SOMEBODY PAYPAL ME A DOLLAR IMMEDIATELY WANT TO BUY A CHERRY COKE FROM MACHINE AND ONLY HAVE A TWENTY!!!
I’ve been reading a lot of Winnie The Pooh books to The Squirrelly, and, I gotta tell you, Kanga is looking pretty fine. Got some junk in the trunk, if you know what I’m sayin’. And makes blueberry muffins at the drop of the hat.
There doesn’t appear to be a Mr. Roo in the equation. Gets a guy to wondering …
Update: Contrary to the baseless assertions of a few emailers, I am not a quote-unquote “furry.” I’m just a guy who wants to have sex with an anthropomorphized marsupial, okay? Apples and oranges, people.
I got stuck in traffic the other day. Sitting there at a complete standstill, and at a loss for anything better to do, I started counting carpool lane cheater. At one point six singly-occupied vehicles in a row zoomed past me.
Apparently they’ve just given up on HOV lane enforcement. I don’t really blame them, considering the number of violators. And, in a way, it’s kind of nice that all the aggressive drivers self-select themselves out of traffic and into the HOV lane. But, still, the Department of Transportation ought to do something.
That’s why I propose they simply rename the HOV lane the “Asshole Lane.” That more accurately describes its contents now anyway. Furthermore, drivers should have to apply a bumper sticker reading “I AM AN ASSHOLE” to their SUVs to indicate that they are an authorized user of the lane.
It will be nice to have all the assholes clearly labelled. And hey: if we can get them all into a single lane, those of us in regular traffic will only have to contend with, like, a dozen cars on our morning commute.
Speaking of which …
Last week on the freeway I got stuck behind one of the few idiots not in the asshole lane. Indeed, he was in the far right lane, and since I intended to take the next exit I had no choice but to follow him. The guy was in a pickup, travelling about 15 miles per hour under the speed limit, and completely preoccupied with something other than driving. He kept leaning way over to the right, so far down that I couldn’t even see his head anymore, as if he were reading fine print off of a clipboard lying on the seat next to him, or giving a blowjob to his imaginary passenger. During these periods he would drift wildly, and when he occasionally popped his head back up he would abruptly wrestle the vehicle back into his lane before disappearing again.
As we reached the off-ramp he again began to drift rightward, well out his lane. In fact, he was heading straight for the median between the freeway and the exit. In my mind’s eye I could see him slamming into the barrier at his oh-so-pokey 40 MPH and I was thrilled at the image.
Then I snapped out of my reverie and reached for my horn to warn him, just as his head popped up and he frantically jerked the truck to the left, missing the median by a couple of feet.
But, still: totally wishing death on some guy because he’d added forty seconds to my commute.
Dude, what’s up with that? And I know that’s not the first time I’ve felt The Evil creeping up on me in the middle of rush hour.
What is it about traffic turns us into rageaholic bastards? Or does it just trick us into revealing our true selves? Suzanne Necker once said “fortune does not change men; it unmasks them.” Maybe the same is true of Interstate 90.
As his poll numbers continue to sag, Bush gave The Speech again today before a military audience at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, home to Airborne and special operations forces.
"Blah blah blah blah blah blah," said the President, probably in reference to freedom or democracy or something. "Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah."
"Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah," he continued to sporadic applause.
The Speech comes at a time when just 40 percent of those responding said they approved of Bush's handling of the war, while 58 percent said they disapproved. In an attempt to shore up public opinion, Bush reiterated his central message regarding the war in Iraq: "Blah blah blah."
"Blah blah blah blah blah," he said, struggling to explain why the effort is important to U.S. security. He undoubtedly mentioned September 11th a few times, somewhere in there.
Bush concluded the 30-minute Speech with "God bless America," we're guessing.
The next recitation of The Speech is scheduled for October 14th, 2005.
Apparently Nike swiped the art from a Minor Threat CD and turned it into an ad. So some folks over at iXor.com started a photoshop thread, imagining “other evil corporations ruining famous album covers.” This was my contribution.
I found the iXor thread via Waxy’s links
Critics are enchanted with Bewitched!
“Unrivaled in modern times for smugness, vapidity, and condescension. To spend even 10 minutes in the movie’s universe is to experience the Sartrean nausea of an utterly hollow head and heart.” — Michael Atkinson, VILLAGE VOICE
“This hackneyed, hapless and utterly useless redo of an overrated 1960s sitcom is excruciating to sit through for a dozen reasons.” — Robert Wilsonsky, DALLAS OBSERVER
“It sinks so deep and fast, you don’t even see bubbles on the surface. ” — Desson Thomson, WASHINGTON POST
“A terrible, terrible movie. Its creators have a swell idea at the core, a wonderful leading lady, and several stalwart comic players in support, and they make of all of that a picture with the wit of an armpit fart, the verve of a boxwood shrub, and the appeal of a long night in an ER waiting room.” — Shawn Levy, PORTLAND OREGONIAN
“Any picture that makes you yearn for the dramatic work of Dick Sargent has got problems.” — Bruce Newman, SAN JOSE MERCURY NEWS
“A disaster so low in energy that it jumpstarts its own engine every 10 minutes.” [I’m pretty sure this doesn’t even make sense — ed.] — Rex Reed, NEW YORK OBSERVER
“The result of people trying so hard to wring magic out of a dry well, all that’s left to see is their flop sweat.” — Rene Rodriguez, MIAMI HERALD
“You’re likely to want to pluck out your eyeballs.” — Walter Chaw, FILM FREAK CENTRAL
Thanks to Jack Stapleton for bringing this debacle to my attention.
Sorry for posting so late today but, oh man, I was totally hung over this morning. Me and some buddies were out all last night doing rhetoraoke. I hadn’t done rhetoraoke in years, but my friend Randall is way into it and he suggested that we head over to The Oration Station, and since I’d already had a few beers I was, like, whatever, that sounds cool.
We got there around 9:20 and ordered a pitcher and started looking through the selection book, but of course Randall already knew what he want to perform and put his slip in right away. There must not have been very many requests in because he got called, like, 20 minutes later, and did Mahatma Gandhi’s “Quit India” speech. He did a spot-on impersonation too, with the gestures and everything. I felt totally sorry for the girl who went after him and did just a so-so version of Elizabeth Glaser’s address to the 1992 Democratic National Convention.
I didn’t know many of the speeches in the book so I just did the old standard, Lincoln’s “Gettysburg Address”. I was pretty tipsy by then and screwed up the cadence in some parts, but I managed to get all the way to “we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground” before I had to start looking at the TelePropter, which was cool. It went so well that I put another request in and did “Tear Down This Wall” by Reagan because, you know, I’m into that 80’s stuff.
Bruce was bummed that The Oration Station didn’t have any lectures in the book, so after Martha did Queen Elizabeth I “Spanish Armada Speech” we headed over to another rhetoraoke place, Pints & Prelection down in Pioneer Square. Bruce was pretty shitfaced by then and he still tried to do Feynman’s “Motion of Planets Around the Sun,” and he, like, forgot half the words and totally fucked up the equations. It was pretty embarassing. After that he was kinda pissy and wanted to go home, but then Randall did a really good “The Ballot or the Bullet” by Macolm X and that got the crowd all fired up, so we decided to stay a little longer.
Then we started doing Tequila shooters and everything’s pretty hazy after that. This morning Randall sent me an email and said that I was so drunk that I tried to do Kennedy’s “Ich bin ein Berliner” address later that night. Fuck, I don’t remember that at all. I hope I didn’t make an ass of myself, but I probably did.
Oveheard on the bus:
Girl 1: So what happened with XXX after we left?
Girl 2: Not much. We wound up spooning all night.
G1: That doesn’t sound like “not much.”
G2: I was so bored. It was pretty lame that nothing more happen.
G1: Did you want more to happen?
G2: Not really. But, you know. It was like spending the whole night drinking non-alcoholic beer.