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....

Come On People Now

It's hack. It's trite. But it's still true. Pro is the opposite of Con. So the opposite of Congress is what?

In the words of Chief Wiggum, "Nice work boys." It's not every day the Dow drops 777 points. Actually, it's never dropped that much.

Way to put aside politics for the good of the country. Is there any wonder some peeps are so unenthused by the choices before them they'd rather not vote?

The folks from Despair.com probably put it best.

Luckily, it's an election year in the States so we can all express our extreme pleasure at what a great job you've all been doing. And while I don't typically vote for a straight ticket, if they had a box marked "Anyone But the Jerks We Currently Have," I'm pretty sure that would appeal to lots of folks.

Now, I've got to get busy installing some keylogger software on my Representative's computer so I can see how many sext messages he's sending to his Chief of Staff.

Don't You (Forget About Me)

In Middletown, CT, there's a growing sense of chaos and anarchy at Middletown High School (home of the Blue Dragons).

It seems that 28 high school seniors had to be suspended for two days after they COOKED BREAKFAST ON SCHOOL GROUNDS! Luckily, Principal Robert Fontaine was able to quell the nascent riot before things got any more out of hand or the eggs had been cooked.

Quote of the story: "We didn't have beer, we didn't have weed, we had bacon."

Who knows what might have happened if these cafeteria criminals were allowed to serve their illicit pork products to the unsuspecting masses of freshmen at the school? Sure, the first piece of bacon is free. And then you're hooked. Soon you're freebasing smoked ham, craving omelettes at noon and skipping your acne treatments to blow the money on pancakes. This could even lead to inappropriate dancing! And jokingly calling them the Breakfast Club just exacerbates the problem. Don't try to use your mass media mind tricks on a tool of the educational system.

Well I for one defend the right of these students to assemble and use propane in public. What is our educational system coming to when lawfully assembling students are deprived of their right to life, liberty and breakfast meats. Especially bacon. Our founding fathers and mothers would lay down their life for a piece of hickory smoked bacon. Mmmmm, bacon.

As Patrick Henry famously declared, "Give me another piece of bacon or give me death!"

Godspeed young bacon rebels, godspeed. Fight the power. When bacon is outlawed only outlaws will have bacon. Rise up you patriots of pork products. Throw off the shackles of our horrible bacon rationing that limits us to two pieces per serving at most commercial establishments. You can have my bacon when you pry it from my cold dead hand.

Or if it's cooked too long. I hate that.

Let's just hope this isn't going to go on the permanent records of these high schoolers. Or maybe they'll all just attend the Culinary Institute and have the most kick ass tailgate parties ever.

Three Times A Booty

I have no idea why so many asses are in the news right now. Probably the election. Zing! Hiyooooooo. Okay, enough of that rubbish.

Story #1: In Monkey News, scientists have discovered that chimps can identify the body type simply by looking at the booty in a picture. Scientists showed pictures of male and female buttocks to chimps and the animals were able to make the correct butt and face pairing so as to identify the sex of the pictured animal.

The pervy scientists (who conveniently had an explanation for why they had so many pictures of monkey butts) claim this means that chimps can recognize the whole body of chimps they've interacted with. I'm not really certain why this is important as most men can do the same thing with boobies.

Story #2: In Germany a bankrobber was identified by her bonkadonk booty. It seems someone identified only as having a very large backside and powerful thighs robbed a bank in Norf, Germany. Weeks later, a man identified the robber as he was standing behind her in line at the same bank. He called police and they found a ski mask and a gun on the bootylicious burglar.

I just hope Tyra has a good defense lawyer.

Story #3: Our final cheeky bit of news comes from Valentine, Nebraksa where someone has made quite an impression on the town of 2800. For more than a year a man has been leaving the imprint of his buttocks and sometimes groin on the windows of the town.

And this is no ordinary pressed ham as the perpetrator leaves smears of petroleum jelly or lotion on the window. Try to keep that image out of your head as you enjoy your bagel and a schmear this morning. The only partial identification of the Butt Bandit is from a video camera that shows he is about 6 feet tall with dark hair in a 1980's feathered look.

You'd think in a town of 2800 it wouldn't be too hard to narrow down the suspects. Maybe they can get some of those chimps from our first story to identify the culprit? That sounds like more fun that trying to get backside DNA from all the potential culprits.

Well I've done enough making an ass out of myself this week. It's time to get back to relaxing for the weekend. Sit around a smoke a rump roast perhaps. Enjoy the weekend booty, kids!

Fashion

All right, children. Attention please. Sit quietly at your computer desks while we listen to the multi-media presentation presented by our corporate donors.

This is Clark Gable. He was once in a movie called It Happened One Night. Unfortunately, what didn't happen was Mr. Gable wearing an undershirt. The movie-going population took notice and sales of undershirts plummeted overnight.

This is John F. Kennedy. He was a very popular president who failed to wear a hat to his inauguration. The inauguration viewing population took notice and sales of hats plummeted overnight. Yes, Jimmy, this is who Mr. Obama patterns himself after. No, he has not dug up the corpse of Marilyn Monroe. Yet.

This is John McCain. Yes, Susie, he is Sarah Palin's running mate. Since the Republican Vice Presidential candidate has come into the glasses wearing population's eye, sales of the Kawasaki 704 glasses has increased overnight.

What is the moral of the story? People are sheep. No, not blue sheep that look like they've been assaulted by a smurf. But consuming sheep who can't set a trend for themselves without looking to others for inspiration. Even if it is godawful clothing.

Which is why we hope whomever does become our next President be it McCain, Obama or Farve doesn't wear pants to the inauguration.

Dancing In the Streets

Detroit, your long-suffering national nightmare is finally over.

No, not a City Council under FBI investigation for irregularities in a sludge contract.

No, not the indictment and resignation of a mayor who sexted messages to his Chief of Staff.

No, not a Councilmember who screams at the media for being evil.

Matt Millen has finally been fired as the Lions President and General Manager.

Matt, I'm sure that 31-84 record you've had with the Lions in the last 7 years (worst in the NFL by the way) will look good on a resume when you apply to the Raiders.

Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind

Finally, a real choice.


Glad that's over.

Now where's the 700 billion dollar bailout for the Detroit Lions and Tom Brady's knee?

As long as I don't have to listen to Tony Kornholer do his Howard Cosell impression again. I wasn't sure if I really heard that on Monday night or if I was just too hepped up on the Phentermine. I should have known better than to turn that pesky sound on. I won't make that mistake again.

Now if only there were Brett Favre currency. Oh, wait. Nevermind.

Proud Mary

Consider this a cautionary tale. I tried something new recently. No, not Starbucks coffee or watching Monday Night Football with the sound on. No, I tried smoking a leg of lamb. It sucked.

I found a recipe online at Fearless Kitchen (I love that name) for Roasted Lamb with Pomegranate. And I've cooked lamb on the grill plenty of times. Usually just a lamb loin chop marinated in a little red wine with peppercorns and some garlic powder or Italian seasonings if I'm feeling saucy. But I had to try something new.

Luckily after a quest around the Salty City for a Middle Eastern Market, I was able to score some pomegranate molasses. This may be the only place here that has this rare and arcane ingredient. So I suggested to the proprietor that he only sell the bottles one at a time. Luckily due to the language barrier, he had no idea what I was saying.

But Pars is a wonderful market with various and sundry middle eastern products like pita bread (which you really can't find any decent pita at the grocery stores around here), Turkish music (lots of CD's and DVD's) and ladies hair removal products. Seriously, Pars has everything you need if you're a hirsute lady.

Anyway I followed the recipe, marinaded for a day, smoked for three hours and the lamb just turned out bleh. It tasted mushy to me. Maybe I've been spoiled with ribs and brisket and beer can chicken on the smoker, but I ate hardly any of the lamb and wound up tossing about 2/3 of it.

I don't know if I cooked it wrong or what. I had the butcher debone it (which only sounds dirty) and then I smoked it just kind of splayed out on the grill. I did not tie it up which may be where things went awry. Sorry there are no pictures of the lamb sitting restfully in a Ziploc bag for a day or the Big Green Egg commencing to smoke. I'll try to have my act in gear next time I try something like this.

So if you know anything about smoking a leg of lamb or even just cooking a leg of lamb, let me know.

In the meantime, I'll stick to beef. And bacon of course.

Smooth Operator

Dear Kwame:

Buck up, Slugger! This is just a temporary setback. Sure you can't run for an elected position for 5 years, have to go to the joint for 4 months, and cough up a million bucks for your fine. You're getting a slap on the wrist! You act contrite at a news conference and you're back on top, baby. We'll get a book ghost written, have it in Oprah's Book Club, do a quickie interview, whip up some tears and you'll be hotter than ever.

And just because you can't run for office, don't think you're out of politics. You can still be appointed. How does Interior Secretary of Booty Procurement sound to you?

Can you say "Kwame in DC" by 2016? Think about it. A run for the Senate in 6 years. Two years later it's on to the White House. Sounds a lot like the plan of another candidate for office right now.

What are you supposed to do? Can you help it if the ladies always fall for the smoove jazz you throw at them? You can't help it that you're a supercharger power steering rack sex machine.

Let's face it. You'll always have some baggage. It's not every mayor who gets caugt in a sex scandal with his Chief of Staff. But you can turn that around.

How about a brief stay at a sex clinic? Sure Duchovny's already doing that but we'll spin it. America loves a comeback. You know you're going to appeal to a certain segment of the electorate.

I've been kicking around a couple of ideas for how we make you into a victim here. See if any of these float your boat:

• voodoo spell


• uncontrollable pheremone release


• Colt .45


• Republican conspiracy


• Error in priapism prescription


• She stalked you
  

But this time around we'll do it on the down low. No stripper parties at Manoogian Mansion. Instead just you and the Chief of Staff for a late meeting at a quiet hotel near the airport. And no texting!

Just give the head's up to the highway patrolmen and they'll make sure she's brought up to your room nice and quiet like. We're going to learn from the Past Master who had a taste for the strange.

Now I gotta get to a meeting with John Edwards.

Feelin' On Yo Booty

I can't believe I almost forgot about it. Today is International Talk Like a Pirate Day. And this year, there's video.

This completely changes the weekend plans. No sitting around watching football and cracking wise.

It's raping, pillaging, looting, raping, piracy and raping. Hey, I like raping.

Then a Pirates of the Caribbean movie marathon followed by Against All Flags to wash that incomprehensible plot taste out of my mouth.

Now our customary Crummy Pirate Jokes.

Who does a Pirate vote for? Barrrrrack

What's a Pirate's favorite football team? The Buccaneers

Where are the Buccaneers? Under me Buccan Hat.

Why does a Pirate read Playboy? For the arrrrticles.

A Pirate's Favorite Centerfold? Barrrrbie Benton

What's a Pirate's favorite baking soda? Arrrm & Hammer

What's a Pirate's favorite mystical artifact? Arrrrk of the Covenant

A Pirate's Favorite Fast Food Restaurant? Surprisingly, Chick-Fil-A

Where do Pirates find their birds? Parrots Without Partners

Who is a Pirate's favorite actress? Dianne Cannon

What is it called when a sloop runs aground? Ship out of luck

Enjoy the holiday, swabbies!