Fashion

As threatened, here are some snaps from the Big Halloween Bash.

The entrance to our Graveyard of Doom.

The cubedwellers one row over turned their row into Oz.  You can kinda see the Tin Man there.  That's the Yellow Brick Road on the floor and it wrapped all the way around their cubes.

Of course, what would Oz be without the Lollipop Guild?

The Tornado that took us to Oz.

Those meddlin' kids are here too.

There's a time for everyone and this time was for The Dude.

Some people go all out. 

Even on their desk.

Whomever owns this, I'm guessing is single.

The Accounting Department has Pac Man fever.

Dressing up your animals is wrong.  But I love Count Dogula.

Part of the denizen of the Graveyard.  That's supposed to be a Candycane, Crazy Cat Lady, Aquaman, SuperBen, and a Convict.

With Indy and a Pirate or two.  That's all of us.

Monster Mash

It's finally here! The most wonderful day of the year. The day we confuse kids who we've warned endlessly not to take candy from strangers are allowed to go door to door whilst costumed and take candy from strangers.

The folks at Datacon where I toil in ignominy take Halloween really seriously. Costume contest, cube decorating contest, pumpkin decorating contest, trick or treating. And all for big, big prizes like Amex gift cards ($250!) and extra vacation days. Yes, they do it up.

That's the entrance to our cubeville over there. We're doing a graveyard theme. Mostly we just sit still at our cubes and barely move. Yes, it's like most weekdays then.

Yeah, we're not accomplishing anything today. Unless you count Twizzlers for breakfast as an accomplishment.

So what did everyone dress up as? I'm Aquaman. Depending upon how embarrasing the pix are, you might be exposed to that later.

Enjoy the candy, kids!

Runaround Sue

It's time to head to Boulder, Colorado for another great Halloween tradition.

Much better than Devil's Night in Detroit where they put the torch to things. Though if a Bear Stearns office were to get torched, I'm sure arson investigators might not be too inclined to bust hump on the case. But I'm not advocating burning out the greedheads, that would be wrong.

So let's focus on happy thoughts. Like naked people running in the streets.

Yes, in Boulder, it's the 10th Annual Naked Pumpkin Run.

Essentially you carve a pumpkin so it fits over your head and then you run nakey down the street. We call those weekends at the Kennedy Compound. Hiyo!

And this does take some planning. You've got to build up enough courage to run around nakey while retaining enough dexterity to carve your pumpkin. That's a delicate balance that eludes most of the streaking drunks I've ever encountered. Then you've got to manage to keep the pumpkin on your head while running around.

While do I have the feeling that out of 150 participants in last year's run, it was 149 guys and one co-ed with low self-esteem?

Let's hope one of our faithful readers can score some snapshots of the, umm, celebration. And not the drunk frat boys.

It's Time to Start the Music

Continuing with the distraction that is All Hallow's Eve, if you're in Germany, a muppet might be a good costume this year.

It seems that an English driver in Germany keeps speeding by the ticketing cameras.
Unfortunately for the cops, because it's an English car, they can't get a shot of the driver.

All they get driver side on the right of the car, they can keep getting a picture of a muppet. And they can't even identify the muppet.

That's him in the passenger seat. Is that Animal, Grover, Ernie, Cookie Monster or a Muppet To Be Named Later?

Or if you don't want to be a muppet, you can always go with the Fireman or the Nurse. Because it turns out those are the two professions which top the list of sexual fantasies in England.

Actually for women, the top fantasy professions are firemen, soldiers, businessmen, doctors then footballers. For men, it's nurses, maids and flight attendants.

So ladies, get out your tea light candles, slip into your maid outfit, accidentally knock a candle over so you have to call the fire department and you're all set.

What's everyone going to dress up as? You've only got 48 hours kids. Check local listings.

I'm a Picking And I'm a Grinning

We'll continue our Halloween theme. That's because I'm hepped up on Pixie Stix and Smartees. Luckily, there's no sugar in Pixie Stix. Wuh?

Instead, we formally present the recipe for Boogers on a Stick.

All you need is a jar of processed cheese, some pretzel rods, green food coloring and some wax paper.

Heat up the jar of processed cheese in some hot water until it's smooth. Add the green food coloring until you reach the color of snot you desire. Dip in your pretzels. Set those on the wax paper to harden up.

Pretty complicated, eh? Remember kids, don't try this at home without adult supervision. And if you just happen to have a jar of processed cheese at your house and don't need to make a special trip out to get one, you probably need to adjust your diet.

Have fun grossing our your friends.

And feel free to share your other disgusting foods just in time for Halloween!

Transylvania 6-5000

From the genius that is Heywood Banks.

To a tune you might recognize.

You better not scream
You'd better be scared
His collar is up
His speech is impaired
Count Dracula is coming to town.

He flies through the night
Flapping his cape
Chewing on necks
He doesn't like stakes
Count Dracula is coming to town.

Now if the sun is shining
You know that he is sleeping
And if you hold a cross to him
It's gonna hurt his feelings

Hot tub of blood
You've seen him on Cribs
Doing that damn
Transylvania Twist
Count Dracula is coming to town

He must use echolocation
To see to fly and land
And if he bites your jugular
Better check your health care plan.

He snoozes in dirt
Hangs from his heels
Dresses in black
Sleeps between meals
Count Dracula is coming to town.

He's got those sharp bicuspids
With those hands so clammy
And if he flies into your room
You're gonna crap your jammies.

Ohhhhhhhh
You'd better not scream
You'd better be scared
His collar is up
His speech is impaired
Count Dracula is coming to town.

On Costuming

Ladies, you're officially on notice. National Dress Like a Hoor (that's two syllables by the way) Day is only a week away. You may know it as Halloween. You get to dress like a slut and no other girl can say anything about it. That's not just me talking. It's from Mean Girls. And since Tina Fey wrote that and may be our next Vice President, it must be true.

So go nuts.

With the right costume people at work may not even know who you are. One of my friends dressed as a cow and got away with walking up to CEO with a baby cow doll and said, "This is your baby." She had the baby cow doll, not the CEO. Of course he might not have known her even if she hadn't been dressed up as a cow but that's not the point.

You get a free pass. You can completely dress like a slut and no one can penalize you for it. You know that dress you think is just a little too tight. Wear it. Don't even think about propriety. Release your inner stripper.

You don't even have to be creative. Just put "naughty" in front of any profession and you've got a costume. Naughty Nurse, Naughty Accountant, Naughty Actuary. Naughty Researcher. Naughty Medical Billing Assistant. Naughty Nun. It doesn't have to make sense. Just be daring.

Sure you have enough sense not to dress like this any other day of the year. But this isn't any other day of the year. This is the day you get to be a little daring, show off the goods and maybe actually even talk to that cute boy down the hall. Because he's going to be dressed like a woman today. Try not to make too much of the latent homosexuality. You can get him to come around. As far as you know.

Now get working on your costume. And if you're lucky, you'll be able to score a glow in the dark kitty to complete the ensemble.



Kitties, they're the ultimate fashion accessory.

Cat Scratch Fever

Oh, PETA. How I enjoy your media hogging antics. No matter how stupid they are and how ridiculous and impractical they might be. Like breast milk ice cream.

This time they're trying to keep us from eating fish. Slimy, smelly, worm-lunching fish. Comes in sticks or at Long John Silver's. You may have heard of it.

And their great PR ploy? They're going to try to trick us into calling them Sea Kittens. Yeah, that's going to work. Because if I think it's cute and cuddly, I won't want to dive into a big platter of breaded goodness with some french fries. Nice try, hacks.

I figure if some PR weasels can try to tell us to rename something that already has a perfectly good name, why not me.

As of now, I'm forming another organization. It's called PETA. People Eating Tasty Animals.

And we're starting with sushi for lunch.

This is the only sea kitty you out to be worried about. If you see that adorable critter at the beach, I hope you're Michael Phelps.

The Bunny Hop

If you're in Phoenix, you may have already run afoul of these dastardly scofflaws. Yes, police are warning Phoenicians to be on the lookout for, wait for it, THE FLUFFY BUNNY CREW.

This gang is described as being "predominantly white suburban young people." Where do the stereotypes come from?

And the Fluffy Bunny Crew even brags about their exploits online aka web banging at social networking sites.

Well, if they're white and from the suburbs, maybe the cops should stake out the Abercrombie & Fitch. They could hide out in the back. You know, where A&F puts all the people they deem not pretty enough to work the floor.

Now I'll confess to having been a gang banger when I was younger. Luckily, I got out before things escalated. But we were into our colors (blue) and our knives (pocket). You probably ran into us. We wuz the B. Scoutz. We used to tag houses with their correct street numbers and were always ready for trouble. You could even say we were always prepared.

Luckily, Phoenix police have brought in a specialist on organized gangs, Detective E. Fudd, is pitching in on the case. But then you'd probably expect Detective Fudd to be where ever there's a Fluffy Bunny. And he'll be strapped.


Police have also noted a rise in other suburban, white gangs. Please be on the look out for:

• Da Kare Bearz
• Lil' R Ridin in da Hood
• Pugnacious Prepsters
• Didactic Debaters
• Illin' Ivy Leaguers
• Mad Plaidz
• Soccer Suckaz
• Future C.E.No You Diduntts
• Trust Fund Bustin' Babiez
• Barbarian Barristers
• Illin' Legal Eagles
• Lacrosse Me At Your Peril
• Gang Golfers
• Vixen Volvo-drivers

Luckily, at least these gangs aren't tied in with the rash of religious gangs.

Please feel free to be on the lookout in your area and report any other suspicious, suburban, white gang activity to this blog.

That is all.

If You Want To Be Happy For the Rest of Your Life

There's lots of things I don't get: liquid soap, Twittering, televised bad karoake, the icy grip that procedural crime dramas have on the American psyche. But I really don't get all the opposition to gay marriage.

Because I work on the intertubes (making the world a better place one website at a time), I periodically get asked to do thing that are stupid. Or just repugnant. So when I got asked to do some search engine optimization for a site advocating Proposition 8, I might have done exactly what they wanted.

Prop 8, if you hadn't heard, is a California proposal that will make marriage equal one man and one woman. Essentially, they're trying to outlaw gay marriage by defining what is marriage. And we're going to take our cues from California? Seriously, they've got it all figured out? Taking your political direction from California is like asking O.J. Simpson for legal advice. Sure there's some prior experience, but is that really the direction you want to go?

Now, I don't know that much, but if the only thing you have to worry about is whether two people are doing whatever it is that makes them happy, you need to wake up. Really, that's your biggest concern? Log on and check your 401k; that'll give you something to worry about. I don't have a 401k anymore, it's a 201k.

Anyhow, when I got asked for some suggestions for keywords to help this site get some traffic, I'm not they got what they wanted.

Possible suggestions:

• homophobes
• latent homosexuality
• oppressors
• majority tyranny
• slow
• dim-witted
• lame

You get the idea.

Now I'm probably not going to change anyone's opinion with this little diatribe. And wow, I haven't even worked in a dick joke or a bacon reference yet. Clearly, I'm off my game. But gay people should have the same right to be miserable that everyone else does. Once you finally meet that person you want to drive crazy the rest of your life, you should be able to do it no matter their sexual orientation. Why should the breeders be the only people with the chance to give away half their stuff after 5 to 7 years?

And I'm really looking forward to my first gay wedding. That's going to be like a pageant! It'll make the Orange Bowl half time show look like an elementary school production of Fiddler on the Roof. Talk about a boost for the economy. Do you have any idea how much money ice sculptors are going to be pulling in once gay marriage is the norm? I'm already taking lessons to be able to cash in.

But many people are missing out on the best part of legalized gay marriage. The gay marriage divorce reality shows which are sure to come.

You think Judge Joe is entertaining? Just wait.

Mr. Roboto

If you don't think you can be replaced, you're wrong.

Bandai just announced a Robot Blogger.

Damn dirty mechs!

I'm not worried. No robot will be able to fixate on women's chests, drool over bacon and engage in puntastic toungefoolery like yours truly.

That being said, I'm going to burn my Terminator dvd's just to be on the safe side.

Fight the machines, soft ones! And you'd better learn all the words to this.

I'm So Distracted And I Just Can't Hide It

[F]oxymoron, sporting pictures of a one legged pigeon, tagged/distracted me. And like any good corporate drone, I do precisely what I'm told. No more, no less. No good. Wait. Nevermind.

Let's get on with the exercise in distraction. It's the Rule of 7. Seven random things about yours truly. Try to stay awake. I'm my least favorite subject as the story of my life, surprisingly, is based upon a true story. The characterization sucks though. Hey, what do you expect from an episode of the Red Shoe Diaries?

1. I have a healthy obsession with office supplies and have the ability to blow a lunch hour at an Office Max like that. I own more Sharpies than anyone I know. Big ones, fat ones, small ones. I can't get enough.

2. I can cook. Really cook. I decided when I was single that I didn't like eating crummy food. So I learned. And I probably have over 200 cookbooks now. So many that I won't buy another one. I do all the cooking for the Wife and I. She doesn't complain even when I dirty seemingly every dish in the house making lasagna with smoked sausage.

3. I know more worthless movie trivia than anyone I know. Not useful stuff like naming all the Hitchcock movies or discerning the differences between Fellini and Kurasawa. Worthless stuff. Like the lead's actresses' name in Just One of the Guys or which Sixteen Candles star also was in Spacehunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone. Nothing useful. Just clutter in my head. Oh, Joyce Hyser and Molly Ringwald. It's a gift.

4. I'm a morning person. Seriously, I rarely sleep past 5:30 am. Even on weekends. So I dogwalk, kill on the Xbox, write posts, read the interwebs papers and otherwise waste time while I'm the only one in the entire world awake. Oh, and once I wake up, I can't ever go back to sleep. I wake up like a Nam survivor with flashbacks. From unconscious to wide awake.

5. I'm an ex-lawyer. Really, I reformed when I found Jesus. Okay, really, clients are super-annoying. I liked 3% of it (the arguing in court and engaging in legalistic tonguefoolery) and hated 97% of it (the clients). So I stopped.

6. My most significant Brush With Greatness was meeting Michael Palin in Northern Michigan while he was filming a BBC special about Ernest Hemingway. As I had just finished reading his book, Hemingway's Chair, it was somewhat spooky. I did not expect to bump into a member of Monty Python at the Best Western in Petoskey, Michigan. I also refute that I ran across the parking lot yelling, "Mr. Palin, Mr. Palin" at the top of my lungs despite the Wife's recollection.

When we later ran into him at dinner (it's a small town) he came over to say hello under less odd circumstances. I asked if he was stalking us and actually made him laugh.

7. My favorite sport is college basketball. Maybe because I went to Michigan State. Magic Johnson is an alum you may have heard of. Maybe because they have an actual playoff that is the best sporting event in the world. Much nicer than asking media types to just vote on who they think is the best. I'm talking to you BCS.

Now I'm supposed to tag 7.

Here they be: Reinging Frog, Kimmay, Wicked H, Kit Kat, Arjewtino, BAMF, and Miss Kris.

Hey, blame [F]oxymoron, not me.

Who's The Leader Of the Club?

In new New Zealand news, a man has been sentenced to 180 hours of community service for cruelty to a mouse. Which he pulled out of a woman's cleavage. And pretended to eat it and accidentally killed it.

Okay, there's a lot going on here.

Lindsay Rowles was the man and he pled guilty to the charges of animal cruelty and offensive behavior. A charge of indecent assault was dropped in return for the plea bargain. You can be charged with offensive behavior? Yankees fans have been getting away with this for years! Hiyo.

But the most important part of the story is completely ignored by the reporter on this story.

Why was a mouse in a woman's cleavage?

Granted, it was probably a titmouse. But does that make her an M cup? Granted all creatures like to snuggle in a nice, warm, cozy, bounteous, nippleicious bunch of cleavage. Especially men. But if I see a mouse peeking out from a woman's breasticles, it's my obligation, nay duty, to leap to her defense and protect her from the trespassing rodentia. Is that a mouse in your shirt or are you just glad to see me?

In fact, that would make a pretty good PS3 game where you put the smack down on wave after wave of chest trespassing rodents. It combines violence with boobies which is really the sweet spot for most videogamers.

I don't know what's going on here, but we've clearly got an infestation of vermin in the chesticles of the women of this planet. You may remember Batgirl who found a bat in her bra. First, England, now New Zealand. It's obviously a spreading epidemic.

There's only one option. We must set a trap for these interlopers. To prevent disease and rabies and nesting in the naughty bits, we must act and act now. We can't wait for our government to study this to death, appoint a blue ribbon commission to do fact finding and then issue a large bailout check loaded with pork. We should have just put that 700 billion on our credit card so we could have gotten the points anyway.

This post will serve as the official formation of the Mouse Mammary Members. We will spend every waking moment hidden within the breasts of women and laying in wait for interloping vermin. Hopefully laying a lot. In wait. Lots and lots of waiting right there.

Now we just need a few women to help us set our trap.

Don't be shy about volunteering, ladies. We're only doing this to keep you safe. I hope you appreciate the sacrifice.

Now let's fall out and take off those bras for a surprise infestation inspection.

I Believe I Can Fly

The Wife is out of town for a few days visiting her parents. So I'm outnumbered in the man v. beast category around the Shaque D'amour. Currently it's Dogs 2, Humans 1. Of course some have suggested that it'll just be three of us sitting on the floor eating bacon.


Which is completely untrue. Last night it was chicken. And we all were watching baseball. Playoff baseball. Some of us even had on more than just underwear. Socks count as clothing you know.


But even though I've had to switch to the zone defense to try to prevent the double team, I'm unable to keep watch on both Hell Hounds all the time. And apparently, the wee one, Tiki, has learned to fly. Yes, you read that correctly.


See we have to put the tiny tot into a holding cell during the day as he's so young he can't get his shots yet: Rabies, Rubella, Mumps, Bordatella. I'm unsure of the specifics obviously. Which means we can't just inflict him upon some unsuspecting Dog Day Care because of their silly rules about disease and such.


So during the day for short periods of time until we can return home to cater to his every whim at lunch and dinner and coffee breaks and conference calls, he goes in The Mormon Vault. I'm not making this up.


The houses out here in God's Country have a sort of built in downstairs pantry wherein The Chosen store food in preparation for the End of Days or the Rapture or the election of Obama. I'm not certain how much food they're supposed to be squirrelling away. It's either 3 months or a year. Instead we squirrel away our Tiki Monster. It's like a concrete closet which I've cleverly MacGuyvered a dog gate to with the use of plastic clothing container and picture wire around some exposed studs. Seriously, I have made skillz in terms of juryrigging crap. I didn't even have to use duct tape on this one.


But the other day, Tiki went over the wall. Which is some mad Great Escape for someone without opposable thumbs. Because while the dog door has an opening wherein the containee beast can enter into, it latches. With a sliding piece of plastic held in place by a spring. So there's really no way a dog could open it with his mouth. He'd have to slide the plastic piece over and hold it in place while pulling up on the latch. Impossible.


When we got home, the gate door was open and Tiki had romped and frolicked to great joy within the many treasures contained in our basement and enjoyed snacking upon various and sundry delicacies like Xbox 360 headsets and furnace filters. Now I know there's no way my very responsible Wife could have been so distracted by a squirming, flying-power-hiding puppy and would have left the gate unlatched. So he must be able to fly.


Now I've got to go so I can hook up a camcorder to nab some video of him soaring around the basement. Because that's going to be really popular on Youtube.


I could be wrong of course. They may be some other logical explanation for how he busted out of the joint.


Like he could be telekinetic.

A Little Help From My Friends

One of the Beatles has announced he doesn't want to get any more mail. No, not the cute one who was married to the one-legged harpy. No, not the dead one. No, not the one who missed out. Yes, it's the one who can't sing.

Now I don't how much mail Ringo gets. But it seems a bit shitty to actually tell people not to send it. I mean, you've got to be a little full of yourself when you tell people, "Please, the adoration is nice, but I'm too busy." This is kind of like handing out tissue at the funeral. It's a nice thought, but you're a little full of yourself if you think there will be that much gnashing of teeth and wailing.

Seriously, that's his excuse. "I'm warning you with peace and love I have too much to do. So no more fan mail." Wow, watching Caveman on cable, listening to An Octopus's Garden must really take up a lot of your day. Just throw it away. You don't actually have to tell me on your website you don't give a shit about me.

I do love using the whole Peace and Love thing to be an asshat. That's immediately going into the rotation.

"Peace and love, but I'm not coming to your time-wasting meeting because you're all a bunch of morons."

"That ref is a freaking blind asshat. Peace and love."

"I'd rather sit at home with a pack of wild dogs, peace and love, than go out with you."

"Your economic ideas are the drunken ramblings of a fascist with a venereal disease. Peace and love, Senator."

Thanks for playing along at home kids. Peace and love.

Anything By the Bacon Brothers

I don't mean to torment you, but after putting up with snow so early in the year. It reminded me of some of my most excellent Halloween memories in Michigan.

Like that time I dressed up as Spiderman. With a parka. Or that time I dressed up as a Ninja. With a parka. Or Batman. With a parka. I'm sure you see the connection. Yeah, I'm looking forward to lots of little Jokers trick or treating at my house in just a few weeks. With their parkas.

So after taking the hounds to a park (turns out we have two snow dogs), the Wife and I just hunkered down on Sunday with our favorite treat--bacon.

Now I don't know when bacon went all hoity toity. But the folks over at Cook's Illustrated actually sampled 8 different kinds of bacon to determine which was the best.

Here's the vid if you're not a reader.



I'd like to officially submit my bacon-eater extraordinaire resume to the fine folks at Cook's Illustrated.

Now I'll confess that while I have the palate of a gourmand, I've never heard of these bacon brands:

• Vande Rose Farms Artisan Dry-Cured Bacon, Applewood Smoked
• Nodine’s Smokehouse Apple Smoke Flavored Bacon Applegate Farms Natural Uncured Sunday Bacon (can you eat this on a Saturday?)
• Farmland/Carando Apple Cider Cured Bacon, Applewood Smoked
• Oscar’s Smoke House Applewood Smoked Bacon
• North Country Smokehouse Applewood Smoked Bacon (you know what the North Country is in Michigan? Canada)
• Niman Ranch Applewood Smoked Dry-Cured Bacon (of what was it cured? Trichinosis)
• Nueske’s Applewood Smoked Bacon

The Marketing Weasels who work for the All Powerful Bacon Lobby must think we really fall for that apple crap when they slap it on the bacon package.

Anyhow, the Cook's Illustrated cats rates all the bacon. Personally, I'm against bacon rating. It's all good. The key is serving more than 2 pieces at a time frankly. Why else do you think it comes in 1 pound packages?

I must not be brand loyal to a particular type of bacon. Because I can't remember a brand I typically buy. Farmer Peet's kind of sticks in my head because I always felt sorry for his inability to spell. And that former Tiger Pitcher Denny McLain ran it into the ground and stole its pension fund.

What's your favorite kind of bacon?

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

Dear Mother Nature:

What the fuck?

Strong letter to follow.

Love,

T2ed

On Settling

Women have very high expectations. Amazingly high expectations. And they frequently compare fantasy to our base reality. Go figure reality comes up a little short.

I still blame Princess Dianna for this. When she got married to Prince Jug Ears and they showed it on tv, every woman in the universe wanted that wedding. The huge bridal train, the ponies, the red carpet. This set the bar just a bit high for reality. Now every woman wants to be a princess. Please try to remember that he ran around on her and she with died in a car crash. Not every fairy tale has a happy ending, kids.

In the US, fewer people are getting married. 22% of men between 35 and 39 with less than 4 years of college have never married. Now some science types are going to tell you it's the economic independence of women or some such crap. Bullshit, women have wised up. They know that other than making red hot monkey love, dealing with vermin and taking out the trash, we men are worthless. If women want something that lies on the couch and drools too much, they can get a dog.

Contrast that with some recently expressed views in the Atlantic that advise women to just settle down. Settle down not as in avoid the histrionics but as in just get married already. They’re not going to meet Prince Freakin’ Charming, but they are going to meet Dave the Accountant who may be slightly annoying but probably will treat you well enough to put up with the rest of your life. Or at least the next 3 to 7 years.

That’s more depressing than living in a Fantasy Land. You can find your soul mate. But it’s not going to be on LoweredExpectations.com. Someone you know has a friend of a friend of a friend and he, despite his divorce and love for Star Trek, is ready for further punishment and to be seen in public with you.

Meeting someone isn’t the problem. You meet people every day. Just not anyone you want to date. Seinfeld said that 90 to 95% of the population is undateable and that we only hook up because of alcohol. And you’re only going to find that 5-10% of the quality men by sorting out the good ones from the bad ones. And while some would tell us there are no bad men just men who don’t understand the term foreplay, we’ll leave Madonna out of this for now. Wow, two Madonna jokes in two days. Guess I'm still not over being dumped for A-Rod after all.

So what’s the point? Don’t go to extremes. Try to balance your actual life between the fairy tale existence of royalty and the drudgery of becoming a scullery slave to the first dork who acknowledges you’re breathing. You’re never going to marry a Prince. Grace, you can shut the hell up.

You also shouldn’t just settle for someone. Those annoying little quirks aren’t suddenly going to become endearing now that you’ve got a ring. They’re going to eat at you like a tapeworm until finally one day you snap and put a foot in his ass because he dropped his socks right on the floor instead of the hamper despite having been repeatedly told.

There is a middle ground. You can have someone who still makes you heart flutter when he wakes you up in the morning and calls when he promises. He just won’t be wearing a crown. Unless you’ve got this keeper. Then you can go ahead and fire up the ponies.

I'd Really Prefer Thunder Road

Hey, did you hear that Barack Me Amadeus is busting out his political clout by having real live rock and roll stars do some concerts for him? Sure, now that I'm out of Michigan, they finally get some love from the politicos.

Unfortunately, because I'm in Utah, this is the closest we could get.




I actually think they use this same technology for Madonna concerts. Well, not really the concerts. Just the plastic animatronic Madonna that performs in them now.

Rock on with your bad selves, kids.

That's What I Want

As Steve Martin said in his Emmy Award introduction of Tommy Smothers, "I don't use the word genius often. Just thought I'd let you know."

But it actually applies to the folks over at Despair.com. Who knew making fun of those crummy motivational posters could be so fun? And funny.

This one kind of nails it on the head right now.

And I think it's the latter.

Because if you're not mad as hell that AIG took $85 billion dollars in federal bailout money and then turned around and spent $440,000 on a corporate retreat for executives at the St. Regis Resort.

If I actually knew where an AIG office was, I'd go down there with a bat and get some of that money back. Now I can't suggest that you should find an AIG Executive and take a bat to him. That would be illegal. But if you were to come to that conclusion on your own, I don't think there's anything the authorities could do to me. And I'm pretty sure that no jury would convict you.

But then I'm a lover not a fighter.

Something to Talk About

This would be a lot funnier if it didn't happen every Monday night.

Tony pick up the clue phone. When you piss the shit out of me and The Onion, it might be time to stfu up.

I don't know that much about you Tony. So, you're a columnist. Anyone can write. Hell, Larry the Cable guy writes. But if you're a writer, why do you talk so much? It's like you need an editor for the inane stories you tell.

I just had to Google you, Tony to find your ugly mug on a pumpkin. You write for the Post? And they say there are no longer any standards for journalism. Wow, the paper that gave us Woodward & Bernstein lets you vomit all over a page now and then.

Like last night when you ejaculated this during the opening:

"Heath Shuler is a congressman and Gus Frerotte is still playing Football! It's phenomenal!!!"

Tony, you obviously have a little list of things that you think are funny. You keep this list close at hand. And you're going to inject these little bon mottes no matter what's going on in the game and no matter their relevancy, accuracy or levity. See that, Tony. It's called parallelism. Wow, I'm a writer!

All I know about you Tony is that you suck as an announcer, you never shut the hell up, you're annoying as hell and you do not belong on high def television. And Ron Jaworski wants to kick you in the balls during your opening "column."

Okay, I don't know that. But I'm willing to bet a lot of money it's true.

I don't know how the guys at Awful Announcing can stand trying to watch the games on Monday with the sound on just to try to capture all the stupid stuff you say. You're braver men than I, AA. Much braver.

See you next Monday, Tony. It's not like we have a choice you know. And you'd better thank your ESPN Overlords for that.

Dog And Butterfly

This is Tiki.

He's a new resident of Utah. Portuguese Water Dog (just like Ted Kennedy. I do whatever Ted does), 10 weeks old, about 12 lbs, completely fearless.

I forget that my Big Bother had told me having two dogs is like having 4. He's wrong. Per uzh for the Big Bother. It's more like 8.

That's Guinness the Wonder Dog playing with Tiki. And by playing I mean trying to eat his head.

Like a true brudda, Guinness keeps taking Tiki's small stuff and Tiki keeps taking Guinness' big stuff. So glad we spent that extra money on puppy food.

This is Tiki laying on Guinness' bed chewing on Guinness' toy.

And this is Tiki chewing on Guinness.

Tiki's aliases are currently Shadow, Tripper and Shitmonkey. Hey, if you're going to unplug ethernet cords from behind the tv, you've got to expect to be called a little Shitmonkey.

Housebreaking, crate training and not chewing bark. Tiki's got a little learning to do. Luckily, I am the Poo Whisperer. What a rare gift. And one that you typically don't list on a resume.

Now does anyone have Cesar Milan's direct number?

Amazing Grace

Woo hoo! Or should that be Boo Hoo! The Halloween season is upon us. Pumpkins, candy corn (where does candy corn go the rest of the year?), and dressing up like a slut. What? You didn't know that Halloween is the one day a year that you can dress like a slut with no repercussions? That's a Federal Law. Not one of those wimpy little state laws. So take advantage of it ladies. Just saying.

But one of the best Halloween traditions is the corn maze. Now I don't know if you have corn mazes in your nape of the woods. If you don't, you must drive as far as it takes until you find one. Trust me, it's worth it. Have I ever lied to you? Well since that first paragraph anyway?

If you don't know where a corn maze is, I'll even help you. Though how you could ever pick out a house without knowing where all the local corn mazes are located is beyond me.

The best part about corn mazes is when people cleverly make cool things out of the maze.

Like this:

Now that's scary. A Sarah Palin corn maze. As soon as you enter it, you're in over your head. But from the talk I hear around the water cooler, a lot of people would like to get inside the VP nom.

But the best corn maze ever is probably here in Utah.

Yes, that's Utah's own American Idol Biggest Loser, David Archuletta. Some people just can't get over it. I think it looks like the Wolfman doing karoake.

And apparently judging from the top of that photo, David has thrown his hat into the presidential race. He'll never beat Brett Farve though.

But from the talk around the water cooler, there's a few ladies who'd like to get inside... oh, nevermind.

Have a good weekend. And try not to get too lost deep inside Sarah Palin. Like I do in Joe Biden's hairplugs. They're a work of art.

Simply The Breast

The fine folks (just kidding, they're wackjobs) at PETA recently sent a letter to Ben & Jerry's suggesting that they use human breast milk to make their fine products instead of milk from cows. Their "logic" for this suggestion came from a Swiss restauranteur who was going to do the same thing. Until those pesky governmental regulators in Switzerland told him he couldn't. So if you had already booked a reservation at the Storchen to try the Really Disgustingly Milk-Fed Veal, you can't.

Not surprisingly, Mssrs. Ben & Jerry declined to take PETA up on their suggestion to send their business down into flames. Hey, they're not speculative investment firm after all. Hiyo!

Which is too bad really. Because as creative as Ben and/or Jerry are at coming up with their wacky ice cream flavors, this could really have expanded their product line. Luckily, Ben & Jerry has a Suggest a Flavor tool at their web site. And some poor Customer Service Rep is probably getting the crummy email that spits out for these crazy ideas.

So here's our list. Wow, it's seems like it's been forever since we've had a list, doesn't it? Shut up, you in back there.

Here are the Top Suggestions For Ben & Jerry's New Breast Milk Ice Cream

• Berried Treasure Chest


• Peanut Butter & Chocolate C Cup


• AmeriCone Bra Dream


• Mint Motorboat


• Fossil Fuel Fabulous Funbags


• Bodacious Bacon B Cups (what you didn't think I could work bacon and boobied into one post?)


• Strawberry Kiwi Sweater Pups


• Braberries & Cream


• Neopolitan Nipplelicious


• Jiggling Gelato


• Peaches N Cream from the Tap


• Caramel Co Co's


• Willie Nelson's Country Peaches Gobbler


• Phish Fun to Play With Funbags


• Imagine Whirling Your Tongue Around These Cones


• Cake Baby Booby Butter


• C Sized Creme Brulee


• Jamaican Me Crazy For Boobies


• Brownie Batter Breasticle


• Chubber Hubby


• Dublin Double D Mudslide


• The Best Kind of Cherry On Top When It's Angry Garcia


• Tortoise Tata Soup
  

Feel free to play along at home, kids. Just be glad I didn't trot out that pix of Sexy Sarah eating ice cream. It could have been a lot worse.

Don't worry. When Ben & Jerry call to offer me a jillion dollars for my stupidity creativity, I'll still be here to give you swell lists of laughs.

As far as you know.

Missionary Man

Reason #421 to Love Utah

The Men on Mission Calendar

Yup, there's actually a calendar featuring missionaries with their shirts off. The 12 gentlemen are posing in black pants without their shirts.

Yes, exposed Mormons. Now you know why they're so concerned with inappropriate dancing. We're just one step away from complete anarchy out here in the Mild Mild West.

I'm sure this just drives all the women folk wild. Some shirtless man baring his exceptionally long testimony for you. Sure some guys want to spend the night with you. How many want to spend eternity with you? That's a lot of talking about your feelings ladies.

And next year's calendar? Hot Mormons Muffins: A taste of motherhood. I can't wait. Utah is the Land Of MILFs. Even if they are all 19. With 3 kids.

Oh, and the LDS Church ex-communicated the guy who does the calendar. Because looking at men's nipples will send you straight to hell. Even if the calendar is done to disprove stereotypes and raise money for charity. Buy a calendar, buy a shirt, buy, buy, buy. Because you sure better not have your money in a bank right now.

And you'd really better not watch this....