war with Oceana. We've never been at war with Eurasia.
But come on! Why, why, why does it seem so appropriate?
Don't laugh -- it could be true. Be honest, do any of you really know a thing about this bin Laden guy, anyway? I mean other than what the president or CIA told you? For all we know, he could have died during one of those missile strikes in the 1990s.
Al Jazeera doubts Osama bin Laden's latest audio tape is authentic, suggesting the only scientific analysis of the tapes comes from the CIA.
Well, so what if they're fake? And isn't Al Jazeera a terrorist-loving rag-head newspaper anyway?
Yes, it is. But it still raises an interesting point, because these audio tapes seem to whip up our fury for war-making and distract us from the real horrors that war creates.
Also, the tapes seem to give politicians opportunity to say things like, "We don't negotiate with terrorists... you have to destroy them. It's the only way to deal with them."
These jokers gotta be in heaven. Under normal circumstances, a public official could never get away with openly uttering such sentiments. Got to seize the moment when it comes, I suppose.
Wouldn't be the first time I suspected Osama bin Laden was a fake. Now, I'm not going to say it -- how this idea resembles a certain book in which certain agents openly modified certain media accounts to report things like we've always been at war with Oceana. We've never been at war with Eurasia.
But come on! Why, why, why does it seem so appropriate?
Don't laugh -- it could be true. Be honest, do any of you really know a thing about this bin Laden guy, anyway? I mean other than what the president or CIA told you? For all we know, he could have died during one of those missile strikes in the 1990s.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Well, I'll be damned
Learned a new word today -- had to look it up in ye ol' dick-tionary.
The word is bourse.
Know what it means? I'll give you a minute to think about it...
Okay, time's up. A bourse is an exchange, or specifically a European stock exchange.
Thank you, smarty-pants New York Times for using an obscure Middle French word rather than some other, common, less-sophisticated word that would make a lot more sense to us here in the dumb old U.S. of A. Like I have the time to research your erudite locutions in my wordbook, sirs. I'm a busy dude, man!
(Alright, fine. Before you get uppity with me, I'll just say it now: maybe I'm not as busy as I pretend to be.)
The word is bourse.
Know what it means? I'll give you a minute to think about it...
Okay, time's up. A bourse is an exchange, or specifically a European stock exchange.
Thank you, smarty-pants New York Times for using an obscure Middle French word rather than some other, common, less-sophisticated word that would make a lot more sense to us here in the dumb old U.S. of A. Like I have the time to research your erudite locutions in my wordbook, sirs. I'm a busy dude, man!
(Alright, fine. Before you get uppity with me, I'll just say it now: maybe I'm not as busy as I pretend to be.)
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
That's "Mister" Dad, to you...
Poor, dead rabbit.
In case you didn't know it: The lady is pregnant, and according to modern books and websites, that means I am too (but physically, I'm not even the slightest bit pregnant. I feel great.)
If you're reading this big news for the first time on this website, we're very sorry. It's not that we don't like you, we just like others more than you. And please don't think you aren't important -- we just haven't gotten around to you yet. There are simply too many really important people in our lives who demand our immediate attention -- ambassadors, diplomats, heads of state, wartime generals, retired admirals and the like.
And now, to the point: I've spent the past weeks searching for the perfect words to describe my feelings on the matter, but I've come to the conclusion I'm not ready to do that on the internet. Instead, I've compiled a list of terms to help me respectfully address the Lady during the many trying moments she's likely to experience in the coming months:
The Lady is a:
genetalian (that's a medical term for a pregnant woman) who is primagravida (pregnant with her first child).
She is still a nullagravida (woman who has never given birth) or gravida 0 (same thing), but not for long.
She will one day be a gravida 1 (medical term for a woman who has given birth to one child).
She is also still:
nulliparous (never had a child), or she is a nullipara or a para 0, but again, not for long.
She is also:
Great (archaic)
with child
Up the duff (UK slang)
up the spout (UK slang)
up the flue (UK slang)
up a pole (UK slang)
knocked up
banged up (aussie slang)
in a family way
gone (one month)
PG
preggars
cheggars (UK)
prenada (Spanish, not slang)
embarazada (Spanish, not slang)
en estado (Spanish, not slang)
esperando (Spanish, not slang)
about to find pups (this is just stupid)
in a fix
lady-in-waiting
She has:
a bun in the oven
"split the condom" (whatever)
"drunk from the well"
She is not:
A twat, twit, twirp or twerp (apparently technical terms for egg-laden goldfish)
While researching this, I stumbled into this enormous list of colorful phrases depicting menstruation (in various languages), and couldn't stop laughing. Euphemisms of note: Leak Week, Moonblood, A snatchbox decorated with red roses, and Takin' classes at 'Bama. That last is a reference to the Crimson Tide, of course.
But my favorite happens to be one of the dumbest: I'm on my pyramid -- a reference to the banks of the Nile overflowing and running red, I guess...
In case you didn't know it: The lady is pregnant, and according to modern books and websites, that means I am too (but physically, I'm not even the slightest bit pregnant. I feel great.)
If you're reading this big news for the first time on this website, we're very sorry. It's not that we don't like you, we just like others more than you. And please don't think you aren't important -- we just haven't gotten around to you yet. There are simply too many really important people in our lives who demand our immediate attention -- ambassadors, diplomats, heads of state, wartime generals, retired admirals and the like.
And now, to the point: I've spent the past weeks searching for the perfect words to describe my feelings on the matter, but I've come to the conclusion I'm not ready to do that on the internet. Instead, I've compiled a list of terms to help me respectfully address the Lady during the many trying moments she's likely to experience in the coming months:
The Lady is a:
genetalian (that's a medical term for a pregnant woman) who is primagravida (pregnant with her first child).
She is still a nullagravida (woman who has never given birth) or gravida 0 (same thing), but not for long.
She will one day be a gravida 1 (medical term for a woman who has given birth to one child).
She is also still:
nulliparous (never had a child), or she is a nullipara or a para 0, but again, not for long.
She is also:
Great (archaic)
with child
Up the duff (UK slang)
up the spout (UK slang)
up the flue (UK slang)
up a pole (UK slang)
knocked up
banged up (aussie slang)
in a family way
gone (one month)
PG
preggars
cheggars (UK)
prenada (Spanish, not slang)
embarazada (Spanish, not slang)
en estado (Spanish, not slang)
esperando (Spanish, not slang)
about to find pups (this is just stupid)
in a fix
lady-in-waiting
She has:
a bun in the oven
"split the condom" (whatever)
"drunk from the well"
She is not:
A twat, twit, twirp or twerp (apparently technical terms for egg-laden goldfish)
While researching this, I stumbled into this enormous list of colorful phrases depicting menstruation (in various languages), and couldn't stop laughing. Euphemisms of note: Leak Week, Moonblood, A snatchbox decorated with red roses, and Takin' classes at 'Bama. That last is a reference to the Crimson Tide, of course.
But my favorite happens to be one of the dumbest: I'm on my pyramid -- a reference to the banks of the Nile overflowing and running red, I guess...
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