Master of My Domain

Today I'm actually writing about something I know something about. While this is against my general principles, consider this an experiment. It may be a success or it may be like that 10th grade chemistry class where I tricked my friend into holding magnesium. In his hand. Ouch.

Anyhoo, there's a real art to domain name registration. You need one that's not too long because peeps can't type it in correctly. While shorter is better (just like speeches and visits from family), it still has to be memorable and accurately describe what you're pimping. There's always other people to help you pick domains, but I figured these folks could use a little help.

Hillary Clinton: www.monicasexboyfriendswife.com
John Edwards: www.prettywoman.com
John McCain: www.oldfart.com
Rudy Guiliani: www.notmobbedup.com
Barack Obama: www.itcouldhavebeenworseitcouldhavebeenhitler.com
Fred Thompson: www.onlyactinglikeacandidate.biz
Mitt Romney: www.mittisnotagayname.info
George Bush: www.duh.net
Paris Hilton: www.stilldumb.org
Any Winehouse: www.karma.com
Tom Brady: www.borninamanger.net
Britney Spears: www.cangetalotcrazier.com
David Hasselhoff: www.notalent.com
Pacman Jones: www.thug.org
Angelina Jolie: www.gotkidz.com
Harrison Ford: www.toooldforthiskindofshit.com
Shia LeBouf: www.evenidontknowwhyimfamous.net
The Chicago Cubs: www.cursed.com

Feel free to play along from home, kids.

Money, That's What I Want

If you haven't heard, there's some kind of football game coming up this weekend. I'm not certain about it as I've not heard anything about Tom Brady in the last 12 minutes or so. If only someone would give us some information about these kind of things.

Now while I don't believe in gambling, you should be prepared to go get one of them there payday loans and bet everything against the Patriots. Don't pay the mortgage, go give plasma, take back all those aluminum cans, sell the kids and empty the sofa cushions of all the change.

Seriously, the spread for the game is anywhere between 12 and 14 1/2 points. And even though the Patriots are undefeated, they never cover in Super Bowls. They've been in 3 in recent memory and all three were decided by three points: 2002 - Patriots 20 St. Louis Rams 17; 2004 - Patriots 32 Carolina Panthers 29; 2005 - Patriots 24 Philadlphia Eagles 21. See they never cover the spread. That's not even counting the '86 game when the Chicago Bears blew them out by 36 points.

Seriously, don't follow anyone's advice on crap like this. Just enjoy the commercials and eat as many Dorito's Blazin' Buffalo and Ranch chips as you can hold. No one wins at gambling except the casinos.

Don't be kicking yourself Sunday night after the game. Bet everything you own on the Giants.

A Vote for Me Is a Vote For Me

I didn't think it was fair that only peeps in Florida got to vote today. So have at it kids.

	Who will fall off the celebrity wagon first?
	Brittney Spears
	Lindsay Lohan
	Amy Winehouse
	David Hasselhoff
	Paris Hilton
surveys

If you want your own surveys, go to the fine folks at easy-poll. It's aptly named. Now that questions is something that will generate a lot of gambling action. Not like that lame Stupor Bowl coming up on Sunday.

My Ship Has Finally Come In

I get lots of spam. I don't know why this one mad me laugh so much.

--------------------


From Dr Neff John


Dear Friend,


This Message Might Meet You In Utmost Surprise. However, It's Just My Urgent Need For Foreign Partner That Made Me To Contact You For This Transaction. I Am A Banker By Profession From Burkina Faso In West Africa And Currently Holding The Post Of bill and exchange manager In Our Bank.


I Have The Opportunity Of Transferring The Left Over Funds ($15.5Million) Of One Of My Bank Client Late Mr. Morris Thompson ,an American who unfortunately lost his life in the plane crash of Alaska Airlines Flight 261, which crashed on January 31 2000.


You may read more about the crash on visiting this C.N.N News internetwebsite:http://archives.cnn.com/2000/US/02/01/alaska.airlines.list/


Hence, I am Inviting You For A Business Deal Where This Money Can Be Shared Between Us In The Ratio Of 50/40 / 10% For Any income expenses that will come During the transfer, If You Agree To My Business Proposal,Further Details Of The Transfer Will Be Forwarded To You As Soon As I Receive Your Response.


Therefore, to enable the immediate transfer of this fund to you as arranged, you must apply first to the bank as next of kin of the deceased. Send me your private telephone and fax number for easy and effective communication and location wherein the money will be remitted.


1.YOUR FULL NAME...................
2. AGE.................
3. OCCUPATION................
4. FAX...............
5. TELEPHONE.................
6. SEX................
7. COUNTRY..............


Upon the receipt of your reply, I will send to you by email the text of the application to fill and send to the bank, Have A Great Day.


reply me whit this email id Neff_john7@yahoo.com,

thanks

Your's Faithfully,

Dr Neff John

--------------------------------
Nothing says trustworthiness with your personal financial information like someone Who Uses A Capital Letter Many Many Times In A Sentence For No Reason. I Just Wish I Could Go To Burkina Faso Directly And Just Help Out.


I hope you never fall for this kind of stuff kids. One of Michigan's County Treasurers wasn't this bright. Maybe if he's lucky he'll get to a Phase I environmental post after he's out of the joint. I think that makes him a garbage guy. But at least he'll only have to work one day a week. Now make sure you check out that internetwebsite. It's all one word just like Racearoundtheworld.

Murphy's Law Redux

I'm really, really ashamed I overlooked the illustrious singing career of Eddie Murphy when I was making fun of writing about his recent divorce to his faux Bora Bora marriage.

So take this:




And yes, that is Rick James pretending to work. Girl, I don't understand why you want to hurt me. Rox, you do indeed Rock.

My only defense is that I had my special Bruce Willis, Don Johnson, Mandy Moore, and David Hasslehoff and William Shatner mix tape cranked up really loud and it disrupted my concentration. But I did spare the Murphster any grief for I Spy, Holy Man, Harlem Nights or The Distinguished Gentleman. Until now. Lucky for Ed, the list was only 10 items long.

Murphy's Law

I haven't had the opportunity to give Eddie Murphy and his soon to be ex wife, Tracey Edmonds grief for deciding to go their separate ways after almost 2 weeks of non-legally binding Bora Bora faux marriage. Way to stick it out there, kids. I guess anything that can go wrong with a two week old marriage will.

Luckily, the two issued a joint statement (nothing says true love like publicists collaborating on diction) saying:

“After much consideration and discussion, we have jointly decided that we will forego having a legal ceremony as it is not necessary to define our relationship further. While the recent symbolic union in Bora Bora was representative of our deep love, friendship and respect that we have for one another on a spiritual level, we have decided to remain friends. And by "friends" we mean not speaking to each other, arguing over the albums and bad-mouthing the other to mutual acquaintances."

Okay, I made that last part up.

But my well-placed sources in Hollyweird (where insanity meets the sea) tell this reporter (I just love that) the top ten reasons the two split up.

10) She saw Daddy Day Care
9) In bed, he wanted her to call him "Donkey"
8) His annoying laugh
7) Romantic weekend in Las Vegas hotel ruined by Eddie repeatedly watching Spice World
6) She objects to his Transsexual Hooker Car Pool
5) She saw Pluto Nash
4) He's always singing Wannabe in the shower
3) She saw Best Defense
2) His insistence that Big Momma's House is genius
1) She saw Norbit

Bend It Like Bowser

The response to my post about Utah was so enthusiastic, I just had to write some more about my newly adopted state. Did I adopt it or did it adopt me? Whatever. Nevermind.

Anyhoo, Salt Lake has a real live soccer team called Real Salt Lake. There's no mascot. Like the Real Salt Lake Gaysters (hey, check out the uniform over there on the right and tell me that doesn't fit) or the Snoozers (for all the exciting scoring in soccer) or the Hired Guns from Some South American Soccer-Loving Nation Because Our Dang Kids Would Rather Be Playing Xbox.

I can't help it. I've never cared for soccer. And this isn't just some dumb American, there's not enough scoring like real football response. I actually used to play soccer. For one year. That was plenty. We were the crummiest team in the league and used to routinely get abused by other teams especially that team from the Catholic private school that had the kids who were already shaving at 10 years of age. I was one of only two kids all year who scored a goal. We lost every game but one in which we tied the other crummiest team in the other division. It was like a battle of the spazzes. So I hate soccer for a good reason.

But to get the G-man ready for life out here, I'm teaching him to play soccer. Yes, that's his soccer ball. And yes, that is an actual real live tumbleweed right behind him. Remember this is the Wild Wild West, pardner.

So far he isn't much good at heading, but he is good at dribbling. Well, drooling to be more specific. But if the object of soccer were to put the ball entirely in your mouth and play keep away, Guinness would be an all star. No, he still wouldn't wear that queer jersey.

Sext Me Up

Oh, how I wish again that I were in Michigan. Not really, but I couldn't think of anything that rhymed with Horny Mayor.

Yes, one of my favorite things about Michigan is coming back around again. This time its the corruption of the city mayor, Kwame Kilpatrick. In the fine tradition of Coleman Young, who himself was the subject of rumors of scandal and won his elections by a larger margin while under FBI investigation for alleged kickbacks, Kwame is feeling the heat.

Kwame's posse used to include most of his high school buddies from Cass Tech High. In fact, his former bodyguards used to be friends of his from the football team. I'm sure their past high school heroics fully qualified them to be bodyguards. But they're not bodyguards anymore after they sued the city when they were disciplined. Okay, this is more complicated than picking out the right Grohe faucets for the new bathroom. Hang on tight, kids.

After Kwame got elected, he held a big party in the Mayor's Mansion. Allegedly it was a really, really great party. Until the Honorable Kwame's wife showed up and bitch slapped the stripper. That was probably the end of the festivities. The mayors bodyguards took off in a cop car and because they had been drinking, had a bit of an accident. Things got really complicated when they told city maintenance folks to fix the car, bill the city and keep their pieholes shut.

Understandably, this resulted in a misconduct investigation. Because the mayor wasn't exactly squeaky clean himself, he didn't exactly want these cats to shoot their mouths off. They were quietly disciplined but it must have been too much for them because they filed a whistleblower suit against the city of Detroit (who is in no financial difficulties whatsoever) and won a 6.5 million dollar judgment. Thanks to interest that's now over 8 million that the City has agreed to pay.

It's also good to note that Kwame has been re-elected while this was all going on. There were also allegations that Kwame ran up very expensive restaurant and club bills while out of town on business (while he was also paying these same bodyguards overtime) and that he liked to stay out very late on "business" while in some cities. Because he was secretly arranging liasons while he was out of town, you can understand why he likes to travel. During the election, Special K painted himself as a strong family man and made sure to have his stripper-slapping wife by his side for all the photo ops.

Unfortunately, during the testimony, K testified that he and his Chief of Staff, Christine Beatty, were not having an illicit affair and that the bodyguards were not being disciplined because they knew anything about it. Ooops. Good thing they don't play baseball. Can't recall the exact word for it, but I think it's a no no. Oh, perjury, that's what it's called.

Turns out the K-man and his Staff Polisher have traded over 14,000 text messages. Some of the highlights: "I'm madly in love with you," thumbed Kwame. "I hope you feel that way for a long time," Beatty replied to the mayor. "In case you haven't noticed, I am madly in love with you, too!"

Sounds like strictly business to me. After all it is a city-issued pager he's using. You can get all the gory details here. Great job by the Detroit News for getting the texts after their own legal battle with the city to get the records. Read their timeline, they do a much better job of this than I do.

There is some good news for the hopefully soon to be ex-mayor, married couples who fight live longer. Kwame and his Wife should be together a long, long time. Or maybe it's just going to seem that way for him.

The Brit Hits the Fan

Dearest Brit:

I'm sorry I wasn't able to return any of your calls or texts. You said you wanted to go cold turkey on our relationship. The exact words you used were, "It's not me, it's you." Besides I was Kum'n & Going in the middle of the prairie and probably couldn't get a cell signal anyway.

[In a complete tangent, Republican Presidential Candidate Mitt Romney visited Kum and Go. Funny, if anyone was going to Kum and Go, I figured it would be Bill Clinton. Thank you, I'm here all week. We now return you to our pretend Brittney letter.]

But seriously, kid. The stuff I've been hearing sounds crazy even for you. Shopping in your wedding dress? Walking around naked in a clothing store? Getting advice from Dr. Phil? That's the bald leading the bald, honey. Stay away from that quack. I'm surprised he was able to get his nose out of Oprah long enough to come talk to you anyway.

And now apparently you've been appearing in bustiers and affecting a British accent. I think you may be suffering from Madonnarhea. It's a joke. I kid because I pretend to care.

Bless you and your knocked up sister though. If it weren't for you two, we'd be stuck with two weeks of Stupor Bowl Hype and endless political news. Keep up the good work and please plan your next major breakdown/pub stunt for a Wednesday. You'll get the A talent on the networks instead of those weekend hacks.

Love,

t2ed

P.S. Dating a paparazzi? Please, your publicist can do better than that.

Until You Drop

I have a confession to make. I hate shopping. Even online shopping. I just don't have the attention span to go up and down aisles in the store. I really hate grocery stores. I won't ever take a cart so I wind up carrying all my potential purchases around like a lower tier homeless person. Nor will I use those lame red baskets that always make me feel like Red Riding Hood and make we want to skip through the store. And they always put the baskets in the front. Why don't they put them randomly in the aisles for dopes like me who never grab a basket when they come in until they realize there's no way to carry around deodorant, a 12 pack, band aids and Italian bread until they're miles away from the front of the store?

And for some reason, despite all the improvements in search engine technology, I can't ever seem to find what I want.

Sure, I've tried Froogle in the past, but I was never that impressed. I mean how hard can it be to find the soundtrack to The Sure Thing just so you can finally score Ray Charles' version of Just Because? That's a quest I've actually given up on. When and if I ever do stumble across that soundtrack, I'm betting it's in vinyl so I'll be screwed anyway.

I especially hate shopping at the Gap. I actually believe that the Gap may have little shopping avatars on their web site that when you click on them for help, they actually ignore you just like in the real store. Or maybe you can hear them talk about their boyfriend. Or about how she's not going to work one second past five no matter what that stuck up manager thinks.

But there are some comparison sites that people seem to rave about to do a little online price compare.

The problem is that I don't really buy on price. Usually, I'm looking for something specific. If I can find it is the determining factor. How much is generally an afterthought. That being said, there's nothing like scoring a disposable piece of clothing.

Disposable clothing is anything that's marked down so much, that rather than wash it, you could just throw it away and would still be perfectly happy you bought it. Sure sometimes you wander by the sales rack and see that paisley shirt with the wide lapels and wonder, "Golly, why is this marked down? I can't believe suckers shoppers haven't snapped this up." Yes, I often have a sarcastic inner dialogue that makes fun of purchasing agents while I roam around during the day. It's just one of the many burdens I bear.

Now I've got to go to the grocery store and buy as much food as I can carry....

Rock N Rock Never Dies

While the Wife and I were out publicly masticating last night, we heard Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes on the piped in music.

We thought, Shirley, this must be a mistake as very few people know of the Greatest Bar Band in the World and he never seems to make it West of the Mississip.

If you haven't heard of him, he used to hang out with a couple of guys known as Little Stevie Van Zandt and Bruce Springsteen when they were just all swapping songs and band members while playing at the Stone Pony on the Jersey shore.

Enjoy.




I don't want to get all maudlin on ya, but rocking like this is one of the few things that can actually make me miss the midworst. We will now return you to our man-dominated, no emotion-having regular programming.

Ramblin' Gamblin' Man

Things are finally, mostly, returning to a State of Normalcy in the Beehive State. Granted the movers must have a fork fetish as some of my cutlery has mysteriously disappeared. And along with all my wooden spoons. Police are bringing in the Cow for questioning. You know, the one who jumped over the mooooon. Wow, is that bad.

But cereally folks, I'm just about ready to open up my own online casino while I'm waiting for folks to respond to my Jobhunt 2008 Quest for Greatness.

But rather than let people vote on normal stuff (Packers v. Giants or the Pats v. Bolts), I'm going to go for really, really wild stuff.

Propositions like which month will Abe Vigoda die this year. Or something even more radical like how many reindeer live in your neighborhood? Think that's crazy do you?

Well just take a gander at the wildlife we have around here.

Yes, that's right around the corner from my house. An entire herd of what seem to be (to this Discovery Channel educated wildlife observer) as an actual reindeer rustled up on some guy's farm.

And while you probably can only see the mountains in the background, there are also buffalo in the pen beyond the deer. Truly we are not in the Midwest anymore, Toto. It's only a matter of time before I'm sporting those Western shirts with the pearl snap buttons and packing a six shooter, pard.

Obviously if the Fat Man from the North Pole keeps his stock down here in the offseason, I'm going to really have to be on my best behavior to make the Nice list next year. Damn.

Say It Ain't So, Ike

This one is inspired by the Wife who sent this headline to me with a in an email.

The headline?

Medical examiner says Ike Turner died of cocaine overdose

Wife's email message? Just one word. Really?

And I thought I was supposed to be the funny one. Damn, I hope this doesn't make me the pretty one or we're in real trouble.

Despite all the bad press Ike's gotten recently, he really could rock with Tina and the Ikettes. And he did the first rock and roll song, Rocket 88. Don'tca wish you had caught that live instead of on a little pop up tv?

I mean no one is really surprised that the Ikester OD'ed. After all he always did want to take us higher. Too soon? Even for a wife beater? I'm sure when Jamie Foxx finally plays Ike in a schmaltzy biopic they'll gloss over that unhappy place in their marriage.

Darlin' You Know Just What I'm Here For

I'm a little bummed at my real estate agent. I can't believe he didn't tell me that this street was just around the corner from my new Shaque D'Amour.

Do you know how often I could have had the top down on the mobile with the best song ever cranked as I pulled into my driveway every night and made all the dogs in the neighborhood bark and pissed off all the neighbors? I'd have had the car stereo up so loud it would interfere with the assisted living software at the Old Fogies home around the corner.

And if you think I didn't have this song cranked when I finally got to look at Michigan in my rear view mirror, you don't know me very well. A town full of losers and I'm pulling of here to win indeed.

Now I've got to get in my Pink Cadillac and drive Rosalita out to the Ranch.

It Is Alive

We're finally here in the Wild, Wild West. The drive (even with Guinness the Wonder Dog to navigate) was a pain. And just for the record, Nebraska is the longest state in the world. It goes on and on and on. It made Iowa look like a long lost brother.

At one point the Wife was so frustrated with Nebraska's unending great plains that she suddenly declared, "I hate this State. This is a State of Suck." Yes, State of Suck instantly became a catch phrase for the rest of the trip. Nebraska is flat enough and I-80 is straight enough that Guinness was able to drive for a couple of hours. Of course we stacked some z's as my trucker friends (of whom I have none) like to call it. When we awoke the car was pulled over on the side of the road and Guinness was hungrily eyeing a buffalo .

In all seriousness, this was the only thing to take a picture of in Nebraska.

These guys really ought to be selling t-shirts.

Can you imagine the meeting when they came up with this name? What did they reject to finally settle on Kum & Go. Pump & Dump? Squirt & Run? Hoser & Loser? Sure that would be a sight rhyme but I always hated those.

And while Nebraska was a State of Suck, at least they let you drive 75 mph. Yes, I'm talking to you Indiana and Illinois. Maybe your traffic wouldn't stink so much if you just let everyone drive fast enough to get the hell out.

Wyoming also allows for fast driving. They do not, however, understand the basic chemical equation of salt + ice = roads you can actually drive on. Instead they put sand on the highway so you and all the semi-fucks hauling stuff can drive 35 mph until you finally get stuck in the middle of nowhere. The Wife thought it was just stupidity, I thought it was genius. If not for the Wyoming Department of Highway Consternation, all those people wouldn't be pulling over to stay in a tiny hotel and eating at the best restaurant in town. Luckily, the teeny tiny inn came with coffee makers in the rooms. That's because all you're going to want to do after being trapped in Wyoming is get the hell out as early as possible the next morning.

But we're here. We still have stuff in boxes and are getting to play a little game I call Treasure Hunt or more likely Where the Hell Is It? I'm sure they'll be plenty of Western Style Adventures that I'll be able to write about in the coming weeks.

Stuck in My Head

I can't help it. I've got this song in my head and can't get it out.

This promises to make our 3 day car trip with the Hell Hound a bit rough. Exactly how much Vodka are you supposed to give a dog to make him sleep all day? I'm only kidding. I know it's supposed to be Scotch for a labradoodle.



I love the facial expressions of the guy on the right. And he does a mean Van Morrison.

I may finally break in the Wilds of Nebraska and run screaming from the car. We'll probably have to make a car donation to appease the angry Indian Spirits who have cursed me.

Seriously, how are you supposed to get a dog who is too finicky to eat this breakfast most mornings take 4 Benadryl. I don't know what fictional world my vet lives in, but it's not this one.

Come With Me If You Want To Live

Now that our real estate transaction is officially closed, we're packing up all our crap and getting the hell out of Michigan. Oh, and my brother called me during the game to tell me he just read that Michigan leads the entire country in foreclosures. Woo hoo, first murders and now homelessness. We're number 1! We're number 1!

It's somehow fitting that I got to watch my last Lions game on Sunday and they completely packed it in against the Packers. Man did the Lions look like a bunch of guys who would rather be playing golf. No one will be sadder to see Bret Favre finally retire than the Lions. The Lions have never beaten Bret Favre at home. Yes, 17 and 0 is a true exercise in futility.

Appropriately, it's supposed to be bitter cold the two days we're packing and loading the truck. And by "we," I mean the well-trained professionals who were sober at the time the moving truck stopped at the half-way house. Luckily, my brother works for a moving company so he's given me some tips (many, many tips) such as don't let the movers steal your stuff, don't let them drink until the breakables are packed, tip them. I'm not sure exactly how much to tip them. Maybe a simple, "Always bet against the Lions" will suffice.

Anyways, after all the crap is loaded, we are loading up the Super Sport Wagon (in Antarctic Blue, with optional Rally Fun Pack) and driving with the Hound to the Great Divide. I only hope Guinness the Wonder Dog gets a chance to try to take down a buffalo on the Great Plains.

I am really, really looking forward to seeing Michigan in my rear view mirror. And hope we don't get stuck in an ugly snowstorm (or caucus) in Iowa and get forced to go all Donner Expedition while trapped in the snow. I do hope we get to vote several times in their primary. Because it's only appropriate that the state who gave us Erotic Corn Dog Eating Contests also gets to decide who gets to be President. That's actually why I'll vote for Obama six or seven times, because he rocked that contest. Oh, and Oprah told me to.