A Horse With No Name

In Hawaii, you can't take a horse into a hospital no matter how much it might cheer up the patients. So says The Man who made sure Lani Yukimura was escorted out of the hospital with his equine acquaintance.

The best thing is, Lani and his stallion made it up to the third floor on the elevator before he was "greeted" by security.

Why does a horse take the elevator? Because he can't use the stairs. And you just know that Wildfire was playing on the elevator muzak during the ride.

How cool would it have been for the elevator doors to open and the horse to take off like he's busting out of the gates at the Kentucky Derby? Do you think when Lani & Mr. Ed were walking him through the hospital anyone yelled, "And down the stretch they come." If he didn't bring Mint Juleps and a big hat, Lani really missed out.

Despite Lani's out of the box attempt to cheer up his relative as it was the wrong horse. Well you can't look a visiting horse in the mouth. Unless you're an ear, nose or throat specialist.

Surprisingly, the most important fact of the story is completely absent. What's the horse's name? So with a great deal of investigative journalism, this reporter (man, I love doing that) tracked down witness to the hospital visitation and made up the following:

• Transplant
• The Cafeteria Special
• Man 'o Waardenburg Syndrome
• Mr. Oedipal (Wilcox Memorial must have a psych ward)
• A Horse With No Pain
• Sea Section
• Seattle Slain
• Barbariatric
• Smarty Bones
• Mane-onucleosis
• Hoof and Morphine
• Tachypnea Tail
• Horse's Asperger Syndrome
• Reagent Riding
• Saddle Somnoplasty
• Ole Bursitis Bridle
• Bit Defect
• Horse Floppy Flu
• Sciatica Schlage

Feel free to play along at home, kids.

What's The Matter With Kids Today?

File this under Utah--Things That Are Different.

When you're done watching that Big Love re-run and commenting about how many things they got wrong and giving the wives the old mattress workout, head on down to the Jazz game this Monday for Family Night.

Sure, it's just the crummy Washington Wizards.

But you can get 6 tickets and 6 hot dogs for only $84. Yup, Family Night for is 6. Where do all the jokes come from? That's the swell ad over there from Sunday's paper.

And that advert doesn't specific that it's for a hubby and wife and 4 kids. You can bring all 5 of your wives. As long as you've got an extra to babysit the kids your ditching at home.

This is the kind of stuff that makes me miss Detroit. Especially when they had Handgun and Hard Liquor night at the Palace. We called those Tuesdays.

Get Your Wieners Running

Sure my friends tease me about having two wives or not being able to sit next to drunk people on the train. But Utah does have the Trax and the crazy people and the homeless people love to sit by me whenever I ride.

Sure Utah doesn’t have a mayor who likes to sext to his Chief of Staff on his city-supplied Blackberry. And you know they made jokes during their trysts. I’m imagining something like when Annette Bening is having sex with Peter Gallagher in American Beauty, but instead Kwame Kilpatrick is having Christine Beatty say “I’m your Chief of Staff. I’m your Chief of Staff.”

And Utah lakcs a governor whose limousine has a bumper sticker that says “I’d rather be whorin" and "This limo brakes for all ho's."

Nor does it have a an-exgov-now-gay who allegedly had threesomes with someone on his staff (so to speak) and his wife. And you know they've got his laptop computer where it's got "3sum @ Friday's" on every Friday for a couple of years in his calendar.


But Utah does have the most important thing any state should have. Of course I'm talking 'bout the Wiener Nationals. Yes, before next Friday's game between the Jazz and the Spurs, there will be dauschhund dashing before the game. And the qualifiers get to be in the finals during half time. As this game in going to be televised on TNT, you may want to set your TIVO to see if you can catch the half-time festivities. Because who wants to see Sir Charles run his jib when you can see some fast wieners going head to head.

Or is that what Mrs. McGreevey said? C'mon, you didn't really think I could go an entire post about racing Wiener dogs and not make a cheap dick joke did you? Mea culpa.

So get on out to the Wiener Nationals and enjoy the majesty and grace that is wiener racing. You'll be glad you did. I just hope none of those pooches are popping the 'roids like in last years race. And remember, if a Wienerdog goes into the crowd, don't throw him back. He's yours to keep.

Let's Get Physical

(in which our hero is violated)

Hiya, kids. Long time, no blog. That's because I'm still recuperating from my last visit to the dominatrix doctor.

Because I've recently relocated to the Land of Zion, I am without health care professionals for things like medical advice, contact lenses, haircuts and the like. Luckily, I rectified (and I do mean rectified) one of those issues this week.

There comes a time in a man's life where he is subjected to more introspection and diagnosis than which he has become accustomed to. I'm typing, of course, about prostate exams.

Now I don't know who originally thought this exam up. I relate this story not as some badge of courage because I know we men will never stack up to the indignities you women suffer in boob-squashing and vajayjay spelunking. Rather, it's only to offer up the sacrifice we make to live longer. In an era in which there is a for everything including putting lead in your pencil, that we test for prostate erratica with a digit in the derriere is beyond me. But thanks to the magic that is known as co-pay, for a mere $15 (check local listings), I was able to have a strange woman touch the testes and put her finger up my ass. If only I could have gotten her to wear a corset, buy me dinner first, take her time, and talk dirty to me, it would have been a great start to the day.

Instead, I started Monday morning with my exam. I'll skip ahead to the sexy part where I am naked and bent over an examination table. Because my eyes are focused on the plain wall, I don't bother to look back in fear or anxiety. Instead, I can hear my new doctor (and let's face it, if you're getting a new doc, she should earn her money right away) apply some type of lubricant to her rubber glove. This is neither an attractive sound nor does it inspire confidence in my soul.

Whilst I feel her begin to probe in an area that is nowhere near where she needs to be, I'm a bit concerned. She is very high on the target. I'm trying to put this delicately, but her tee shot is pretty far over the green and not near the hole. I immediately think, "How long has it been since she took Anatomy 101?" As I feel her work her way southward, I can tell that despite the noise, she hasn't used enough lube.

Now I've had this exam done one time before. And I always mark it on my calendar in Big Red Letters so I have something to look forward to every Winter. And the last time this was performed my Doc used enough lube for me to be in a gay porn movie. This was not that time.

As I tried to relax, I heard my new doc say, "Your prostate is really high." This is code for, "I'm up to my elbow and I got nothing." While I resisted the urge to ask her if I can keep the watch, she finally checked my lonely walnut and withdrew. She threw me a towel and said, "Clean yourself up, bitch." I'm not sure if that's exactly what she said as I couldn't make out her words over the crying.

Luckily, my ass seems to be in impeccable health. And while I may have suffered degradation that few outside of prison or the movie Deliverance, it could have been worse. I could have been giving that exam. How would you like to start your Monday morning that way?

All I know is that the next time I'm feeling unsexy, I'm going to spend another $15 and make my poor doc check out my naughty bits again. I'll bring the carry out this time.

Shot Through the Heart

I finally figured out why silencers are so popular here in the Mild, Mild West.

It's because if you're going to sit on the deck of your house and shoot at deer, you don't want to annoy the neighbors.


Now I'm not a hunter by trade (and I don't even play one on tv), so I don't get all fired up to get my Bambi-slaying on. I can go straight to telling lies and enjoying adult beverages without getting lost in the woods first or having an encounter with the crew from Deliverance.


But yes, those are actual deer across the street from my house. I apologize for the lovely blue tint from the Crap Cam 2000, but that's what you get when you try to carry a pop in your slippers while shooting action photography.

Maybe I need to get one of those swell photography books, and learn me how to take some real National Geographic type action photos. Forget it, anything important to see will eventually be on Youtube.


I can't wait until Guinness the Wonder Dog finally figures out there is a herd of deer in the back yard. Maybe we'll have venison for Easter....

Time Is Not on My Side

I started a new job this week. Is it too soon to hate a job after less than 5 days? Okay, hate is a strong word, but I'm already over having to do the commuting thing for an hour each way. It wouldn't be that bad if traffic didn't suck during the Winter and driving in the absolute teeth of rush hour doesn't help either. And getting up at 5:00 am each day to be able to do this isn't on my short list of fun stuff either. So Initech better appreciate me showing up (on time) with a bright shining face each morn. This certainly can't last long. So it seems like I have no time right now. Thus the paucity of snarky blog posts.


We'll fix at least a little of that right now.


Reason # 327 why I love Utah. Yup, take a peek at this actual coupon from the sports section of the local paper.

Damn, I wish I could have found that swell coupon (even though it's not a Bluefly coupon) before Valentine's Day.

Because love means never having to say your gun is too loud.

Luckily you can head down there at 9:00 am and get your silencer on. So that early morning shooting spree won't disturb the neighbors. Especially when you let their dog have it for pooping in your yard.

Cuts Like a Knife

Every now and then I'll try to think about what makes the Midwest unique. Is it the awful weather? Is it the numerous foreclosures in the crummy real estate market? Is it the crazies who live there? I'm going with the latter.

In Adrian, Michigan, Frank Kozumplik was arrested for driving his lawnmower while drunk. And this may come as a shock, but Frank had taken his lawnmower to the liquor store. There he bought 4 bottles of wine. When police pulled Fugitive Frank over, he was down to two bottles. So you know he was having a good time. Frank might have to do the old lawn by hand next Spring as the cops also impounded his mower.

I wonder if they knew he'd been drinking because the mower cuts on the lawns weren't in perfectly straight lines? And when they tried to pull him over I'll bet he acted like he couldn't hear them over the mower engine. That never gets old when you don't want to talk to your neighbor.

Now I've never driven a lawnmower while intoxicated, so I'm not sure what the perfect auto accessories for a mower are. I always figured you'd just need a cooler. But Frank was going with the vino for his jaunt. I'm guessing there wasn't a cork involved in this kind of wine. Because there's no way you can steer a lawnmower and operate a corkscrew at the same time. Yes, this is probably good old screwtop wine. I also think a boxed wine might be the way to go here. That way if the mower vibrated too much and your wine fell off the mower, it wouldn't break.

Frank had to have really wanted it. Because you know riding around a mower in the Winter in Michigan has got to be a bit brisk. How could you even get it started in your mittens? I had trouble getting the dang thing started in the Summer.

Lent It Be

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Just the Same Old Song

People keep asking me what is Utah really like? Is it a provincial town where religion is the dominant political force and separation of church and state is a joke or is it a high-tech mecca where all cultures are welcome and everyone just really wants to ski when they're not speculating in commercial real estate? The answer is both but to really explore that dichotomy I need more time and reflection and beer. Of course, because the Sundance Film Festival is going on right now and my Aquaman buds are keeping me out till all hours of the night (past 9:30!) snowboarding with James Cameron, the mystery that is Utah hasn't really sunk in.

How is it different? Well I don't ever remember anyone at the gym complaining that the videos they show were too racy. Seriously, they're showing porn at the gym? I'd be in much better shape had I known this was going on. But on the downside, make sure you really, really wipe off the machines before you get on one. College kids complaining about racy music videos? My head may 'splode. I gotta call the cable company though and see if I can get the Gold's Gym Channel on my tv. It's probably right between the NFL channel and the Big Ten channel.

How is it the same? Luckily teenagers are still around to give us homemade porn via their cell phones. I'm sure nothing could go wrong with sending a few semi-innocent pictures of your naughty bits to your buds.

Well kids, gotta run. I've got a meeting with some producers about the film version of Parrot Trooper. I don't actually have a movie, but I've got a swell trailer and I figure that's all you really need. Hey, if the Simpsons could get away with it why not me? I just want the nexus of film, art and techology that is Bob the Talking Parrot to change the world, inspire people, end social injustice, eradicate poverty and make me a shiatload of money.

The End Is Nigh

If you're headed to Sin City to bet all your money on the Stupor Bowl, be on the lookout for renegade dancers.

Yup, police are reporting: 11:51 a.m. - A caller from the 300 block of Broad Street reported an individual dancing like a robot in a parking lot. Police were unable to locate the dancer.

If someone is doing the robot dance in a parking lot, you'd better call the cops. Over at Sony, it's a crime rampage.

When the robot dance is outlawed, only outlaws will be robot dancing. Maybe whomever called the cops was Baptist?

You can have my robot dance when you pry it from my cold, animatronic android hand.

Teutonic Temper Tantrum

A lot of people don't know that Hitler was a Cowboys fan.




And don't bother inviting him to your Super Bowl party. You don't want to hang out with Hitler. He's a mean drunk.

Windmill Jousting

In addition to getting all those personalized domain names set up, I've been fighting with my wireless network for about a week now. While I'm not a complete geek, I do know about 'puters and I've set a home network up about 3 or 4 times.

Right now, however, I've got a notwork set up. That's a home network that is extremely secure from outside intrustion because it won't do shit. Everytime I hook up my router to my cable modem, it loses the interwebs connection. It doesn't matter what order I try rebooting, I'm stumped.

I wish I could get one of them there swell free hub. Unfortunately, I need one of those real geeks to fly over here on Virgin Atlantic and hook the bad boy up for me. It's really frustrating.

I'm not even sweating the speedtest. I know it'll work like a charm, but for some reason it's doing zip. I may need to get a crowbar if this keeps up all weekend.

Anyone else have something that just simply won't work no matter what you do? Besides your brother-in-law on the couch I mean.

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.

Big Brass Ones

Dear NFL Network:

Thank you for finally capitulating and letting us have the Patriots-Giants game this Saturday. Yes, it's a travesty that the mean, old cable operators won't let us have the NFL Network in our basic sports tier as you insist. And just because you only have 8, now 7 actual football games this year is no reason to diminish the value of the channel you provide. Since the NFL is so popular and successful, you certainly should have the right to tell other people how to run their business.

It's tough to know which side to hate more in this one: the greedheads at the NFL or the greedheads at the cable company. It's like if the Nazi's took on the Terrorists in a war. Who would you root for? Probably the Red Cross to do a really poor job on the wounded.

But seriously, guys. Taking out a full page ad in the USA Today today entitled NFL Network - Putting Fans First really takes some cojones. That's almost as good as Microsoft's popup blocker that I had to turn on to block all the Microsoft ads. Create a problem, then act like a hero when you solve it. That's marketing genius, kids.

If the NFL Notwork really wanted to put fans first, they wouldn't make us endure Bryant Gumbel's lame attempt at calling a game. Bryant Gumbel, a guy so hated even his mother and brother don't like him.

Come Together, Right Now

Okay, not exactly right now.

But tomorrow, Friday, at 6:08 GMT, you're supposed to have an orgasm. Yes, World Orgasm Day is supposed to "effect positive change in the energy field of the Earth through input of the largest possible instantaneous surge of human biological, mental and spiritual energy." Unfortunately, that's 1:08 for this soon to be ex Midwestern boy. I'm probably be stacking z's in my memory foam mattress unless the Wife and I can sneak in a nap.

Why do I think this is just a couple of horny frat boys? According to Fox News (and they're never wrong, Global Orgasm is the brain child of Donna Sheehan and Paul Reffell, co-founders of the anti-war organization Baring Witness, a group of activists who strip to make public peace displays with their naked bodies.

I guess I'm a little hazy about how being naked or having orgasms helps world peace. But let's not let a lot of facts or logic get in the way of a good publicity stunt. That was "stunt" by the way. Maybe you can't hold a gun if your hands are shaking?

And in case there's not enough pressure on reaching orgasm together, you've got to time it for a particular minute. Leave plenty of time for foreplay and cuddling afterwards in the dark, kids. Oh, and don't forget the guilt.

If I'm going to have a pick a movement, I'm getting behind the Swedish Women who are fighting for the right to go topless. Much like Lafayette helped the Americans during the Revolutionary War, it's time for us to send our topless women to Swedend to help our sisters-in-arms (and out of bra's) to find their freedom. Because if women aren't able to expose themselves at football matches, the terrorists have won.

Robot Elvis Lives

Because I was too lazy to put a link in it, people thought I was joking about Robot Elvis. And Sharper Image has marked it down! Can you believe that the Robot Elvis is a slow mover during the holiday time? Nothing says romance like a robot.

Watch this and tell me it doesn't freak you out.

And it's eventually going to turn on you and try to kill you if you don't feed it narcotics and peanut butter 'n nanner sandwiches every day. And can you use an air hose to slowly make him get fatter like he did in real life? It's going to be even better when I make him sing nothing but show tunes. Or Funkytown.

I'm going to loop that and play it on every LCD TV in my house constantly. Yes, it'll be Graceland West when I get to SLC, baby.

At least it's better than all that damn bell ringing.

And I wasn't kidding about the vibrating soap either.

Festivus for the Rest of Us

In between all the organ-removal procedures to get the new Shaque D'Amour, I've been doing very little Xmas shopping. No, that's not just because of the restraining order from the Salvation Army bell. And yesterday they had 2 ringers at the store. Curses.

But I do have some ideas for last minute holiday gifts.

1) Uruguay steaks: seriously, I had no idea steaks came from anywhere other than Omaha, but it's true. Every time you hear a chain saw start, someone in Uruguay is getting a steak. Oh, and they'll donate a box of steaks to the Daily Bread Food Bank if you enter "dailybread" when you check out. I'm not making this up. I just hope the Uruguayan Steak folks don't email me as much as the Omaha fools.

2) Robot Elvis: Only $250 at Sharper Image. If there's anything that says I have too much personal disposable income than an Elvis robot, I don't know what it is.

3) Vibrating Soap: This was gone in less than 2 weeks last year, so I'll have to get a bigger supply.

4) Joo-Ry: I don't know why but women-folk loves sparkly, shiny stuff as much as men like breasts. Don't try to figure it out, just go with it. And in the words of every porn star actress, "Oh, no. They can never be too big."

5) Fruit Cake: The ultimate Xmas prank. It's actually made just by wiping off everything on the counter into the cake batter. Bless you, Jim Gaffigan. Also doubles as a door stop or blunt instrument to assault your in-laws with for staying too long at the holidays. Only give this to people you hate.

6) Booze: Yes, the ultimate gift for people you don't really know but want to appear to be nice to. Nothing says thank you for not going postal on me or wiping you ass on my mail like a nice bottle of hooch for the mailman. Because he's barely got time to read all the mail much less deliver it.

7) Gift Cards: Really, you're confining me to one store? Just give me the cash instead. Yes, like joory, it can never be too big. You may also wish to drop into casual conversation that one time tax-free gifts of $12,500 are now permitted under the tax code when you're sharing that holiday prayer with your parents. That's both subtle and classy.

8) McDonald's Gift Certificates. This is even worse than the gift card. Make sure you write Loser in large red letters on the card. Do they still do the certificate? Or is it the Arch Card now to give the illusion you have a credit card?

9) Clothing: Seriously, don't do this for a man. You're giving us an errand. We're just going to return it and you can't ever get the credit applied to smokes or porn. Extra bonus points for the wrong size, wrong color and extra-itchiness. Not even close.

10) Anything from a gas station. Unfortunately not everyone has your discriminating palate for jalapeno turkey jerky.

Good luck kids. You'll need it.

Little Known Utah Facts

In my effort to acclimate to my new state (no, not inebriation, but Utah), I've been doing a lot of interweb research. And because I read it on the interwebs, you know it must be true. Here are the top 10 Little Known Facts About Utah.

10) If you only have one wife, people will think you are gay.
9) Utah was founded by two explorers, Utah Smith and Manhattan Young who misinterpreted a verse in the Old Testament and went to discover the colony of New Sodom.
8) Utah has a very diverse population and welcomes people of all colors be they white, pale, off-white or Irish.
7) The entire electric grid of Utah is so energy efficient that it can be run from one single lithium battery.
6) Utah's State Bird is the seagull (in Latin rattus wingus). The State Bird of Michigan remains the middle finger.
5) If you have eight wives, that means there are 8 separate "How was your day?" conversations each and every day.
4) Despite relentless news coverage hardly any miners have been killed in Utah. This week.
3) Despite overseeing the Winter Olympics which has such events as men's figure skating and the two-man luge, Mitt Romney is against gay marriage.
2) The University of Utah was the site of the first Jarvik-7 artificial heart surgery in retired dentist Barney Clark. The Jarvik-7 not only functions as a beating human heart but is also able to regulate the amount of Motown in your soul.
1) The largest open pit copper mine is in Utah. The only larger man-made cavity is Paris Hilton. This marvelous feat of engineering is only surpassed by the open pit mayonnaise mines located in Magna.

Westward Ho

Wife and I are back from our looking at shitty homes house hunting trip. We were successful in that we tricked a builder into giving us a newly built home in return for all of our money ever, several major organs and something about participating in a yearly ritual to keep the restless spirits of the Indian burial ground at peace. I really was so groggy at looking at so many houses that I really wasn't paying attention at that point. Luckily, because we will soon be in the West, we'll be able to quickly head to a Vegas hotel to win all the money back that we're having to shell out for the house.

I think the problem is that everyone is so friendly in Utah. And they're such good friends that they want you to be able to open your window and pass the potatoes to the house next door. Seriously, I've never seen such massive homes on such small lots. I hope my back neighbors are attractive as I'm going to be seeing a lot of them. They, one the other hand, aren't getting such a great deal. I can't wait to acquaint them with the quaint, Midwestern tradition of the pressed ham.

I did learn quite a bit about looking at houses. For example, if you have children, it is physically impossible to keep the house clean enough to show unless you put them in a dog kennel. Also, when you move out, you'll want to do a thorough cleaning job. Or you, just like my real estate agent, will use the following phrase:

"They certainly had kids. Because that's not just blood, that's nose-picking blood."

I'm not making that up. So when you're sitting on your sofa, think of all those tiny fingers putting their nose goblin collection on the wall behind it. And no, that's not the house we purchased.

Also, if you're undergoing the heartache of a divorce, throwing your wedding ring on the closet floor as you leave will not improve the resale value of your home. Judging my all the camouflage clothing in the house, he may not even know it's for sale yet.

Thanks for all the swell comments on my impending move to Utah. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to know that semi-strangers can sympathize with my plight and plans to turn Utah into a wretched hive of scum and villainy.

License to Thrill

There's a bit of breaking news in the Shaque D'Amour de T2ed. It's not a complete secret but I haven't really been broadcasting it either.

After 17 years with one single employer, the Wife has been offered a big job with another multi-national corporation. And we're leaving the Great Grey North and taking the advice of Horace Greeley. Let's see why. Murder capital of the US? Check. Double the national unemployment rate? Check. Pathetic football team who has the worst record in December in the last 10 years? Check. Yes, this Midwestern Boy is moving to....wait for it..... the Beehive State.

The adventure really starts this weekend. I'm winging my way westward for a bit of house hunting. And I don't even need a license. Be vewy, vewy quiet. I'm hunting houses. Just a piece of paper from people with whom I have a "very special relationship." And by "very special" (yes, please continue making those finger quotes in the air), I mean they want me to be indebted to them for the rest of my life.

I plan on walking into many many expensive houses and making snotty comments about the lack of Progress Lighting and the poor color schemes of every bathroom. I don't even know what Progress Lighting is, but I'm going to act like it's a deal breaker. And if I see anything in Avacado, I'm going to run screaming from the house. People only act like this because they've been getting abused while trying to sell their shack. It's time for payback, bitches.

So if I'm quiet next week, it means I can't get my Pop's Captain Caveman Computer to let me write any action-packed entries of my trip into the wild. I'm imagine my Pop's computer is like something from the Flintstones. You use a big wooden club to pound on a big rock with a letter on it to type. Oh, and the Caps Lock is apparently always on.

The best thing about this whole adventure? My parents actually live there. So I could be 42 and living in my parents' basement. Karma, like gravity, is a harsh mistress. At least I'll have kissed a girl this time.

I'll be sure to say hi to both Donny and Marie for you. For the record, he's neither rock and roll nor Motown in his soul.

Full Stop

I don't know why, but whenever Austin Powers is on tv, I absolutely have to stop until this scene is on:

My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink, he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Some times he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy, the sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical, summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of 12 I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen, a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum, it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it.

If that doesn't make you giggle, you need to find a tall, tall building. I'd like to see the kind of corporate performance management Dr. Evil would bring to the work place.

Do other people suffer from this affliction of having to stop for particular movie scenes or it just me?

Wreck the Malls

I'm not saying I know why that poor young man in Omaha, NE snapped yesterday. And if you have a loved one who was hurt, I apologize in advance. But I've got a brother there and a sister in law there and luckily they were both okay despite all the traffic congestion caused by the President. And I know I'm going to Hell anyway. While it's probably too soon, I'm going ahead with this anyway. Let the talking heads on the tv cables continue to natter.

It's just sad that someone had to completely snap to get the stores' attention. Because I knew those Xmas Carols were going to drive somebody nuts sooner or later.

You add a few hundred times hearing the Twelve Days of Christmas to those bell ringers outside of every store and it's only a matter of time.

I don't know when the Salvation Army took over. Seriously, I was in 4 stores today and there was a different person ringing that bell in front of every one of them. I already gave you sonsabitch Bumpuses 18 bags of clothes. Get that bell out of my face.

Did you ever notice how many different ways they can ring it? The soft little ting, ting, ting. Or the middling jingle, jingle, jingle. Or the really loud clang, clang, clang. And they can tell when you've got change and are just being pissy. I swear the last guy rang it right in my face.

And even if you yell "Merry Christmas" while you're slapping that bell out of their hand, they won't say "God bless us, everyone."

A little personal side note. I've been to both the Trolley Square mall in Salt Lake City (where the guy shot up the joint last year) and the Westroads mall in Omaha where yesterday's tragedy happened. If you see me shopping this holiday, you'd best have your flack jacket with you.

Now go make an elf. It's Wicked Funny and the reason Al Gore invented the interwebs for us. I like the one I did with all celebrity mugshots.

Just Plain Wrong

I can't help the way my mind works. There is no off position on the genius switch. Or maybe that's the crazy switch.

Now I don't approve of people who dress up their dogs. Dogs don't want clothing and I secretly think that the other dogs are making fun of them for wearing it. So when I saw this advert from the the Polo Peeps, I hated it. Come on, it's a sheep dog for crying out loud. He's already a hair ball and then you're throwing a shirt on him. If he had sweat glands, I bet he'd be perspiring under those hot photo shoot lights.

So of course this got me thinking. So I took the swell new free mock turtleneck I scored from Clothing4All.com and tried it out on my fashion model. I haven't even worn it yet because I won't wear clothes until they're washed and all the tags are cut out. I know -- crazy. Leave me alone.

Here's how my model did. I know grey isn't his color. He's just not a Winter.

I'm guessing that Clothing4All.com didn't realize what a big target demographic they had for pet clothing. It's going to be almost as big as tv for cats.
Guinness the Wonder Dog was amazingly patient during this hijink (the singular of hijinx). No animals were hurt in the production of this post. He was back up and licking himself in no time. But I fully expect to find a dookie in one of my shoes tonight.

Space Kitty

I'm not sure why I like this so much. Maybe it's all the egg nog talking after watching Rudy last night.

But this is the kind of "research" that would make a lot more kids study science if the lab work was like this. I only remember getting to play with a Slinky in my physics classes.

This is a lot more cool.






That kitty better get a life insurance quote. And how come they conveniently edited the best part of that vid out. You know, where the cat hooks on one of those scientists/pet abusers.


It's sad to see the ugly underbelly of our space program. But the cat does land on it's feet. Who knew?

Rudy in the Sky With Santa

The best Xmas special in the entire world is on tomorrow (Tuesday) at 8 pm (check local listings) on CBS. Of course, I'm talking about Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. This special is even older than me! And I'm too exhausted from throwing away all the detritus in my life to come up with an entirely new post.

Play along at home with your favorite beverage. When Rudolph's nose lights up, take a sip. Rudolph lights up and you're getting lit. You're going to hate seeing that damn Bumble again in the third act. I've seen this show a kajillion times and can actually recite most of the dialogue (much to the annoyance of anyone unfortunate enough to be watching it with me). So I have a deeper understanding and appreciation for the complex subplots and leitmotifs contained within the show. Don't let Rankin and Bass fool you, they're working on a whole other level here.

Despite being guised as a children's show, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer is actually a recognition of the unending struggle of man versus nature. There are, however, many unresolved questions in the show.

• Sam the Snowman frequently displays omnipotence throughout his narration. Is he a manifestation of God?


• The prejudice against Rudolph's nose is clearly anti-Semitism. Rudolph's friend Fireball is obviously a reference to the Holocaust. Is the Santa character a Nazi or a representation of Satan and the evil within every man?


• Rudolph's cries of "I'm cude, I'm cuuuuude" represent the failure of the modern co-educational school system. Despite his superious flying skills, Rudolph is still ostracized by the other adolescent reindeer because of his infatuation with Clarisse. Note the prevalence of homo-erotic undertones throughout the reindeer games.


• Why doesn't Yukon Cornelius just use his gun to shoot the Bumble? It is entirely appropriate to yell at the tv, "Use your gun, Yukon Cornelius" throughout the entirety of the drama. Is Yukon's non-use of his gun an indictment of the War in Iraq?


• The elves' working condictions are representative of the outsourcing of labor outside of the United States. Should the elves unionize? Why are they denied dental benefits?


• All the elf women are identical. Is this an early indictment of cloning and stem cell research?


• Clarisse's eyelashes are clearly fake. How does she apply them when reindeer lack opposable thumbs?


• Mrs. Claus is trying to kill Santa through food and her frequent exhortations to "Eat, Papa, Eat!" Does no one really like a skinny Santa or is Mrs. Claus merely a representation of the gluttony and rampant consumerism of the modern holiday season?


• King Moonracer won't even consider non-misfits staying on the island. Does his monarchy represent the oppression of democracy or merely the gradual decay brought on by European feudalism?


• What's wrong with the Doll on the Island of Misfit Toys? Incontentinence? Psychological instability? Depression? Multiple personalities?


• Charlie in the Box is undoubtedly a reference to the Vietnam War. Is King Moonracer really a characicture of Lyndon Baines Johnson and expansionist Asian policies?


• Rudoph's Mother and Clarisse are initially denied helping search for Rudolph because as Donner explains, "This is man's work." Is the plight of women in Rudolph representative of the disenfranchisement of women in the entire Muslim culture or merely women in the American workplace?


• The worst snowstorm ever is clearly an indictment of global warming. Are reindeer a realistic replacement for fossil fuel consuming vehicles?


• Yukon Cornelius' quest for silver and/or gold represents man's exploitation and destruction of the environment. Does his failure in his search for depletable mineral resources represent man's losing battle with the environment or merely the resiliancy of the human spirit?


• This clearly isn't the first time Hermey has squealed like a pig. What happened in that cottage on the Island of Misfit Toys after Rudolph left and Hermey and Yukon were left in bed together?


• Hermey the Elf is obviously gay. Evidence of this is when he pulls the Bumble's teeth to allow for greater oral gratification. Is Hermey short for hermaphrodite?


• Yukon Cornelius also carries a whip. Do he and Hermey move to Vermont together after the show is over?


• When scaring the Bumble, Yukon Cornelius clearly inflicts a "low blow" to the Bumble's crotch. Is this further confirmation of Cornelius' infatuation with Hermey or merely evidence of the ends justifying the means?


• Rudolph's response of "Ready, Santa" is a celebration of individualism. Does diversity in nature really exist or is Man at fault for his encroachment upon the environment?


• Santa is depicted as no longer delivering toys but merely tossing them from his sled. This underscores the fallacy of throwing money at societal injustice and mocks LBJ's Great Society. How is fiscal irresponsibility in the federal government represented by the various misfit toys?

Have fun, kids! Remember to drink whenever Rudolph's nose lights up because that makes the intellectual discussions even better.