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.

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..."

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.

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

(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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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...

Lawyers you hope you'll never need

If this guy happens to be your attorney, you're in trouble.

He's Reid Weingarten, defender of America's executive thieves.

He just helped Enron chief accountant Richard Causey cut a sweet deal that entails ratting on his former collegues, spending seven years in jail and paying the government a $1.25 million fine. Hard to say how good a deal that is when you consider that the maximum penalty for securities fraud is 10 years in prison and a fine of $1 million followed by three years of probation. (And why is the government getting so freaking rich off this, I want to know?)

Weingarten's other big-name client, former WorldCom CEO Bernard Ebbers, must be as pleased as Causey: Weingarten's efforts landed him a 25-year prison sentence for orchestrating an $11 billion accounting fraud that toppled the telecommunications firm three years ago.

Sweet.

I can only hope these two guys were facing the guillotine or something before Weingarten stepped in, otherwise they didn't get their money's worth.

Keep up the good work, Reid.

W.T. Fuck?

Those Aussies really know how to party.

Are they beating the shit out of that guy with beer?

That's a party foul.

... Tried to contact my "Brudda from Anudda Hemisphere" to get the inside story, but he didn't respond. That makes me nervous. Being a foreigner himself, he's either dead from repeated beer bottle blows to the head, or -- just as likely since he's a white guy -- he's out there swinging his hockey stick into the unprotected flesh of some poor Syrian who decided to go surfing on the wrong fuckin' day...

... I suppose he could also be watching the T.V. in his underwear -- that's certainly possible, too.

And that prime minister John Howard really knows his damage control. I watched him last night, playin' like P. George Bush responding to the tough questions (shell shock!):

"Right! 'is 'er's whot Sydney's all about, right? Sheilas lyin' 'round ina sun wit' li'l clothes, see?"










Of course, he's rarely invited to parties that end with riot police and masterful baton play (ouch):

What a buzzkill... The cop's got the thousand-yard stare. Doesn't look like he's having fun.

... probably broke his night stick.