And this is one of the health care models Michael Moore wants us to follow.

[U.K.] Woman, 108, must wait 18 months for hearing aid.

[H/T 2 Cato-at-Liberty.]

Rudy: I know I am, but what are you?

Giuliani, who used the power of New York city government to purge Times Square of the gays, insists that the Democrats want a nanny government.

Pot to kettle: "You're black."

No word on whether or not Food Fascist Nanny Huckabee agrees with him.

[H/T 2 Drudge.]

Ron Paul: Send Dog the Bounty Hunter after bin Laden.

Paul has offered legislation (H.R. 3216) to authorize Bush to issue
“letters of marquee and reprisal” to those private citizens or entities that
want “to seize outside the geographic boundaries of the United States and its
territories the person and property of Osama bin Laden, of any al Qaeda
co-conspirator, and of any conspirator with Osama bin Laden and al Qaeda who are
responsible for the air piratical aggressions and depredations perpetrated upon
the United States of America on September 11, 2001,” or future attacks.

I'm all for it. It's not like what we're doing now is working. Seriously, binny has gotten away with it for almost six years now. It's time to shit or get off the pot.

I'm for shitting.

And I've BEEN for shitting since that clear blue Tuesday morning when everything we believed about the world changed.

The day after al-Qaeda was identified as the perpetrator, Afghanistan and any other place harboring these animals should have been made into a giant sheet of radioactive glass. For every American killed in the attacks, we should have taken out one of their cities with nuclear hell rained down from the skies.

But we didn't. Bush pussied out.

And because Bush pussied out, binny is still converting valuable oxygen to carbon dioxide. As long as that continues to happen, Bush is a failure.

Why, was Nancy Pelosi a Japanese sex slave?

US House wants Japanese sex slaves apology.

Way to take care of that ever-important citizens-of-a-foreign-country constituency, Speaker Sugar Tits.

And way to piss off an ally.

Don't think we don't recognize this for what it is -- a stepping stone towards an apology, and then reparations, for American slavery.

The only ones who should be demanding an apology are the poor women who suffered this monstrous act.

Treas. Sec. Paulson: The country's not in enough debt.

Paulson, in a letter to lawmakers, estimated the government is likely to bump into the statutory debt limit in early October.

"Accordingly, I am writing to request that Congress raise the statutory debt limit as soon as possible," Paulson wrote.

Why does cutting spending never enter into the discussion?

Song of the Day: Take Me Now.

Ark. gov. Beebe: You're not being taxed enough.

Stillwatistan.

Oklahoma State: sports more important than property rights.

Fucking commies.

BONUS SONG OF THE DAY: Maharishi Vedic City Blues.

Not on YouTube. Go here,then click on Maharishi Vedic City Blues.

The story behind this is here.

Do they come in a men's XXXL?

... 'cuz I have a feeling that once the bear community finds out about this, supplies will be exhausted quickly.

"Bond with your furry companion . . ." heh heh heh.

SO over that, week of July 30 '07.

These three things I am SO over.

1. Energy drinks. They cost too much, taste like gnome pee, and are full of carbs. Gimme a couple cups of joe. Or a Jolt Cola.
2. “Finding myself.” I know where I am. I’m right here, ploinking away at the keyboard. Men who wonder where their selves are can usually find them in the Lost and Pussy department.
3. Janeanne Garofolo. The jaded, unhappy Theater Major act was marginally cool when you were, like, nineteen, Janeanne. Go marry Mark Ruffalo and get one of those hyphenated feminist last names. Maybe if you’d get some, you’d lighten up.

Song of the Day: Like Chairie!

Facebook: We are the arbiter of legitimacy.

And we declare gay to be less legitimate than Hitler:

It would seem that Myspace is no longer the social networking flavour of the month – that torch has now been passed to Facebook. But already there’s controversy – no, no suicide pacts just yet, but new members to Facebook can have the surname Hitler, but not the surname Gay.

...

According to the Sydney Morning Herald, the error was discovered when New Zealand woman Rowena Gay tried to sign up to the site and was rejected. “Please enter a legitimate surname,” it said.

Romney: Punish the rich for being rich., reward the rest for not being rich.

From the Glenn Beck Radio Show:

GLENN: So you didn't really answer question. Why don't we have a candidate calling for a flat tax?

GOVERNOR ROMNEY: Well, you know, it's -- it has a lot of features that are attractive but the flat tax as it was originally proposed by Steve Forbes had some things I think that would not work and one that I pointed out, of course, is that you eliminate the home mortgage deduction and that would have an impact on the housing market. Another is that the very, very wealthy would pay no taxes at all, none, under a flat tax. And so I think as people hear the term "Flat tax," they like the idea but then if they hear that some people will pay no taxes at all, the very wealthiest, they've say, ooh, there's got to be something to adjust it.

GLENN: Hey, hey, wait. You're talking about the very wealthy. You were talking quite honestly about people like Hillary Clinton that have millions and millions and millions that are working for them and they are not -- they are not paying in income tax. You're saying that they wouldn't pay anything on capital gains.

GOVERNOR ROMNEY: Yeah, that's right, under the Forbes flat tax plan, someone like Bill Gates who probably gets in a billion dollars of income a year from interest and dividends and capital gains, he probably pays $200 million in taxes a year. He would pay no taxes under the flat tax, and I don't think that's what people think about when they think about flat tax. So there's some --

GLENN: So why don't you -- why don't you fix those problems and introduce a flatter tax?

GOVERNOR ROMNEY: Yeah. And that's one of the things that I'll be talking about is my own tax policy. One of the elements that I've already put forward is that I would like to reduce taxes across the board. I'd also like to go after savings for people of middle incomes, and my view is middle income Americans ought to be able to save their money and get their interest dividends and capital gains tax-free. I don't think we should tax people when they earn their money and then when they save it and then when they die. So I want to take that tax off on capital gains, interest and dividends for middle income Americans.

GLENN: Okay. So wait a minute. Hang on just a sec. It's not right for Bill Gates but it's right for middle Americans. Mitt, I know you well enough. I know your history well enough to know that you understand our founding fathers. Help solve something in my head that has been bothering me here recently. Why can't I sue for my equal rights as someone who has prospered in this country? I was born poor, I made my money, and I do not have equal rights under this system because you're penalizing me and you just made an example. You want to make sure that somebody who is middle class has rights that I don't.

GOVERNOR ROMNEY: No, I really don't, Glenn.

GLENN: But I mean, help me out. How does that not work that way?

GOVERNOR ROMNEY: Well, obviously we have a whole series of provisions of the tax code that give advantage to people of lower income. Do you realize the bottom 30% of earners in this country pay no income tax at all, the bottom 30%. And then in addition, we give a child credit for every child so a person gets a $1,000 tax credit for every child they have. So that means the people who have children are getting advantages relative to people who don't. Those are the provisions that have been worked into the code over the years. Of course, in the Bush tax cut plan we put in place that we doubled the child tags credit. So there are dramatic differences in how we treat different types of income and different types of families, and I'll give you that. There are dramatic differences. But even the flat tax plan, it wouldn't charge any tax to people of lower income. They got no tax at all and no tax for the people of very high income.

GLENN: Right.

Setting aside the fact that the income tax and the capital gains tax are two different taxes and THEY DON'T HAVE TO MATCH, this sounds like the same old "punish success, reward failure" model that torpedoed the Soviet Union.

I guess that's what you'd call Rommunism.

BTW, how is reciting the current tax policy a reason that you can't fix the problems with it?

Why Minnesota Rocks.

Their men can kick a shark's ass.

Miller was looking for turtles when he came face to face with the shark. It bit into his leg; Miller punched the shark twice on its side near a fin. The shark let go and swam away, according to Miller's wife, Lisa.

Note that he didn't wait for the government to rescue him. He rescued himself.

Why Wisconsin Sucks.

They rob kids' lemonade stands there.

Progressives planning underhanded hostile takeover of Libertarian Party?

From a navel-gazing prog:

We need to come up with some big picture-- seeing the forest as well as the trees-- projects. Howard Dean did it with his 50 state initiative.

We need to get very, very local and take over the local parties-- Democratic, Green, Libertarian. Join your local organizations, run for committee person. Go to local meetings. Get other people to do the same.

Go take over the Socialist and Communist Parties, slamo; we don't want you.

Oh wait; you're already there.

Good to see . . .

. . . that some of the Donks are realizing they're gonna hafta take their noses out of Hillary's Duff if they're to have ANY chance at the nomination.

Song of the Day: Will you stand above me?

This one comes from one of those St. Elmo's Pretty Pink Weird Science Breakfast Candles 80's teen movies.



I miss those St. Elmo's Pretty Pink Weird Science Breakfast Candles 80's teen movies.

John Answers Glenn Beck's Questions, take one.

From yesterday's Glenn Beck show on CNN:

BECK: I want to know that in the report that I saw that they said that the reasons for carrying items like ice packs with the gel taken out and replaced
with a claylike substance then duct tape with wire and batteries and pipes, they
said some of the explanations were suspicious. Leading you to believe that they
had a reasonable explanation for that. Can you think of a single explanation on
what would make a device like that reasonable?

Easy. The traveller suffers from an eating disorder due to a nutritional deficiency that makes him crave unusual things to eat, much like Montel eating Brillo pads in his sleep. In this case, he's craving the silicon and salts in the clay. He's brought the clay to snack on during the flight.

Why's it in ice pack bags? How else are you going to keep it from going everywhere? It has to be inside something or it'll spill all over the place? Why not ice pack bags?

The wire? He plans on passing the time on the flight fashioning himself a copper medicinal bracelet, which he believes will help him with his eating disorder.

The pipe can be used lengthwise as a rolling pin to flatten out the clay, and the ends can be used as a cookie cutter to make himself some little appetizing clay biscuits.

The duct tape is to keep it all together in one place.

And the batteries are to power his Ipod, on which he has a self-improvement program coaching him how to get through the flight without feeling the urge to binge.

See? PERRRFECTLY REEEEEASONABLE!

Not.

The War On Pleasure continues.

Great piece from the ARI on the Flavor Police.

Hackers, or heroes?

Hackers shut down police-state cameras in the City of Big Brotherly Love.

The Philadelphia Commercial Development Corporation which runs the cameras,
says hackers and a lightening strike were the reasons the cameras were
off.

The president of the PCDP says the cameras should be working again by
Friday, and he wants the D-A and the US attorney to investigate the
hackers.

Question.

Who is Reynolds?

As a general rule, I don't post articles in their entirety. But in this case I have to, because surely there's an editor somewhere who will catch this and either fix it or remove this hideous piece of ineptitude entirely. Surely.

Cows wander onto Interstate 95 in R.I.
2007/7


14 minutes ago

HOPKINTON, R.I. - Transportation officials have vowed to figure out how a group of cows wander onto Interstate 95, most recently on Tuesday morning when several Holsteins stopped rush hour traffic.

"If a vehicle hits them, it could cause a serious, serious accident," Sgt. Nicholas Tella said.

Reynolds said the state Department of Transportation is responsible for mending the barrier since it took the land by eminent domain to build the highway. Although state workers installed a portion of the fence last fall, Reynolds said they left 100 feet unfinished.

DOT spokeswoman Heidi Cote said agency records indicate workers did install a fence in the area in October. But she said the department planned to look into Reynolds‘ complaint.

Did the writer of this article by chance intern at the Substandard?

Hideous. I wrote better than that in high school.

I would *like* to write about the government thinking a partial fence is going to keep cows in. There's a metaphor in there somewhere about the Border Fence. No private company would ever possibly believe such a thing.

But I keep getting distracted by one simple question. Who's Reynolds?

UPDATE: FOX has the answer. Don't they always?

I hope Sheriff Joe Arpaio doesn't make me wear a pink jumpsuit . . .

. . . when they quarantine me like a criminal in his jail. Because being fat is now contagious.

Pink is SO not my color. Makes us fat people look like a giant wad of bubble gum.

I knew they'd manufacture a justification for calling it an "epidemic" sooner or later.

Can I get a double-order of prison slop, cafeteria lady? Your hairnet looks fabulous.

Maybe God wanted a swimming pool.

"I've never heard of a pool being stolen, let alone one with water in it," Valdivia said.

[H/T 2 Drudgeypoo.]

Song of the Day: Music loud and women warm.

This is the theme song for Thursday nights cruising around Houston in my Crown Vic Police Interceptor with Mr. Whited in 1996/7. Must be played as loud as your crappy car radio can go.

Now that "Christmas in July" is over . . .

. . . look for actual Christmas commercials to start any time now.

I'm not exaggerating. I've seen them start as early as August.

And that's not a good thing.

Another one of those days.

Can't find anything that makes my brain sparkle enough to post.

Except this. I miss this. It reminds me of what the 80's were all about.

Song of the Day: Can't get food for them kid, good God.

I don't count concert footage or "American Bandstand"-type performances as videos.

It wasn't on MTV. Wasn't even on Night Tracks on Superstation TBS. Cable wasn't available out in the sticks (even if it was, the nearest cable provider was one of those that banned MTV). And satellite dishes were still these giant, multi-thousand dollar monstrosities out of the reach of the unrich.

No, this was on a little show called "Friday Night Videos." It was on NBC, I think, and came on right after the Tonight Show.

Of course, without cable, my TV reception was at the mercy of the Atmosphere Gods, so the only station you could count on coming in was the crappy northern Arkansas PBS station. The others were intermittent at best during certain atmospheric conditions.

But this Friday night it was my good fortune to have a certain confluence of events happen -- the NBC reception was good, my parents had gone to bed, and I had stayed up past the 10:00 news instead of retiring to my room to listen to the radio like I usually did.

And this was the first video I saw. Ever.

The Jen That Rocks The Cradle.

I do not like Big Brother 8's Jen.

Marriage, Domestic Partnership two separate, unequal concepts.

Dude's ex-wife enters into domestic partnership. He's still on the hook for alimony.

The only way domestic partnerships/civil unions are an acceptable alternative to full marriage rights is if it is written in the law that they are equal to marriage in every civil, legal regard except name.

Isn't a bonfire during the day kind of pointless?

Washington County Committee considers ban on late-night bonfires.

Song of the Day: And many fantasies were learned on that day.

It is one of the final nights of summer, refreshingly cool and clear and caressed by gentle breezes. I don’t remember my exact age, probably 13 or 14.

The Fulton County Fair is coming to a close and I keep running into my classmates, getting in one last night of carefree fun before school starts up again in a couple of weeks.

The lights of the carnival seem a little brighter, a little richer than they do nowadays. And I am still under the impression that carnival workers are these creatures living a magical existence. I don’t yet smell the beer on their breaths or the distinct aroma of marijuana wafting out of the trailers they sleep in. Their tattoos are still really cool, not blurred and faded and gross. I haven’t yet discovered carnies are kind of skeevy. A little pushy, perhaps, when they try to get me to play their games for the magnificent prizes (I’d later learn that Carnival Plush is the cheapest, shoddiest kind of stuffed toy you can get.) And unlike telemarketers, you can’t hang up on them.

I meet up with Max and Ed. We go over to the Crane game. Nowadays, it’s a common moneygrabber everywhere from grocery stores to children’s pizza places to arcades. But in those days, you only saw such a magnificent machine once a year, at the carnival.

We quickly expend our supply of quarters in it. We scrounge together a couple of singles and hand them to the carnie, asking for change. He hands us ten quarters. Ten. Being honest folk, we question him and make sure it isn’t a mistake.

It isn’t. He does it to everybody. He knows he’ll get them all back anyway. Simultaneously, lightbulbs go off in all our little heads.

We hunt up their mom, explain the situation, and she gives us some more singles.

We return to the Crane, get change again, and don’t put it in the machine.

“We’ve got to play at least one game,” one of us points out. It might have been me, I don’t remember, “so he doesn’t figure out what’s going on.”

We settle on each of us playing one more game. A quarter apiece. On that quarter, I win a cobalt-blue, cowboy-boot-shaped shotglass. I slip it into my pocket and will later pack it away with my other magical totems – an arrowhead, an 1892 dime I found in the garden, and the like.

Then we decide to get a soda. Even back then, I was a cheapskate. One look at the prices charged for sodas in the concession stands and I suggest we go over to the city-owned soda machines at the tennis courts, adjacent to the fairgrounds.

We get the drinks, sit and talk awhile. About how the summer was too short and what the next year at school will be like, how things are changing and we are changing with them. Important stuff.

Then we return to the carnival. We walk past The Swing, a big, creaky-looking contraption on which riders sit on swings, rotating around a central point faster and faster until centrifugal force pushes them out so the chains on the swings are almost parallel to the ground. We stand almost directly under them, gaping up at them in amazement. The attendant has tuned the blaring radio to Z-93, a rock station from the small college town of Batesville.

The lights are sparkling again. The breeze is blowing. The times they are a-changing. I have the distinct feeling that this is a special moment in time and right here, right now, in this moment, life is good and I should cherish it because it will never, ever be this good again. At least not this good in this way.

And you know what? I was right.

And this is the song that is blaring out of The Swing.

From Matt J . . .

. . . in the comments of this Reason post on how teens rebel against being what to do (like that's news!) comes today's Quote of the Day:

The Truth ads are so douchey they made me start smoking again.

I agree. Let's all get together and do a class-action suit against them.

[H/T 2 libertarian.zebby.org]

Tammy Faye, RIP.

I was one of those who ridiculed her during the PTL mess. I was young. She made such an easy target. Little did I know that it would be she who had the last laugh.

It would have been the easiest thing in the world for her to hide in seclusion for the rest of her life.

But she didn't.

She spent the rest of her life making amends for the sins of her [ex]husband. She taught us that it's never too late to reinvent yourself and to get to work on earning your earthly redemption.

As for her heavenly redemption? That's one I'll leave for others. I do not claim to know what God is thinking.

Second acts are hard to come by in this world where we're all pretty much set in our ways. Hers was gaudy and unbowed and fabulous to the end.

Asked by King what she would most like to be remembered for, Messner [laughingly and jokingly] replied, "well, my eyelashes."

Spectacular.

More on the Patron Saint of Drag Queens here.

Today's word is . . .

. . . Galactagogue.

I came across it while researching the health benefits of nettles.

And no, it's not the Navy Blue Hanky, Left Pocket* to the Silver Surfer's Navy Blue Hanky, Right Pocket.

* -- That would be "Galactus," not "Galactagogue." For more on the Hanky Code, do an internet search for "Hanky Code." Duh!

Here's the part . . .

. . . where I pick a fairly minor point in a story and obsess over it.

The story? Salvia, banned in Missouri, can be obtained over the Internet and/or a roadtrip to Illinois.

The tidbit that interests me most?

Though the actual process the DEA must go through to get a drug illegalized is classified, DEA spokeswoman Rojene Waite did say that they have been collecting information on salvia in order to show that it meets the eight factors of analysis necessary to register a substance as controlled.

Is there any legitimate reason that the banning process should be classified? Any at all? Anyone? Anyone?

Theory vs. Reality.

Saturday I made a batch of cornbread using Jiffy corn muffin mix.

It tasted okay, but mostly it tasted like a corn dog without the weiner.

So, yesterday, I had a brilliant idea. Get some little smokies and another box of mix, mix them together, and make Corn Dog Bread.

When I took it out of the oven and turned it over onto a plate, it came all apart.

It was the most unappetizing-looking thing that has ever been seen since that scene in Pink Flamingos.

And, like Divine, I ate it anyway.

It actually tasted pretty good. But having to eat it with a spoon ruined the whole effect I was going for.

SO OVER THAT: Week of July 23 '07.

These three things I am SO over.

1.Those lame DirecTV commercials featuring movie clips where the actor pitches DirecTV in the middle of the scene. At least they could do some INTERESTING movie scenes. Like the ear scene in Reservoir Dogs. Or the squealy scene in Deliverance.

2.Products that deliberately misspell their names because Market Research apparently views illiteracy as trendy and eye-catching.

3.David Beckham, aka Mr. Posh Spice. Football is that sport they play in America and Australia. What you play, Mr. Spice, is soccer. Rugby is more footbally than soccer is.

Song of the Day: Living under the fear 'til nothing else remains.

It is sometime after midnight, somewhere between Little Rock and Salem Arkansas. I am wearing my new hideous green “Arkansas 4-H” T-shirt, sitting in the back seat of a car headed northward.

To my left is James Bancroft, my roomie for the past three days and nights at the Arkansas 4-H convention. He had curled his hair each night, having brought both a curling iron and styling mousse on our little trip. He was gay. I didn’t know it yet.

We are both still wearing the leis given to us at the dance that served as the closing ceremonies.

The driver is the head 4-H leader for our county. To her right are two Japanese exchange student girls. I think they are slightly younger than us. They appear to speak absolutely no English. Occasionally they peer back at us and jabber animatedly to each other. They are no doubt impressed with our studly American manliness and plotting how to manipulate us into marrying them so they don’t have to return to the Land of the Rising Sun.

Driver allows James to pop a tape into the radio. It is a mix tape we have made at the convention. Unfortunately, it was from two different single-deck tape players. Integrated, two-deckers are still in the reach of only the wealthy. It crackles and hisses and generally sounds like frying bacon. Between the popping of the cooking sliced pork products, however, a rap song spits out “L-L-L-L-L-L-Larry.” It came off some movie soundtrack belonging to Mr. Bancroft. We think it’s brilliant.

Halfway through, Driver has had enough of the hickory-smoked pig emanating from her speakers and pops out the tape. “I can listen to any kind of music, as long as it’s clear,” she explains. “But that static is giving me a headache.”

She fiddles with the tune knob until we find a decent rock station. “Hello Again” by the Cars comes on. Mr. Bancroft and I talk to each other while it plays. The girls peer at us in unison, turn back around, and yammer on.

A few songs later, this song comes on.



Mr. Bancroft and I sing along, loudly and not particularly trying to stay on key. The girls stare incredulously, then cover their little Japanese mouths with their little Japanese hands and giggle uncontrollably. I wonder if they understand how badly we are singing. They find us hilarious, and no doubt make little checkmarks in their heads on the lists that read “Handsome. American. Funny.”

Definitely husband material we are.

Eventually, the radio station peters out and the night is over. We never see the two Japanese girls again.

If they're going to have a product recall . . .

. . . shouldn't they, um, recall the product?

I bought a can of Castleberry's Barbecue Beef in the past few days.

Turns out, it might be all botulism-y.

So, do I take it back to the store where I bought it and get a refund? Would the store then get reimbursed by Castleberry's?

You would think. But, no.

Consumers with these products should dispose of them by double bagging in
plastic bags that are tightly closed before being placed in a trash receptacle
for non-recyclable trash outside of the home, according to the Food and Drug
Administration.

That's right. Castleberry's sells me a can of poisoned food and then gets to keep my money for it. And the FDA, who always has the consumer's best interests at heart, honest, is letting them do it.

I'm thinking of sending the can back to them COD.

Refresh my memory.

Didn't the NHC predict we were going to be hit with a buttload of hurricanes by now?

You know, the NHC, the organization that said last year was going to be one of the most active hurricane seasons ever.

Remember way back when . . .

. . . I used this blog to discuss issues of the day, political philosophy, and generally stuff that was . . . well, important?

If it seems that lately it's become just another "Look what I found that's NEATO on the internet"/"Here's a picture of my salad tongs!" blog, well, it kinda has.

The reason is that I can't for the life of me find much of anything going on in Washington, Little Rock, or Jeff City right now that interests me. So it's either YouTube or I sit staring at a screen devoid of anything interesting. Or I don't post at all.

And I know that if I ever start the "I'm not going in to blog today" thing, it will be that much easier to do it again the next day and the next and the next. I am SUCH a routine whore. And before you know it, three months have passed and my minions have quit checking in to see if I'm ever going to post again.

I'm hoping someday soon the news vacuum will fill up and I can get back to posting more highfalutin' matters.

Here's the part . . .

. . . where I steal appropriate nationalize eminent domain an idea from Kip. I'll try not to make a habit of it.

But when I saw this I couldn't resist.

FRIDAY CUTE YOUTUBER.



UPDATE: Hmm. I'm stymied. It seems that it's not playing correctly, at least part of the time. So if you hafta, follow this link.

Looks like I needn't have worried.

After seeing this, I can be confident that my doll action figure collection is not faggy enough to get my bear card rescinded.

Question:

Should sports writers get an asterisk beside their names on any awards they receive in "the spell-check era"?

Spellchecking IS, after all, performance enhancement.

Quote of the day.

"[I]t's hard to top the dancing vagrant who claims Elizabeth Taylor is Bigfoot . . ."

Be careful, my minions in the TX and NM . . .

. . . don't let Rodan get you.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers, guvnah!

Maybe a trip to England isn't a good idea.

They want your organs.

Who's up for . . .

. . . a trip to the Mother Country?

Why, you ask?

Free beer.

Song of the Day: How many miles would you walk?

I like how they say "you."

Sequel to 'Falling Down'?

The Remittance Man is having a really bad day.

Go give him a hug.

Your tax dollars being pissed down the drain.

Dude shoots Russian moose and sheep from helicopter. While technically illegal in Russia, Russian authorities have no problem with it, and nobody has complained.

US federal prosecutors' response?

Go after the guy.

Because they have jurisdiction over something that happened on Russian soil, you know, because moose and sheep are so rare.

How much of my money is being spent pursuing this?

Ahem . . . WHOSE money????

Rep. Don Young (R-AK)insists that taxpayers' money belongs not to the taxpayers, but rather to him, then treatens to bite Congress.

Rep. Don Young attacked his fellow Republicans on the House floor
Wednesday, as he defended education funds allocated to his home-state of Alaska.

"You want my money, my money," Young stridently declared before
warning conservatives that, "Those who bite me will be bitten back."

[H/T 2 LewRockwell.]

I am about to commit a thoughtcrime.

What I am about to say is about as far from politically correct as one can get. If you don't want to be an accomplice, move on to the next post now.

I hope these two pieces of shit get raped in jail. Violently. Several times every day. In every orifice. By someone with every known STD. Until their trial.

Then, after they are found guilty, I hope they are the ones who are set on fire.

Do the world a favor and hang yourselves with your bedsheets, you worthless cunts.

[H/T 2 Rogue Government.]

Wasn't this a mediocre movie where Matthew Broderick kissed Marlon Brando?

Gore serves up endangered fish at daughter's nuptials.

At least in The Freshman the mobster only defrauded people into thinking they were eating endangered species; he was really serving them chicken.

Spin: "I did not have ingestual relations with that fish!"

Return of Joycelyn.

Obama wants to talk dirty to your kindergarteners.

Let me guess. His pick for Surgeon General will be Joycelyn Elders, who was fond of wearing a military-type uniform complete with medals and insisted that children must be taught about masturbation.

Like they're never gonna figure that one out on their own.

[H/T 2 memeorandum.]

I've figured it out.

First, take a look at this clip from the Socialized Television program “Sesame Street,” keeping in mind that it IS socialized television.




Now, take into account that the Left is all about symbolism.

Bert symbolizes the HAVES in American society. The clay sculpture is the HAVE NOTS. Ernie is the government, and Bert’s nose is money.

The act of appropriating Bert’s nose and giving it to the sculpture is the redistribution of wealth through socialist economic policies such as the progressive income tax.

The government finds the looting of Bert’s wealth laugh-out-loud funny. Why should HE get to keep his nose, after all, when there are so many WITHOUT noses? True, Bert has a right to his own nose, but what are rights when there is need in the country? “Rights” is only a word, after all.

Socialized television does not go on to address the obvious, though. Does Bert not become the HAVE NOTS and the sculpture the HAVES? And why did the government create the HAVE NOTS without noses anyway?

The answer to that one is simple – so that it has an excuse to take Bert’s nose away from him. Ernie resents Bert’s ability to provide for his own needs. Ernie hates Bert’s unconcern for the plight of the sculpture. Ernie hates Bert’s certainty. Ernie, simply put, hates Bert.

But he’ll never admit it.

If I had written that skit, I would leave it exactly the way it is, except at the end, Bert would give a long, protracted, John-Galt-style speech and shoot Ernie in the head.

The bullet being symbolic of the ballot, of course.

Then Bert would take his nose back from the sculpture and tell the sculpture to grow it’s own nose or do without; he doesn’t care which.

End of scene.

Note: I tried to post this yesterday, but it disappeared. Perhaps a sinister, shadowy man smoking a cigarette in a darkened room at the hub of the blogosphere, on orders from our country's shadow government, removed it because of the part where Bert shoots Ernie in the head, not realizing it was symbolic of an election and not the actual shooting of the government in the head.

Song of the Day: I got fun; you want some?

I am on a 4-H trip to the Arkansas state fair.

A couple of friends and I are on this ride called "Alpine" somethingruther. It is basically a cross between a high-speed merry-go-round and a roller coaster.

Part of the ride goes into darkness. There is a strobe light. It is really cool.

But then, I am like 14.

The coolest part is when the ride is done.

For some reason, the attendant has to start it over before letting us off. And this time he has to run it in reverse.

And this song is playing really loud:



FF to present day. How cool is it that I found a video for the song that is also amusement park themed? KICKASS COOL, that's how cool!

But then, I am like 37.

Song of the Day: Post-Apocalyptic Product Distribution.

Can't find a video for this, so audio'll hafta do.

Truckstop At The End Of The World.

(Press the little green arrow thingie.)

The Muppet That Controls The Present Controls The Past.

I am certain that on Sesame Street, at one point Cookie Monster pulled off Kermit The Frog's eyes and ate them.

I was a child. It was horrible and frightening. More frightening even than when Ernie ripped off Bert's nose to put on his sculpture.

Thing is, I can find no mention of it anywhere.

Like Roosevelt Franklin, it has been "disappeared" from history.

Oh, Prairie Dawn*, where art thou?

Does anyone else remember the horrible eye-eating incident?

* - Note: Prairie Dawn hasn't been purged from history entirely, but she never appears on the show any more. She has been cast aside. "Your money's on the dresser, honey. I'm done with you. Get out."

The Rapture came at 7:11 Eastern . . .

. . . and the only one it took was this man, who seemed less than impressed with John Edwards.

[H/T 2 Drudge.]

Song of the Day: Beer Is Good for You.

Gummint Cheese: L for Liberty.

Click pic to embiggen.

So Over That -- Third week of July '07 edition.

These three things I am SO over.

1. TV shows that think they are clever for realizing "Grace" can mean "grace," but it could also be a girls name! The first time was clever . . . marginally. Every time since then has been unoriginal and lame. You want clever? Try Douched by an Angel! Now THAT's clever!

2. Candidates who bitch about the inclusion of other candidates in debates. Clinton and Edwards need to save the drama for Obama!

3. Sepia-toned pictures. "Black and white" means "BLACK and white," not "CRAP-COLORED and white!"

Sometimes I wish my interests had an OFF switch.

This, my friends, . . .

... started with the middle one on the middle row. It was so creepy-looking I *had* to get it.

But I couldn't stop at one, no no. That would be too easy.

Now I have a full-fledged doll collection.

Maybe I *am* a twink.

At least they're all creepy looking, in their own way.

Maybe it would help if I called them "action figures." Or hung fishing tackle on them.

Or doused them with Pennzoil.

They're gonna take my bear credentials away. I just know it.

Finally getting around to this.

I told you guys ages ago about the tat I got. Never did get around to posting a picture of it.

Here ya go.

Song of the Day: Fun with COEPIS.

It is fall of 1988, maybe spring of ’89.

On the campus of SMSU, there is a BBS run by the Psychology Department. It is called COEPIS.

You can sign in three times a day, assuming you don’t have dummy accounts allowing you to sign in more often, which is sometimes necessary because other people keep posting things that you need to respond to. You could have a dummy account; go in and read what has been posted, prepare your response, and then wait until just after midnight so you can sign in as yourself to post that response.

Not that I have any evidence of, or would condone, such a thing. Nudge nudge, wink wink,

COEPIS lets users see who has signed in recently. Their names are listed from the most recent signer-on backward.

So for instance, if Tom Hanna signed on, then Kevin Whited, then R Bryan Tyra, then me, the list would read:

JOHN HUTCHISON
R TYRA
KEVIN WHITED
TOM HANNA.

I am in R Bryan Tyra’s dorm room on one of the upper floors of Hammons House. It is late in the night. We hadn’t been drinking that night; honest! At that point, I had never seen Mr. Tyra touch a drop of alcohol.

He logs onto COEPIS using the cheap, amber-screened computer that came standard in each room in Hammons House.

“Let me show you something,” he tells me.

He signs into COEPIS as “YEAH YEAH,” then signs out and signs back in as “YOU YEAH.” He signs out again, and then signs back in as “SHE LOVES.” He brings up the Recent Loggers-On screen, and it says:

SHE LOVES
YOU YEAH
YEAH YEAH


One of the more memorable ones I left was

GONNA BUY
ME A
CONDO GONNA
BUY ME
A CUISINART!

You had to be careful and do this at off-peak hours, so nobody would sign in in the middle of your message and mess it up. Because

GONNA BUY
ME A
CONDO GONNA
BOBBY DAHL
BUY ME
A CUISINART!

just ain’t cool.

It wasn’t long after that, and the subsequent messages we left, that the Psychology Department made the Recent Loggers-On page unviewable.

There were a myriad of such messages, mostly partial song lyrics, but today’s song of the day is the Original.

Matt Westerhold gets new nickname.

"Asshat Matt."

I LIKE it!

The worst publicity blunder for a beverage since New Coke.

Alternate title: "Cornbread and Pepsi took the place of pills and Budweiser."

Budweiser lets Pepsi replace them as Junior's sponsor.

Stupid, stupid beer company! Without Junior and Earnhardt Nation, Bud is just another American beer. What, are they counting on replacing the lost consumers with both of the members of Kahne Nation? (And by "both" I mean Jesus and Mama, because I can't think of anyone else that loves him. Even those chicks that stalk him in his commercials are paid to stalk him.)

Jesus and Mama don't drink Bud, people.

It will be kind of funny to watch Jeff Gordon be pelted with Pepsi cans, though. They've sponsored him for how long?

[*SLAPS OWN HAND* BAD blogger! BAD BAD!!! We do not condone throwing beverage cans at drivers, no matter how big an a-hole they are! Nudge, nudge, wink, wink!]

And at least now Junior will win the Pepsi 400 once in awhile.

NASCAR will tell you there's no correlation between certain drivers with certain sponsors winning at certain tracks and/or races that have the same sponsors, but any reasonable observer can see that's total bull. Jimmie Johnson at Lowe's Motor Speedway ring a bell?

Maybe that's why Junior hasn't won any races this year. There's no Budweiser 500.

It is 1996. I am driving south on 59,

just past what I had just learned was called "The Arklatex."

I have gotten sick of my life in Salem, Arkansas, and decided to move to Houston TX.

I have no air conditioning in my ex-police-car, and the inside door handle on the driver's side doesn't work.

I have hit a pothole on the trip, sending my right front hubcap racing ahead of me and off into the unknown.

I have just hit this large white bird of some species I have never seen before. It ricochets off my windshield, over my car, and I see in my rearview mirror it bounces on the highway behind me like one of those big, soft softballs the retarded children play with.

I hope it is not endangered. Not out of any concern for the species, mind you, but because I don't want the government after me.

But on the rest of the trip southward, I see a bunch more of them, so my concerns are alleviated. What the hell are those things, anyway? Friggin' seagulls? I'm not anywhere near the ocean yet.

I'm not even in chachalaca territory yet. I'd just entered Tejano territory.

I drive on.

And this song comes on the radio. Trends start on the coasts, including apparently the Gulf Coast, in America, and work their way toward the heartland over time. Those Bart Simpson window cling thingies took almost a year to get there.

The checkerboard loafers in the 80's never did get there. Until Omar Newberry moved in from California.

But I digress.

This song had not made it to Salem, Arkansas, yet.

My first thought was that I had never heard anything like it. My second thought was that it was so catchy it would peak and become trite almost instantly.

Ladies and gentlemen, for today's Song of the Day, I give you . . .

... Macarena!

Got telemarketed by the HRC last night . . .

. . . even though I'm on the DO NOT CALL list.

Apparently, they bought my info from either the CRAPPY ADVOCATE or A BEAR'S LIFE.

Thing is, I don't think I gave either of those mags my phone number. Did the HRC call up every Hutchison in the Thayer phonebook and ask if John the Fag lives there?

I find out which one of them sold my info, there'll be hell to pay.

HRC just assumed that I would be in favor of an upcoming ThoughtCrime Bill and that I should be on the phone to my congressmen telling them to support it.

If I had planned on doing that, I certainly would not want to after being telemarketed by the HRC. For all they knew, they "outed" me to whoever answered the phone!

There is an argument to be made that might convince me to support this bill. That argument goes along the lines of "This isn't about whether or not hate crime laws are a good idea. This is about whether or not 'sexual orientation' should be added to the hate crimes law we already have."

The problem is, nobody's making that argument.

Instead, they are arguing that hate crime laws do not punish people for thinking wrong thoughts, which they clearly do. Their position seems to be that you can think whatever you want, as long as you don't act on it.

But they ignore the fact that, all other factors being equal, if person A gets two years in jail for robbing someone because he just wants to rob somebody, and person B gets 10 years for robbing someone because that someone is black, person B is getting punished 8 years because of what he thinks. That sounds a lot like thoughtcrime to me.

Why lawnmowing should be banned.

As you may or may not know, my pledge thingie failed. The one where if I got a certain number of fellow pledgers (1000? 10000?) by July 4, we'd quit mowing our lawns until the price of gas fell below $2.50 a gallon.

I got two fellow pledgers.

Anyway, I was out mowing the yard with the Fuck You Ragheads Machine yesterday.

I wore a stunning ensemble of a black tee, old floppy black shorts, and an old pair of loafers.

I also sucked on a cigarette. Cigarettes make you cool, sexy, and popular.

At one point, the "cherry" fell out of my cigarette and into the top of my shoe, under the tongue.

By the time I got the shoe off, a big, painful blister had formed. Blisters are second-degree burns, I think.

I rushed in and slathered it with neosporin and put a bandage on it.

Maybe it won't become infected and gangrenous and have to be amputated.

An amputated foot is not very cool and sexy. I don't know about popular.

If they amputated my foot, I'd be hopping mad.

I hate grass. Why does it have to, you know, grow so much?

Write your congressman.

I can't resist.

Today's quote of the day:

"As for the men, Randy Weaver is fine as an older, more experienced hand at love . . ."

Is it the same one?

What? The government LIED? Surely NOT!

THE FBI'S counter terrorism unit sent a large number of fake emergency letters to phone companies, asking them to turn over phone records immediately.

According to Wired, the letters are part of a legitimate procedure which is supposed to be used so that the spooks can get access while the Feds are getting a warrant.

But it seems that the letters, signed by Larry Mefford,the Executive Assistant Director, in charge of the Counterterrorism/Counterintelligence Division, were faked and the department had no intention [emphasis mine] of getting a warrant.

Fucking bastards.

[H/T 2 Rogue Government.]

Song of the Day: Reach out and touch me.

Xander Moore of Thayer Missouri is a fucking asshole.

About a week ago, I'm sitting at station 4 in the library. Station six is right behind station four, at an angle.

This guy comes in and starts playing some retarded "Harry Potter" type game at station 6, with the sound so high I can hear it over my earphones.

So, naturally, I flip over to Indian Thriller and turn up my earphones loud enough that I can't hear his retarded little Harry Potter game. I can still hear occasional sounds from him, even then.

Pretty soon he has the nerve to tap me on the shoulder and ask me to turn it down!

Fucking asshole. At least I'm wearing earphones, which can't be said of you.

And if I unplugged my earphones and let the music come through the speakers, it still wouldn't be as loud as he is playing the sound on his retarded Harry Potter game.

He looks to be in his late teens. WTF is he doing playing Harry Potter games anyway?

Instead of ripping him a new one, I got pissed off and left.

I wished I had thought to look on the signout sheet to see what his name is.

Today he is back at station 6.

I am at station 1.

His name is Xander Moore. And Xander Moore is a fucking asshole.

I have my earphones on again. Once in awhile I turn up the volume and use this speech synthesizer to blast messages through my head and across the room.

You know; messages like "Xander Moore [only I have to spell it 'Zander More' so it gets pronounced correctly] is a shithead!" and "Xander Moore needs to go home now!" and "Suicide is the only solution for Xander Moore!"

That speech synthesizer comes in handy. When used in conjunction with YouTube, it lets my overlay "You must learn. All night long. How to say. 93." onto Marilyn Manson's "Beautiful People," which I am also blasting through my head and across the room.

21st Century Salem Witches.

Despite being a small Arkansas county tucked in the midst of the Bible Belt, Fulton County is also home to the state’s largest gathering of pagan believers and interfaith worshippers.

Located along Highway 9 south about 10 miles passed the Salem city limits is a piece of property owned by the I.S.I.S Foundation – the instructional society for interfaith studies.

Fulton County Sheriff Walter Dillinger said area residents have contacted his office numerous times with questions regarding the organization. “We can’t get in; it’s all private land. But we haven’t had any problems with them – mostly people just wondering what’s going on,” Dillinger said.

Who calls the police for someone moving into the neighborhood? And why do the police feel justified in wanting to get in, when no evidence of any crimes being committed at all has been presented?

That's the biggest problem with Salem -- nearly all the people there think it's their right to mind everyone else's business.

They'd bring out the torches and pitchforks if someone set up a Cactus Canyon there.

Lady Bird Johnson, RIP.

To tell the truth, I didn't really realize she was still alive.

Mr. Whited and I used to drive around Houston and whenever we'd see a field of (usually a single color of) flowers by a highway, we'd exclaim "Lady Bird's been here!" Such fields are stunning and common in Texas. Even the median strip in the middle of multi-lane highways is sometimes planted in flowers.

While I don't understand her phobia of billboards, we owe her our gratitude for realizing that it is just as easy and inexpensive to plant flowers beside the highways as it is to plant scrubgrass.

I just wish the Missouri and Arkansas highway departments would follow her lead a little more.

Farewell, grand lady of Texas. Go make Heaven's highways a little more beautiful.

"Have you found God?" "I didn't know He was missing."

Prosecutors: God is homeless.

A Romanian convict's legal action against God has failed - because
prosecutors could not find God’s address.

Pavel Mircea, from Timisoara, who is serving a 20 year sentence for
murder, launched legal action against God two years ago.

In his legal claim he stated: "God and I closed a contract when I was
baptised and God did not respect his part of the deal.
...
But the prosecutors in Timisoara have decided to drop the case after two
years.

A spokesman said: "We could not find God’s address. He has no home
address."

Did they try looking in Teman? That's where God came from. Maybe he still has a residence there.

My ugly mug.

You won't see a lot of pictures of me here on the blog, mostly because nobody (including me) wants to look at my ugly mug, but I *have* occasionally received an email from a minion or two who wants to gaze upon my visage. It's easier to worship someone when you know what they look like, I guess.

So here you go. They were taken with my digicam over the past couple of days.

Those of you with weak constitutions, avert thine eyes.

Don't be TOO nasty with your comments, or I'll post the collage I sent to R of pictures of what happens in the Gay Hulk Family household when Mikey is gone to camp! :)

It is Spring Break of 1988,

my senior year in high school.

I am in the public-housing apartment belonging to my friend Tom Rhodemyre, along with my three other best friends.

Tom's mother is foolishly away for a few days.

I am the least drunk among us.

One of us has thrown up spaghetti on the couch. I manage to get that reasonably cleaned up. His brother has stepped in it and spends the rest of the night insisting he needs to "warsh his feeties."

Mr. Rhodemyre, who is not particularly religious, is on the front porch preaching to an invisible congregation.

The last of us is for some reason lying reclined in the front seat of his car.

I get no sleep that night.

And, oh yeah, today's song of the day is playing.

Gay people can't count.

From 365gay.com, on the "gay debate":

Hillary Clinton [that's 1], Barack Obama [2], John Edwards [3] and Chris Dodd [4] have confirmed they will participate. Several other Democratic candidates also may join the debate.

The debate will be conducted with a live audience in Los Angeles. On the panel questioning the two Democrats will be Human Rights Campaign president Joe Solmonese and singer Melissa Etheridge.

Question: Why are Democrats the only ones allowed to have an opinion on "gay issues"? Where's Ron Paul?

[H/T 2 Drudge.]

Oh, JESUS F***ING CHRIST!!!

Arkansas Tech gets in on the Political Correctness action, too!

The school also cited concern by the committee over evolving connotations of the term Wonder Boy.

"These connotations include slurs about an individual's manhood or race, and the slurs have been used against Tech when recruiting," the release said.

...

The school expressed concern that current nicknames "do not lend themselves to a visual identity suitable for printed materials and other marketing initiatives."

The school said some students have dressed up as superheros, which it said "is not consistent with the spirit or the proud history of the name."

Is there anyone on the planet who genuinely finds the term "Wonder Boy" offensive?

A little silly, yes. But no sillier than, say, the Green Wave.

But if you HAVE to change it, I say go with "Skunk Apes."

Or Chupacabri.

Supposedly, there's some survey floating around about it, but I can't find it.

Cape Girardistan.

"Shock time" for putting up a sign?

Grandfathering has been Dennis McDonald's argument for keeping his banner up at The Mattress Guys on Kingshighway. McDonald has stated on several occasions his banner should be grandfathered in. However, according to Morgan, no banner sign is eligible for grandfathering. McDonald said his permanent sign will be installed by Monday. McDonald recently served five days of "shock time" for failing to comply with the ordinance. He has a revocation of probation hearing in front of Judge Gary Kamp at 1 p.m. today.

Thomas Jefferson would vomit.

Song of the Day: Messy Paul Anka Moons A Dove.

Observation.

Pawhuskans are strange.

Milli Vadonna?

Madge axe-synchs Live Aid performance.

[H/T 2 Drudge.]

Which brings us to our Song of the Day . . .

Mine doesn't look like that.

Planned building to be "revisited."

Because someone (possibly Tipper Gore) thinks it looks like a pee-pee.

I've never seen a pee-pee that looks like that.

But then again; I've never seen Robocop's.

BTW, C-3PO's I've seen, and it doesn't look like that.

Umm. They ARE aware they're a MINOR league team, right?

I came *this* close to endorsing apparel for the double-entendre-y Frisco Rough Riders.

Then I looked at the enormous prices.

So BUTTE PIRATES it remains, then!

(Not double-entendre-y, but worthy of a special mention, are the Fighting Whiteys!)

Discovery.

Something I did not know about Kip --

">

He has a Mike Huckabee hairdo.


:)

I'd like to see him give the Chris Matthews Show the same treatment.

Matthews: All right, panelists -- Tell me something I don't know.

Kip: Furuncles have nothing to do with your mother's hairy brothers.

This is one of those posts where I post that I can't think of anything to post because nothing postworthy is happening in the world.

Doncha just hate those?

Dunno if I can post tomorrow or not.

What's the sputum, Kenneth?

Couric's a sputophobe.

Katie Couric admitted to slapping a staff member for using the word "sputum" in June, an article in New York magazine reports.
...
The word sputum, which refers to coughed up substances such as mucus or phlegm, was banned from further broadcasts.

Is it too late to bring back Bob?

Song of the Day.

BONUS!

Song of the Day: Erasure's CHAINS OF LOVE.

Wanna see . . .

. . . a map to Matt Westerhold's house? Here you go.

Map of 322 Deepwood Ln Amherst, OH 44001-1972, US

Here's the house registered to his ex-wife.

And I think this is his old address.

And here's a satellite picture of where he works.

Matt Westerhold doesn't know what the word "concealed" means. It means "people don't know." So Matt takes it upon himself to make sure people do know.

Anyone with a little extra cash they can blow could run a background check.

UPDATE:

Click pic to embiggen.

And according to US SEARCH, his middle name appears to be "Howard."

Matt Westerhold is the frontrunner for July's Douchebag of the Month award.
[Thanks, Overtorqued.]

He's more deader now.

From Examiner.com:

The U.S. command in Baghdad this week ballyhooed the killing of a key al Qaeda leader but later admitted that the military had declared him dead a year ago.

They killed him twice? His name didn't happen to be Lazarus, did it?

[H/T 2 RogueGovernment.]

Song of the Day, Theme from TWIN PEAKS.

I knew this was coming.

Lawsuit seeks perfume-free workplace.

Every argument in favor of workplace smoking bans applies here as well. Perfumes contain more carcinogens than cigarette smoke, and the "stink factor" is just as bad if not worse.

So you Health Nazis better be just as vocal in your support of this as you are about smoking bans. If you're not, you are exposing your own total lack of integrity.

Al Gore's son arrested for drugs, excessive Priusing.

Wasn't he Steve The Pirate in Dodgeball?

[H/T 2 memeorandum.]

Song of the Day, 1812 Overture.

Mr. Whited and I once insisted that in order to be a song, it has to have lyrics. So maybe this should be "Music of the Day."

Of course, we also insisted that in order to be Big Band music, you have to be able to snap your fingers to it.

So I don't know if we are legitimate authorities on music appreciation.

Speaking of UFO's.

Military PR man's deathbed affadavit:

Roswell UFO was real; I saw bodies.

Damn Flash Delay.

I knew this would happen when I first became a Vivitard.

I'd rapidly become disappointed in it's limitations.

I can't take a picture in the dark without a flash.

And you have to wait for the flash to charge.

Then, after you press the button to take the picture, there's a couple seconds delay before it takes the pic.

As a result, all my fireworks pictures are shit.

I COULD pass them off as fuzzy UFO pictures, I guess.

Decided to come in today . . .

. . . 'cuz the library will almost certainly be closed tomorrow for Independence Day.

So here's the Song of the Day for tomorrow.

Gay Hulk Family, 7-3-07.

Click pic to embiggen.

If you missed . . .

. . . Offbeat Cinema yesterday, then you missed Teenage Caveman and an armadillo with papier-mache horns stuck on it's head. (I think that footage was also used in One Million B.C.)

It was as fantastic as the planet in Fantastic Planet.

Dunno if I'll be in tomorrow . . .

. . . so here's tomorrow's Song of the Day for you.


Kyrie by Mr. Mister. The drummer seems to have escaped from A Flock of Seagulls.

(Hey, don't bitch. It was going to be this!)

Minion Participation Time.

Which word is gayer --

pouf
or

manema?

Lieberman: Big Brother Not Big Enough.

“The Brits have got something smart going in England, and it was part of why I believe they were able to so quickly apprehend suspects in the terrorist acts over the weekend, and that is they have cameras all over London and other of their major cities,” Lieberman said.

“I think it’s just common sense to do that here much more widely,” he added.

Song of the Day -- Strangers in The Night by Frank Sinatra.

Postdated, abbreviated Sunday Edition.

FurTV for Sunday 7/1/07.

8-9 PM Star Trek, on whatever the hell they're calling what used to be the WB nowadays. While everyone else is fighting over Kirk and Spock, there's a certain chief engineer who's up for grabs!

Song of the Day -- It's My Life by Bon Jovi.