At first, the movies were about cowboys and indians. Then it was marines and aliens. Now they've gone back to the westerns, except this time it's cowboys and cowboys.
Friday, February 17, 2006
Brokeback Hollywood
I used to get the impression that hollywood producers believe that everyone gets laid as often as they eat a meal. In my case, we're still collecting enough data to produce a meaningful statistical analysis, but so far it looks like the next time I get to eat is 8.4 year from now. I used to look forward to eating, but after finding out about this I don't think I'll ever eat anything again.
At first, the movies were about cowboys and indians. Then it was marines and aliens. Now they've gone back to the westerns, except this time it's cowboys and cowboys.
At first, the movies were about cowboys and indians. Then it was marines and aliens. Now they've gone back to the westerns, except this time it's cowboys and cowboys.
Entropy Again
Snow day. Day 2, Part 2. Low of 6 deg. F, wind chill -3 deg. F. Last week (part I), I could barely stay on the roads going 15 MPH. Spun out, doing a 180 in front of some guy that was shovelling his driveway right about the time that I'm contractually obligated to have the route completed. He looked at me like I was a terrorist. Had to go back out into the intersection, make a U-turn in the intersection, make another pass at his cul-de-sac, then deliver his paper at his feet.
Somebody else thought I was a terrorist. I don't know if it was his car that barked at me as I walked past it, but his comments of "I hope that was a newspaper you just threw... BOOM!!!" were ever so slightly rattling.
Whenever there's a snow day, the truck - the one that brings the papers from Denver to the warehouse - is an hour late. That's an hour later than they are usually late, which makes them two hours late on snow days.
"How are the roads out there?"
"Are you an olympic figure skater? 'Cause if you're not, you ain't gonna have a very good time getting to work"
You'd think that the Denver Post could check their own weather forcast, and step up production and delivery of the paper when there's bad weather. But it's not like an organization that big to have any sense of the big picture.
"How come you're so late?"
"Dude, on days like this, hurrying just makes it worse."
I wonder if that's why the truck driver was drunk when he finally showed up at the warehouse. On a snow day.
President Cheney shot some lawyer. Or maybe it was Dan Quayle. Either way, good for him. Oh, and all the newspapers all felt jilted that he didn't report the crime to them for 18 whole seconds. "It was as if the country was decapitated for those 18 seconds."
I managed to get 245 MB worth of spam from the past three years to my postmaster account at emporium-sw.com cleaned up. That's 31 spam messages a day for 3 years. Some 33,169 messages. Uh-huh, yep, and that's right. I got Outlook set up with that account, and set up a rule to delete everything that comes into it. And everything that comes into the server for some made-up account that doesn't exist gets dumped into a blackhole.
Now that I'm not hitting my disk space quota on the server, I can put some ebay listings up there. I even got the new auction software installed. 'Cause the old software quit working, 'cause they quit maintaining it, 'cause ebay changed their rules so those people couldn't write their software like that anymore. So they're basically out of business, until they can re-write their software all over again.
And the truck's been overheating. Well, not since it's been so freakin' freezin' cold. But before that, it was boiling over. I don't know what's going on, everything is new again except the engine block itself. Since I replaced the power steering for a cool $800 just a week ago, I'm a little embarrassed to take it in right away and say "You know that new radiator you put in last summer? Well it's plugged up already."
But still, the overall cost of repairs is still less than the combined cost of payments and insurance on a new vehicle. So I'm happy that every repair is one more major component that I shouldn't have to worry about for a while. Stoicism is the only thing that keeps me sane anymore.
Wait, there's still more driving me to the edge of going postal. Some guy was taking his dog out for a pee, and the dog turned vicious and was ready to rip me a new one. Probably 'cause I was wearing the burglar hat that day, 'cause it was so cold. Oh, and some lady whispered under her breath "I don't like you" at me in my burglar hat that day. So that's when I got the pepper spray. You know, just in case.
Well, it seems the idea of wanting to protect myself has been drawing in all the more wierdos. Even the ring of bag-thiefs at the distribution center is having a hard time, since they stopped getting the designated national's bags for us. Now I have to put all the papers in those cheapey rice bags that fall apart as soon as you think about them. I went to throw a USA Today over the top (of the truck), and the paper flew out the bottom of the bag onto the street. In the snow. Furtunately, its too cold to get a wet paper complaint. Stoicism again.
The USA Today was extraordinarily fat today, so that's probably why it flew out of the bottom of the bag. It's probably full of coverage of Cheney's shooting rampage.
Although I did get a wet paper complaint on a perfectly dry, but windy day. The explanation for that was the phone menu on the complaint hotline. Remember the Springfield Emergency Hotline when Bart tried to report Flanders as a murderer? "If you are being murdered, press one..." [Bart presses random key] "You have selected 'Regicide.' To report the name of the king or queen being murdered, press one..."
I should just refuse to deliver any more national newspapers until they get more bags for us. 'Course, I'd lose my job right away. My boss takes every opportunity possible to threaten me with my livelihood. The memo congratulating us on winning the lowest complaint-rate contest also ended with a threat to our livelihoods if we didn't improve the complaint-rates.
I was also threatened with my livelihood when I bit some girl's head off for parking too close to my truck, then complaining that I was in her way.
According to the liberals, if I use enough of words like 'terrorist', 'target', 'suspect', 'bombed' and 'killed' in some out-of context way, the NSA will pick up these blog entries off of the internet, report my suspect activities to my employer, give me a 35% pay cut for some made-up reason, cancel my (non-existent) health insurance, put me in the FBI database, have me shipped off to Guantanamo Bay, where I'll be beaten with rubber hoses, hosed and raped with a Koran, have rubber bands tied around my gonads, then be beheaded by some Special Forces commando dressed up as one of those wonderful Islamofascist thugs, er, I mean terrorists, er, I mean "insurgent", er, I mean "freedom fighter."
And one of these guys wants me to listen to talk radio while I work. Dude, they know that the only people that listen to talk radio are pathetic liberal losers that can't formulate their own opinions and need opinions spoon-fed to them by some anti-American Democrat's tool. I don't need to listen to something that's just going to piss me off while I'm trying to work.
Somebody else thought I was a terrorist. I don't know if it was his car that barked at me as I walked past it, but his comments of "I hope that was a newspaper you just threw... BOOM!!!" were ever so slightly rattling.
Whenever there's a snow day, the truck - the one that brings the papers from Denver to the warehouse - is an hour late. That's an hour later than they are usually late, which makes them two hours late on snow days.
"How are the roads out there?"
"Are you an olympic figure skater? 'Cause if you're not, you ain't gonna have a very good time getting to work"
You'd think that the Denver Post could check their own weather forcast, and step up production and delivery of the paper when there's bad weather. But it's not like an organization that big to have any sense of the big picture.
"How come you're so late?"
"Dude, on days like this, hurrying just makes it worse."
I wonder if that's why the truck driver was drunk when he finally showed up at the warehouse. On a snow day.
President Cheney shot some lawyer. Or maybe it was Dan Quayle. Either way, good for him. Oh, and all the newspapers all felt jilted that he didn't report the crime to them for 18 whole seconds. "It was as if the country was decapitated for those 18 seconds."
I managed to get 245 MB worth of spam from the past three years to my postmaster account at emporium-sw.com cleaned up. That's 31 spam messages a day for 3 years. Some 33,169 messages. Uh-huh, yep, and that's right. I got Outlook set up with that account, and set up a rule to delete everything that comes into it. And everything that comes into the server for some made-up account that doesn't exist gets dumped into a blackhole.
Now that I'm not hitting my disk space quota on the server, I can put some ebay listings up there. I even got the new auction software installed. 'Cause the old software quit working, 'cause they quit maintaining it, 'cause ebay changed their rules so those people couldn't write their software like that anymore. So they're basically out of business, until they can re-write their software all over again.
And the truck's been overheating. Well, not since it's been so freakin' freezin' cold. But before that, it was boiling over. I don't know what's going on, everything is new again except the engine block itself. Since I replaced the power steering for a cool $800 just a week ago, I'm a little embarrassed to take it in right away and say "You know that new radiator you put in last summer? Well it's plugged up already."
But still, the overall cost of repairs is still less than the combined cost of payments and insurance on a new vehicle. So I'm happy that every repair is one more major component that I shouldn't have to worry about for a while. Stoicism is the only thing that keeps me sane anymore.
Wait, there's still more driving me to the edge of going postal. Some guy was taking his dog out for a pee, and the dog turned vicious and was ready to rip me a new one. Probably 'cause I was wearing the burglar hat that day, 'cause it was so cold. Oh, and some lady whispered under her breath "I don't like you" at me in my burglar hat that day. So that's when I got the pepper spray. You know, just in case.
Well, it seems the idea of wanting to protect myself has been drawing in all the more wierdos. Even the ring of bag-thiefs at the distribution center is having a hard time, since they stopped getting the designated national's bags for us. Now I have to put all the papers in those cheapey rice bags that fall apart as soon as you think about them. I went to throw a USA Today over the top (of the truck), and the paper flew out the bottom of the bag onto the street. In the snow. Furtunately, its too cold to get a wet paper complaint. Stoicism again.
The USA Today was extraordinarily fat today, so that's probably why it flew out of the bottom of the bag. It's probably full of coverage of Cheney's shooting rampage.
Although I did get a wet paper complaint on a perfectly dry, but windy day. The explanation for that was the phone menu on the complaint hotline. Remember the Springfield Emergency Hotline when Bart tried to report Flanders as a murderer? "If you are being murdered, press one..." [Bart presses random key] "You have selected 'Regicide.' To report the name of the king or queen being murdered, press one..."
I should just refuse to deliver any more national newspapers until they get more bags for us. 'Course, I'd lose my job right away. My boss takes every opportunity possible to threaten me with my livelihood. The memo congratulating us on winning the lowest complaint-rate contest also ended with a threat to our livelihoods if we didn't improve the complaint-rates.
I was also threatened with my livelihood when I bit some girl's head off for parking too close to my truck, then complaining that I was in her way.
According to the liberals, if I use enough of words like 'terrorist', 'target', 'suspect', 'bombed' and 'killed' in some out-of context way, the NSA will pick up these blog entries off of the internet, report my suspect activities to my employer, give me a 35% pay cut for some made-up reason, cancel my (non-existent) health insurance, put me in the FBI database, have me shipped off to Guantanamo Bay, where I'll be beaten with rubber hoses, hosed and raped with a Koran, have rubber bands tied around my gonads, then be beheaded by some Special Forces commando dressed up as one of those wonderful Islamofascist thugs, er, I mean terrorists, er, I mean "insurgent", er, I mean "freedom fighter."
And one of these guys wants me to listen to talk radio while I work. Dude, they know that the only people that listen to talk radio are pathetic liberal losers that can't formulate their own opinions and need opinions spoon-fed to them by some anti-American Democrat's tool. I don't need to listen to something that's just going to piss me off while I'm trying to work.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Jelly Jihad Continues
Another Danish pastry containing an apparent image of the prophet Mohammed has surfaced today. At a bakery in Detroit Michigan, Joseph stopped by for some donuts. “The idea was to celebrate the Superbowl victory of the Steelers,” Joseph explained. “When I saw those danishes, I decided they were so tasty, I asked for a dozen of those instead. It wasn’t until I got to the office that I found the one with the li’l Arab dude.”
That was only the beginning. “Bill was just going to eat it, and Sue said something like ‘Don’t eat that! Isn’t that one of the 9/11 terrorists? You might hurt somebody.’” Sue was on to something that would change all of their lives in a profound way. “So we gave her this look, like, WTF, and she says ‘You know, hurt somebody’s feelings.’ I was about to take a bite, when Sue grabs it out of my hand and heads over to Mohammed’s desk.
“We always thought Mohammed was just one of the guys, kind of a mamma’s boy, you know, knew his internet protocol stuff pretty well, but kind of secretive. Well, Mohammed just goes postal. It really surprised all of us. It was really unexpected.” It turned out that Mohammed was a secretive but avid knife collector. Omar produced an 11-inch dagger from his desk, and began absent-mindedly stabbing the Blue Angels calendar on his cubicle wall while muttering “no more blood for oil… no more blood for oil…” The stabbing quickly turned to hacking, followed by violent thrashing, as his targets became more human, and his chant turned to something Arabic, followed by a shouted “JELLY JIHAD!!! JELLY JIHAD!!! JELLY JIHAD!!!”
Sensing the growing unrest in the American heartland, Iranian police (yes, police, from Iran, as oxymoronic as that sounds) knew the embassy of Denmark, the pastry’s namesake country, would be subject to the inevitable jelly jihad. As if a hundredth monkey episode had overtaken their conscious minds, a group of protesters appeared at the Danish embassy just moments after the cartoon Danish appeared, and Mohammed lost it. Some of the protesters carried signs with slogans such as “Behead Pastry Chefs,” “Daneland [sic] Will Have It’s 9/11,” and “Exterminate Those Who Bake Jelly.”
At the office where the offending Danish appeared, the building was in flames. Sue grabbed a black tablecloth from the company cafeteria, cut an eye-slit in it, covered herself, and ran outside as the sole survivor, only seconds before the building exploded in a huge mushroom cloud. Speculation persists as to whether the suitcase nuke that apparently caused the explosion originated from Iran, or from President Bush.
Investigators have located and examined the charred remains of the offending Danish, and have traced the jelly to the Sucker’s Jelly company. Local Muslims, having learned from the internet that Sucker’s created the jelly that spontaneously generates Mohammed cartoons, confronted company president, Richard “Dick” Sucker. Mr. Sucker at first explained that the morphing jelly technology was obtained from the pantry on board the alien spacecraft from the 1947 Roswell New Mexico crash. The Muslims protesting the cartooning jelly would not accept, or understand the alien origins of the cartooning jelly. Without attempting to further explain the spontaneous cartooning of the jelly, Mr. Sucker eventually apologized. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you guys are such jerks. I’m sorry that you just don’t get it. And I’m sorry that you have to throw such a temper tantrum over our little publicity stunt. But I’m not sorry that we made the cartoon danishes.”
In Tehran Iran, President Ahmadinejad has announced a bake sale where participants are encouraged to bake camel dung containing images of President Bush in bed with Hitler, Hillary Clinton in bed with Hitler, Hillary in bed with President Bush, Bill Clinton in bed with Satan, and endless such combinations.
Special Thanks: Moonbattery.com, Willisms.com, Outside The Beltway, The Nose On Your Face, little green footballs, Clarity & Resolve, Dr. Sanity, Michelle Malkin
Saturday, February 04, 2006
Zealot Seen In Pastry, Fajitas Ordered
Mary was enjoying her coffee and the morning newspaper at a Boise Idaho coffee house when she decided to order a danish, a jelly filled pastry apparently invented in the country of it's namesake. When the breakfast treat arrived, she was shocked to find a clearly insulting caracature of the renouned prophet/zealot, Mohammed within the jelly and swirls of sweetened bread. When Mary informed the waitress about the faux pas, the waitress insisted, "Oh I don't know anything about that. I just deliver them, I don't have anything else to do with them. You'll have to talk to the chef about that."
Mary asked to talk to the chef, and the waitress also refused any knowledge or responsibility for the whereabouts of the chef, as that was not in any way, shape, or form specified within her contract as a waitress. Filled with uncontrollable jelly rage at being snubbed, Mary stormed the kitchen shouting, "There's a zealot in my danish!"
The chef, upon inspecting the pastry, claimed that he didn't intentionally create any image of Mohammed within the danish, but the image spontaneously appeared on it's own. "It's just a trick of your eyes! You're only imagining it! There is no picture of Mohammed in this pastry" the chef further backpeddled.
Meanwhile, Mohammed, sitting at a nearby table wondered what all the excitement was about. Always spoiling for a good Jihad, Mohammed glanced in the general direction of the table containing the offending danish, and rose from his table. "WHAT!!! Another disrespectful cartoon of my beloved prophet!!!" the shiek shrieked. "I am hereby ordering a Fajita against this... this... INFIDEL chef!!! And all other non-muslim chefs throughout the world!!!" The shrieking shiek then produced a 59-year old AK-47 model Russian machine gun from his turbin, and fired a volley of rounds into the cieling.
At the same moment, further unrest eruputed at several muslim political communities known as "countries" contained stronghold fortress "embassies" held by non-muslim european "countries". Nearby these infidel strongholds, groups of angry muslims, subconsciously sensing unrest withing a foreign land, spontaneously stormed the embassies, at first marching with protest signs, and burning flags. The violence quickly turned to throwing of molotov coctails - a homemade gasoline bomb - , pushing down of gates and fenses surrounding the embassies, and a series of suicide bombers exploding within the embassy walls.
In Iran, president Ahmadinejad, who is also offended by cartoon danishes, promised his minion that he would complete his work on a nuclear bomb, and that the first ICBM would be headed straight for Boise, Idaho. Meanwhile, non-muslim chefs everywhere were ordered to behead themselves with their own cleavers. Those who do not own cleavers, or refuse to cooperate will be beheaded by the nuclear shiek, the shrieking shiek, and any compassionate jihadist muslim who feels sympathy for the plight of muslims oppressed by the appearance of cartoon danishes.
Addendum:
Credit where credit is due. Special thanks to moonbattery.com, Willisms.com, Outside The Beltway
Friday, February 03, 2006
Blame Bush: a photo essay
I am so sick to death of the democrats, liberals, and moonbats blaming everything possible on Bush. I'm not even going to bring up John Conyers' and Ray McGovern's silly trial and indictment of the Bush administration's crimes against humanity. Why, the evidence is overwhelming. Here's a parade of witnesses speaking out against the attrocities of the Bush Administration.
George Bush washed the soil off of my farm, right down to the bedrock!
George Bush dumped toxic nuclear waste in my favorite fishing hole!
George Bush looked up my dress!
George Bush made demons posess my cat.
George Bush turned my dog into a zombie!
George Bush turned me into a hippopotamus. Well I got better. Mostly.
George Bush turned my teeth into corn!
George Bush sold me these glasses.
George Bush stole candy from my baby!
George Bush made me cry too. And he killed my baby with his bare hands! Baby killer!
George Bush made my butt look fat. Or something. I can't tell anymore.
And George Bush made my butt look fat too.
And mine too.
All in all, George Bush has made a total wreck of the whole country! How could this happen?
Not only has President George W. Bush, 43rd president of the United States of America rigged both of his elections...
George Bush has personally permanently altered the New York City Skyline.
George Bush not only created hurricane Katrina and blew up the levees in an effort of ethnic cleansing,
George Bush created a massive hurricane on Jupiter, big enough to swallow a thousand earths, that has destroyed countless civilizations throughout the entire universe, and thousands of parallel universes, for trillions of years. Trillions, and trillions, and trillions.
George Bush washed the soil off of my farm, right down to the bedrock!
George Bush dumped toxic nuclear waste in my favorite fishing hole!
George Bush looked up my dress!
George Bush made demons posess my cat.
George Bush turned my dog into a zombie!
George Bush turned me into a hippopotamus. Well I got better. Mostly.
George Bush turned my teeth into corn!
George Bush sold me these glasses.
George Bush stole candy from my baby!
George Bush made me cry too. And he killed my baby with his bare hands! Baby killer!
George Bush made my butt look fat. Or something. I can't tell anymore.
And George Bush made my butt look fat too.
And mine too.
All in all, George Bush has made a total wreck of the whole country! How could this happen?
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