Friday, January 12, 2007
Since We've No Place To Go...
I had planned a remarkably coherent post about a single topic, a slow-motion explosion of increasingly grandiloquent and magisterial... magisteriality so potent it would have completely rewired the way your brains functioned, so scorching all your senses with its visual, aural, aromatic, tactile and tasty-tasty goodness that all other things in your life that you thought you enjoyed would seem gaunt and spare and withered and smelly by comparison.

I'm not going to do it now. Don't thank me. It's not for your sake. It's because something so unexpected, so troubling, so disturbing happened to me this morning that everything else must be shoved to one side so that I can share.

Let's play a game, shall we? What is this a picture of?

Is it:

a) the world's worst dandruff shampoo commercial
b) me practicing oryzamancy, an ancient method of divination wherein I toss a handful of rice in the air and then catch it on a hand-drawn calendar page so that I might determine how many people to kill on what day
c) fucking snow in fucking Riverside, California

Did you guess B? I would have guessed B. I would have loved for it to be B. Because I could do with some killin' right about now.

The actual answer is C.

The picture looks like it does because I figured you cynics would never believe me. The stuff didn't stay on the ground long enough to photograph and I figured a picture of wet concrete in my backyard would be somewhat less than definitive. So I grabbed a piece of black construction paper, caught what I could and snapped away.

Can you believe this? I checked and the high temperature today is supposed to be within a degree or two of what it will be in such tropical paradises as Cleveland and Detroit. Not Cleveland, Florida or Detroit, Cayman Islands. I mean the ones in the middle of the country that no one has willingly moved to in over 75 years. I've been to Detroit, I know. Eminem and Kid Rock pretty much have the place all to themselves.

This is completely unacceptable. I paid WAY to much money for this house to have to put up with things like precipitation. And frozen? Where the fuck do they get the gall is what I'd like to know. My HOA should expect a very terse and sternly worded letter from me shortly. I may even use sarcasm.


A second topic: US Warns About Canadian Spy Coins

First of all, I fucking knew it. I knew the Canadians would come for us eventually, but who knew it would be trying to hit us where we live, right in the pocketbook. Secret RF beacons inside money. Tricky. I'd be impressed if we hadn't thought of that already. Except we use paper money for that. Much more clever. And we even put it in the advertising for the redesign. Come on, nobody believes the internal strip is there for counterfeit protection, do they? How gullible would you have to be? What are we, Canadians?

Secondly, the joke's on them because nobody in America would knowingly carry a Canadian coin. Who could take it seriously as currency? It has a fucking bird on it. Just the kind of thing I'd expect from Revolution-escaping dirt worshipers up north.

Third, the article says that this is something we've done in the past in the US using silver dollar coins. Let me just say that that's the worst espionage idea ever. Do you know anyone who carries dollar coins? I'm pretty sure the only reason they exist at all is for espionage purposes. I'm not even a highly trained foreign intelligence operative (anymore!) and I automatically know something fishy is going on if a silver dollar enters a transaction. Not only does it say "I spy on you, Comrade," it also says "I think you are too stupid to figure it out." Sorry, Boris. Or in this case, Gordon. We're on to you, eh. Sorry, Boris. Or in this case, Gordon. We're on to you, eh.


It's clear to me now that the San Diego Chargers love puppies. This puppy in particular:

Bucketeers will recall that this is the puppy I said I would kill if the team did not make the AFC Championship Game this year.

The team has done some solid work in this respect. They finished with the best record in all of football, meaning they got to skip the first round of the playoffs. One less chance to be eliminated, one less opportunity to make me go Dick Cheney all on this poor defenseless animal.

You know who hates puppies, though?

The man on the left is New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady. Exhibitionist. Sexual harrasser. Puppy-hater. He wants to beat the Chargers on Sunday, not just so his team can advance, but specifically because he wants to make me kill this puppy.

This man is clearly a dick. Although I would like to point out that despite the visual evidence, he does not actually have one. Those chonies are stuffed in the front. What with, you ask? Pair of socks? Half a ham?

How about mummified head of a previously murdered puppy? It's true. I read it somewhere. I think.

Watch the game. Root for the life of this adorable puppy.

Sunday night could be a very interesting post. If they lose, you'd better hope to Jesus there are no pictures in that one. Not if you ever want to sleep again.

This post on the Narcissus Scale: 9.0



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