H/T: Cudi Bug
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Rings Around My What?
Nils sends a fantastic link of recent Cassini space probe images of Saturn, her rings and moons.
Truly es-spectacular and beautiful!
Enjoy!
Truly es-spectacular and beautiful!
Enjoy!
Epic Fail. . .
Courtesy of Hot Air:
"It’s a nine-percent bump in the two weeks since Anita Dunn’s whine heard ’round the world — in terms of overall audience. Among the coveted 25-54 demographic? A 14-percent bump. Good work, Barry."
And people wonder why Fox is on top in ratings? Well, maybe it's because they at least try to tell the truth instead of gargling President Buckethead's balls on a daily basis. Journalism has long been dead and Fox is doing all they can to retain the last vestiges of proper reporting.
"It’s a nine-percent bump in the two weeks since Anita Dunn’s whine heard ’round the world — in terms of overall audience. Among the coveted 25-54 demographic? A 14-percent bump. Good work, Barry."
And people wonder why Fox is on top in ratings? Well, maybe it's because they at least try to tell the truth instead of gargling President Buckethead's balls on a daily basis. Journalism has long been dead and Fox is doing all they can to retain the last vestiges of proper reporting.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Culinary Delights. . .
Nils sends the following text message:
"Culinary delight of the day- Ben Ford's filling station (son of Harrison) a gastro-pub in L.A. Sell fried pig eyes and suckling confit - look it up!"
So, let's do that!
A quick perusal of the menus do not indicate any fried pig eyes as Nils' text indicates, but there are a plethora of other pork products for the curious infidel that lives in all of us.
Potted headcheese for starters, various preparations of cured and smoked meats, including sopressatta, bresaola and coppa, and tucked away in the entree section, simple BBQ pork ribs. Sounds delightful!
After a perusal of the menu, I didn't find anything particularly over-the-top nor offensive to my broad palate and frankly, was slightly unimpressed by the menu. Now, with that being said, there is a whole 'nother ideal to eating and it's called dining. Reading a menu is one thing, but sitting down for a dinner in a restaurant is completely different. What may seem mundane when written on a piece of paper may come alive in the mouth with interesting flavors, contrasts and textures. Adding to that experience, the ambiance of the restaurant and the speed and quality of service can open up doors of elation and satisfaction previously unknown. Of course, good company doesn't hurt either.
I recall a time when Nils and I were doing "market research" for a restaurant concept, which consisted of drinking all day on a Sunday as were caroused from one bar to the next restaurant and so on, until it was 9:30 at night when we happened upon The River House in Palm Beach Gardens. We had already had one meal that evening and by this point food was a quiet afterthought.
Nils and I sat at a lone 4-top in the middle of the nearly empty dining room and ordered a singular bottle of wine from the menu. If memory serves me correctly and in this case it does, we ordered Conundrum. I can attest that we really didn't need it, but we wanted it and men shall not be denied. Especially so, for a couple of probably odiferous men clad in flip-flops, board shorts and offensive and mildly stained t-shirts.
The waiter simply couldn't comprehend why these two slugs were invading the quiet of his restaurant garden and the other staff quietly kept watch over us as they prepared their stations for evening's end.
I guess they expected us to start running rabidly in circles, flipping tables over while babbling nonsense about evil government brain rays that were controlling the universe or something, but Nils and I were quite content to enjoy to our deliciously crisp digestif of white wine. An entire bottle of it.
And frankly, we were glowing with the simple knowledge that our mere presence within the confines of this fine establishment was making everyone else ill at ease. What kind of nuts show up poorly dressed and rather shady in character to order a bottle of fruity white wine at 10:00 p.m. Sunday night? Well, think Raoul Duke and his attorney in a deserted, late-night diner in Vegas.
After the cautious second return trip of the waiter, we made it quite clear that his presence was not required and possibly we would be ordering something else, but we would let him know. Do you have another bottle of the Conundrum? He disappeared for good.
In the end, it was a great time for us over a simple bottle of wine and the unexpectant waiter walked away with a 50% tip on a $50.00 check for his patience. A favorite memory of ours and gives righteousness to the thought that dining is much more than words on a piece of paper.
Back to the pig eyes.
Well indeed it was. And here is the proof. And not just deep fried pig eye, but deep fried pig eye that has been stuffed with more pig! In this case, with tender ham hock meat! Allah, peace be upon his pedophilia, is surely enraged. I call it genius. Not sure if I'd eat it, but maybe after a few draws from my favorite green bottle. . .
"Culinary delight of the day- Ben Ford's filling station (son of Harrison) a gastro-pub in L.A. Sell fried pig eyes and suckling confit - look it up!"
So, let's do that!
A quick perusal of the menus do not indicate any fried pig eyes as Nils' text indicates, but there are a plethora of other pork products for the curious infidel that lives in all of us.
Potted headcheese for starters, various preparations of cured and smoked meats, including sopressatta, bresaola and coppa, and tucked away in the entree section, simple BBQ pork ribs. Sounds delightful!
After a perusal of the menu, I didn't find anything particularly over-the-top nor offensive to my broad palate and frankly, was slightly unimpressed by the menu. Now, with that being said, there is a whole 'nother ideal to eating and it's called dining. Reading a menu is one thing, but sitting down for a dinner in a restaurant is completely different. What may seem mundane when written on a piece of paper may come alive in the mouth with interesting flavors, contrasts and textures. Adding to that experience, the ambiance of the restaurant and the speed and quality of service can open up doors of elation and satisfaction previously unknown. Of course, good company doesn't hurt either.
I recall a time when Nils and I were doing "market research" for a restaurant concept, which consisted of drinking all day on a Sunday as were caroused from one bar to the next restaurant and so on, until it was 9:30 at night when we happened upon The River House in Palm Beach Gardens. We had already had one meal that evening and by this point food was a quiet afterthought.
Nils and I sat at a lone 4-top in the middle of the nearly empty dining room and ordered a singular bottle of wine from the menu. If memory serves me correctly and in this case it does, we ordered Conundrum. I can attest that we really didn't need it, but we wanted it and men shall not be denied. Especially so, for a couple of probably odiferous men clad in flip-flops, board shorts and offensive and mildly stained t-shirts.
The waiter simply couldn't comprehend why these two slugs were invading the quiet of his restaurant garden and the other staff quietly kept watch over us as they prepared their stations for evening's end.
I guess they expected us to start running rabidly in circles, flipping tables over while babbling nonsense about evil government brain rays that were controlling the universe or something, but Nils and I were quite content to enjoy to our deliciously crisp digestif of white wine. An entire bottle of it.
And frankly, we were glowing with the simple knowledge that our mere presence within the confines of this fine establishment was making everyone else ill at ease. What kind of nuts show up poorly dressed and rather shady in character to order a bottle of fruity white wine at 10:00 p.m. Sunday night? Well, think Raoul Duke and his attorney in a deserted, late-night diner in Vegas.
After the cautious second return trip of the waiter, we made it quite clear that his presence was not required and possibly we would be ordering something else, but we would let him know. Do you have another bottle of the Conundrum? He disappeared for good.
In the end, it was a great time for us over a simple bottle of wine and the unexpectant waiter walked away with a 50% tip on a $50.00 check for his patience. A favorite memory of ours and gives righteousness to the thought that dining is much more than words on a piece of paper.
Back to the pig eyes.
Well indeed it was. And here is the proof. And not just deep fried pig eye, but deep fried pig eye that has been stuffed with more pig! In this case, with tender ham hock meat! Allah, peace be upon his pedophilia, is surely enraged. I call it genius. Not sure if I'd eat it, but maybe after a few draws from my favorite green bottle. . .
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Christmas Dreams. . .
With Christmas just around the corner I can't help but have visions of sugar plums dancing in my head as the holiday season approaches.
Umm Beatrice, I think I have an idea what I want for Christmas this year.
Umm Beatrice, I think I have an idea what I want for Christmas this year.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
It's Friday Afternoon. . .
. . .and. . .
And later, I expect to be two dozen miles south and east, drinking Heineken, sipping some Jagermeister and occasionally firing my .357 magnum from the front porch.
Hey, I've gotta celebrate for Obama somehow.
Any other suggestions?
And later, I expect to be two dozen miles south and east, drinking Heineken, sipping some Jagermeister and occasionally firing my .357 magnum from the front porch.Hey, I've gotta celebrate for Obama somehow.
Any other suggestions?
Freewill. . .
Yeah I know, this is another Rush posst, but hey, I'm a fan and this is one of my favorite songs. And I've invited the readers of The Big Feed over for a little decompression after my latest editorial.
This song couldn't be any more pertinent now as it was 29 years ago. And of course, the break in the song at around the 3:00 minute mark is something to behold. I believe they call it "groove."
Anyway, enjoy on this beautiful Friday morning before the storms hit!
This song couldn't be any more pertinent now as it was 29 years ago. And of course, the break in the song at around the 3:00 minute mark is something to behold. I believe they call it "groove."
Anyway, enjoy on this beautiful Friday morning before the storms hit!
The Trifecta. . .
Q: What do Yasser Arafat, Al Gore and Barack Obama all have in common?
A: They're all assholes! And NobelCorrpution Peace Prize Winners.
And on a semi-related note, Leonard Pitts, a Pulitzer Prize winning asshole, er journalist, uh, man who writes words for a living, dug deeply within himself a couple of days ago to author an editorial lambasting the misdirected support for child rapist Roman Polanski.
Now, to steal a phrase from Nobel Peace Prize winner Barack Obama, "let me be clear", I hold Leonard Pitts' opinions no higher than I would hold a dried ferret turd and although I agree with the premise of his argument, I could have done without the nitty-gritty sexual detail of the sexual assault of a 13-year old girl.
This is the kind of writing that should be wrapped in plastic and kept behind a convenience store counter. Sounds like a great idea for each of Leonard's columns. Hear that Miami Herald?
So, who's the pervert Mr. Pitts?
A: They're all assholes! And Nobel
And on a semi-related note, Leonard Pitts, a Pulitzer Prize winning asshole, er journalist, uh, man who writes words for a living, dug deeply within himself a couple of days ago to author an editorial lambasting the misdirected support for child rapist Roman Polanski.
Now, to steal a phrase from Nobel Peace Prize winner Barack Obama, "let me be clear", I hold Leonard Pitts' opinions no higher than I would hold a dried ferret turd and although I agree with the premise of his argument, I could have done without the nitty-gritty sexual detail of the sexual assault of a 13-year old girl.
This is the kind of writing that should be wrapped in plastic and kept behind a convenience store counter. Sounds like a great idea for each of Leonard's columns. Hear that Miami Herald?
So, who's the pervert Mr. Pitts?
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
What If. . .
Follow this link for a very interesting compilation of "What ifs. . ." and our favorite buckethead in chief.
I think they left one out though. . ."What if George Bush kicked the shit out of Obama just for the helluva it?"
He is from Texas you know. They're prone to that kind of thing.
I think they left one out though. . ."What if George Bush kicked the shit out of Obama just for the helluva it?"
He is from Texas you know. They're prone to that kind of thing.
Paper Tiger. . .
. . .meet the scissors.
No, this is more like hydraulic meat shears. Ouch!
Who knew Obama was so soft??
No, this is more like hydraulic meat shears. Ouch!
Who knew Obama was so soft??
The Return. . .
Many of you may remember Mr. Baggins from previous porch encounters. Well, he's back and dumber than ever.
I left an open bag of bird seed on the porch Friday night, his favorite that contains peanuts and raisins. Beatrice and I were quietly drinking our adult beverages when I heard "munch, munch, munch" going on to my left. I looked down and lo' and behold, it's Mr. Baggins!
He appears fat, happy and healthy. And the cats? Well, they were probably busy dominating the internet or something as they provided no protection. Which reminds me of a certain deceased black and white Tico cat named Boo Boo who was also impotent against the invasive powers of Mr. Baggins.
I left an open bag of bird seed on the porch Friday night, his favorite that contains peanuts and raisins. Beatrice and I were quietly drinking our adult beverages when I heard "munch, munch, munch" going on to my left. I looked down and lo' and behold, it's Mr. Baggins!
He appears fat, happy and healthy. And the cats? Well, they were probably busy dominating the internet or something as they provided no protection. Which reminds me of a certain deceased black and white Tico cat named Boo Boo who was also impotent against the invasive powers of Mr. Baggins.
Catz. . .
Recently, there was a terrifically lame attempt at banning cats from the internet for a day. Now, this pisses me off for several reasons:
A. I love cats and have three of my own.
B. The official date of this pathetic exercise is in September which shares the month with another idiotic celebration called International Talk Like a Pirate Day and that fabulous day known as my birth on the 19th.
C. Let's face it, cats rule the planet and there is nothing we can we about it.
So, in the face of all this anti-cattiness on the internet, I am striking back with the following:
and lastly. . .
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
A. I love cats and have three of my own.
B. The official date of this pathetic exercise is in September which shares the month with another idiotic celebration called International Talk Like a Pirate Day and that fabulous day known as my birth on the 19th.
C. Let's face it, cats rule the planet and there is nothing we can we about it.
So, in the face of all this anti-cattiness on the internet, I am striking back with the following:
and lastly. . .
see more Lolcats and funny pictures
Finally. . .
The French grow a pair and get tough. Good for them.
Looks like Obama could use a lesson on decision-making from Sarkozy.
And all too often, I find myself wondering about exactly whose side this clown is on?
Looks like Obama could use a lesson on decision-making from Sarkozy.
And all too often, I find myself wondering about exactly whose side this clown is on?
Monday, October 5, 2009
Monday's Zen. . .
Do not follow the ideas of others, but learn to listen to the voice within yourself. Your body and mind will become clear and you will realize the unity of all things. -- Dōgen
Friday, September 25, 2009
No Werdz. . .
The chaps over at The Big Feed have dug up what could possibly be archaeological evidence of a new language. The only problem is, only one person speaks it and she's from Ruleville, Mississippi.
NYT Meets The Clarion Ledger. . .
Seems that a favorite pastime of The New York Times and New York folks such as tax-scoundrel Charles Rangel is to kick Mississippi at any chance given in order to keep things right in the world.
Well NYT, I think the French say it best: touché!
Americans like to say: sucks to be you!
Either way, The Clarion Ledger, our local paper, puts a grand smackdown on the New York Times in rebuttal to Monday's NYT editorial calling out Mississippi for misuse of HUD funds after Hurricane Katrina.
Pot meet kettle.
Well NYT, I think the French say it best: touché!
Americans like to say: sucks to be you!
Either way, The Clarion Ledger, our local paper, puts a grand smackdown on the New York Times in rebuttal to Monday's NYT editorial calling out Mississippi for misuse of HUD funds after Hurricane Katrina.
Pot meet kettle.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Riddle Me This. . .
Lately, I've begun reading books again, which is a favorite activity of mine. I go through spells and absences when I don't read for many months, but I've made a minor goal of at least keeping one book handy at a minimum. Typically, I have two or more going at the same time.
Here is a list of books that I have read over the last couple of months:
The Masked Rider by Neil Peart
Ghost Rider by Neil Peart
Traveling Music by Neil Peart
Roadshow by Neil Peart
Yes, I'm a Neil Peart fan. Sue me. He is a fabulous writer and his non-fiction stories of his life and times are gripping, entertaining and contain many emotional moments of laughter, tears, good times and bad. Read his books.
Enter the Past Tense by Roland Haas, a true story of a CIA agent and all that CIA secret agent stuff like cute puppy dogs and sweet cotton candy. Ah, no. HALO jumps into West Germany, slicing the necks of bad guys, you know, that kind of CIA secret agent stuff. A good read.
Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose. Need I say more? I was 3/4's of the way through this book until I met an Army MP Friday afternoon on the plane to Houston who had just returned from a one year deployment in Iraq. I thanked him for his service, welcomed him home, and gave him the book as he needed something to read all the way to Oregon. God Bless our troops and this still great country that they defend.
Homer's Odyssey by Gwen Cooper is a gooey, sappy story of love and dedication between a woman and her blind cat. Fascinating story on animal behavior and yes, I got teary-eyed a couple of times.
Island in the Stream and For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway. Well, what can you say about Hemingway, other than, he's Hemingway and his books are great! From these two I'd have a hard time making a choice of favorites. Next up are The Old Man and the Sea and To Have and Have Not. I read The Old Man and the Sea many, many moons ago as required high school reading and I enjoyed the story then, but I feel now as a grown man I would most certainly enjoy and understand the true meaning more profoundly, as I can now look past the words to grasp the greater meaning. If there is one. Hell, maybe it's just a great fishing story, nothing more nothing less.
And lastly, two books that I started some months ago and recently picked back up, The Naked and The Dead by Norman Mailer and American Lion (Andrew Jackson) by Jon Meacham.
Believe it or not, I wrote all of this so I could blast off on the Food and Drug Administration.
Hemingway was a great lover of food and drink and probably some other illicit items, but he and his contemporaries railed against the almighty forces of life in a much different time, when the world was younger and positively freer than today. And one of the great escapes for them, in Hemingway's heyday, was absinthe.
Absinthe was banned in the United States in 1915 and only recently was re-legalized by the U.S. government. Of course, there are many a fable and myth about absinthe. Hallucinations, mass murder sprees, you name it and they've tried to pin it upon the beverage. Evil stuff I'm telling you. Reminds me of the usual argument about gun violence. Forget that people kill other people with guns. Too complicated. Guns kill people. So does absinthe with that logic.
Well, here is where the irony comes in. It turns out, after significant scientific research was performed, these old recipe absinthes have far less thujone, the psychoactive substance found in wormwood, than originally suspected, or advertised, for that matter. However, that does not stop the federal government from closely regulating the contents of modern absinthe. The liquor must actually be tested and determined to be "thujone-free", which is a content of 10 ppm or less. Negligible amounts by any standard.
But on the other hand, go to a health nut store and you can purchase of a bottle of sage oil, which has been deemed by the FDA to be "safe", although it can contain a thujone content of nearly 50%. Go figure.
Anyway, we had some absinthe over the weekend, a brand called Lucid, and I must admit that I found it to be delightfully refreshing. I didn't get too carried away, as I didn't want to wake Sunday feeling like I wrestled a bus filled with angry hermaphroditic Dave Matthews fans. The flavor is licorice heavy, but offset by the sugar cube that is melted through a slotted spoon using chilled water. This traditional method dilutes the high alcohol content of the spirit and smooths out the sharp edge of the flavors.
We had a running joke around the Saturday night drinking table about "moments of clarity" after Beatrice fumbled some words after her second draw from the drink. "Hey, how's that moment of clarity working out for you?"
In the end, I guess there was a mild feeling of heightened awareness, possibly a clarity of the mind, but I also felt a bit tired 45 minutes or so later. I have read that this stimulant/depressive effect is common because of the proprietary herb blend used by each distillery. Either way, it was a nice departure from hammering down a bottle of Jägermeister and a 12-pack of Heineken Light on my birthday.
Verdict: I didn't feel like Hemingway, nor did I feel the urge to slice of any facial appurtenances like van Gogh, but the buzz was nice and the initial numbing of the tongue was kinda neat too. I remand absinthe to my own custody for further review, which I will do with eagerness.
Here is a list of books that I have read over the last couple of months:
The Masked Rider by Neil Peart
Ghost Rider by Neil Peart
Traveling Music by Neil Peart
Roadshow by Neil Peart
Yes, I'm a Neil Peart fan. Sue me. He is a fabulous writer and his non-fiction stories of his life and times are gripping, entertaining and contain many emotional moments of laughter, tears, good times and bad. Read his books.
Enter the Past Tense by Roland Haas, a true story of a CIA agent and all that CIA secret agent stuff like cute puppy dogs and sweet cotton candy. Ah, no. HALO jumps into West Germany, slicing the necks of bad guys, you know, that kind of CIA secret agent stuff. A good read.
Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose. Need I say more? I was 3/4's of the way through this book until I met an Army MP Friday afternoon on the plane to Houston who had just returned from a one year deployment in Iraq. I thanked him for his service, welcomed him home, and gave him the book as he needed something to read all the way to Oregon. God Bless our troops and this still great country that they defend.
Homer's Odyssey by Gwen Cooper is a gooey, sappy story of love and dedication between a woman and her blind cat. Fascinating story on animal behavior and yes, I got teary-eyed a couple of times.
Island in the Stream and For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway. Well, what can you say about Hemingway, other than, he's Hemingway and his books are great! From these two I'd have a hard time making a choice of favorites. Next up are The Old Man and the Sea and To Have and Have Not. I read The Old Man and the Sea many, many moons ago as required high school reading and I enjoyed the story then, but I feel now as a grown man I would most certainly enjoy and understand the true meaning more profoundly, as I can now look past the words to grasp the greater meaning. If there is one. Hell, maybe it's just a great fishing story, nothing more nothing less.
And lastly, two books that I started some months ago and recently picked back up, The Naked and The Dead by Norman Mailer and American Lion (Andrew Jackson) by Jon Meacham.
Believe it or not, I wrote all of this so I could blast off on the Food and Drug Administration.
Hemingway was a great lover of food and drink and probably some other illicit items, but he and his contemporaries railed against the almighty forces of life in a much different time, when the world was younger and positively freer than today. And one of the great escapes for them, in Hemingway's heyday, was absinthe.
Absinthe was banned in the United States in 1915 and only recently was re-legalized by the U.S. government. Of course, there are many a fable and myth about absinthe. Hallucinations, mass murder sprees, you name it and they've tried to pin it upon the beverage. Evil stuff I'm telling you. Reminds me of the usual argument about gun violence. Forget that people kill other people with guns. Too complicated. Guns kill people. So does absinthe with that logic.
Well, here is where the irony comes in. It turns out, after significant scientific research was performed, these old recipe absinthes have far less thujone, the psychoactive substance found in wormwood, than originally suspected, or advertised, for that matter. However, that does not stop the federal government from closely regulating the contents of modern absinthe. The liquor must actually be tested and determined to be "thujone-free", which is a content of 10 ppm or less. Negligible amounts by any standard.
But on the other hand, go to a health nut store and you can purchase of a bottle of sage oil, which has been deemed by the FDA to be "safe", although it can contain a thujone content of nearly 50%. Go figure.
Anyway, we had some absinthe over the weekend, a brand called Lucid, and I must admit that I found it to be delightfully refreshing. I didn't get too carried away, as I didn't want to wake Sunday feeling like I wrestled a bus filled with angry hermaphroditic Dave Matthews fans. The flavor is licorice heavy, but offset by the sugar cube that is melted through a slotted spoon using chilled water. This traditional method dilutes the high alcohol content of the spirit and smooths out the sharp edge of the flavors.
We had a running joke around the Saturday night drinking table about "moments of clarity" after Beatrice fumbled some words after her second draw from the drink. "Hey, how's that moment of clarity working out for you?"
In the end, I guess there was a mild feeling of heightened awareness, possibly a clarity of the mind, but I also felt a bit tired 45 minutes or so later. I have read that this stimulant/depressive effect is common because of the proprietary herb blend used by each distillery. Either way, it was a nice departure from hammering down a bottle of Jägermeister and a 12-pack of Heineken Light on my birthday.
Verdict: I didn't feel like Hemingway, nor did I feel the urge to slice of any facial appurtenances like van Gogh, but the buzz was nice and the initial numbing of the tongue was kinda neat too. I remand absinthe to my own custody for further review, which I will do with eagerness.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
One For The Ages. . .
I think this one qualifies as a platinum-plated, all-out, diamond-encrusted, over-the-top, OMFG dOOd WTF Moment of the Century Award!
We'll call it the OMFG dOOd WTFMCA!
Because really, OMFG dOOd WTF!
I'm so MFICETSBTWHGIAIMMWTTADITFGOLTEIWAWPGBFIRDAINCBFAVLT!!!!*
*Motherfucker, I can't even think straight because the world has gone insane and it makes me want to take a dump in the flower garden of life then explode it with a white phosphorus grenade because freedom is really dead and is not coming back for a very long time. What the fuck!
We'll call it the OMFG dOOd WTFMCA!
Because really, OMFG dOOd WTF!
I'm so MFICETSBTWHGIAIMMWTTADITFGOLTEIWAWPGBFIRDAINCBFAVLT!!!!*
*Motherfucker, I can't even think straight because the world has gone insane and it makes me want to take a dump in the flower garden of life then explode it with a white phosphorus grenade because freedom is really dead and is not coming back for a very long time. What the fuck!
Another One Bites The Salad. . .
Couldn't have happened to a less likable individual.
Chef Ben. D. Over, of the world-renowned Advanced Institute of Technology and Applied Sciences for Salad Tossing, is proud to announce the imminent arrival of it's newest student, Mr. Plaxico Burress.
"We are pleased to be getting such a fine candidate for our innovative classes on salad analysis. Mr. Burress will be delighted to find that these classes are not simply rudimentary studies of salad tossing, or simple theorems of salad choice, timing, and selection, but also a deeper understanding and grasp for the psychological and sociological implications of salad tossing within the human culture," said Chef Over.
"It is my understanding that many of our "students" in the program are eagerly awaiting his first day of class. As a matter of fact, we had a refresher course for our current "students" on the personal hygiene required to toss a salad, as well as highlighting the finer point of Chapter 6 in the course materials titled, 'What A Neatly Trimmed Salad Means To The Mouth.'"
Good riddance to Plaxico Burress.
I simply don't understand these wealthy athletes that have everything going for them in life. Wealth, adulation, fame, other things that to the common may seem unattainable and sacred, but I guess in retrospect, people like Burress or Vick or the guy that walked after a vehicular homicide/DUI rap, these people lack the one thing that would make an almost perfect human being: brains.
Yo dumbass, if you had a holster for that piece instead of cramming it into your waistband you probably wouldn't be heading to Salad Toss U.
See you in a couple of years buddy.
Chef Ben. D. Over, of the world-renowned Advanced Institute of Technology and Applied Sciences for Salad Tossing, is proud to announce the imminent arrival of it's newest student, Mr. Plaxico Burress.
"We are pleased to be getting such a fine candidate for our innovative classes on salad analysis. Mr. Burress will be delighted to find that these classes are not simply rudimentary studies of salad tossing, or simple theorems of salad choice, timing, and selection, but also a deeper understanding and grasp for the psychological and sociological implications of salad tossing within the human culture," said Chef Over.
"It is my understanding that many of our "students" in the program are eagerly awaiting his first day of class. As a matter of fact, we had a refresher course for our current "students" on the personal hygiene required to toss a salad, as well as highlighting the finer point of Chapter 6 in the course materials titled, 'What A Neatly Trimmed Salad Means To The Mouth.'"
Good riddance to Plaxico Burress.
I simply don't understand these wealthy athletes that have everything going for them in life. Wealth, adulation, fame, other things that to the common may seem unattainable and sacred, but I guess in retrospect, people like Burress or Vick or the guy that walked after a vehicular homicide/DUI rap, these people lack the one thing that would make an almost perfect human being: brains.
Yo dumbass, if you had a holster for that piece instead of cramming it into your waistband you probably wouldn't be heading to Salad Toss U.
See you in a couple of years buddy.
Is Class Spelled With K?
Well, I know one thing, you don't spell it O-B-A-M-A.
I just don't get it. Who in their right mind would dress for a solemn military service dressed like she's ready for Saturday afternoon cocktails on Palm Beach?
And if you really feel like gagging yourself with useless internet content, visit this website and ponder the great adulation that gushes forth from the lobotomized, uninformed and useless autobots of the Obama cult.
The comments are absolutely frightening.
H/T goes to Pundette who wades through the muck and mires of the internet so you don't have to.
I just don't get it. Who in their right mind would dress for a solemn military service dressed like she's ready for Saturday afternoon cocktails on Palm Beach?
And if you really feel like gagging yourself with useless internet content, visit this website and ponder the great adulation that gushes forth from the lobotomized, uninformed and useless autobots of the Obama cult.
The comments are absolutely frightening.
H/T goes to Pundette who wades through the muck and mires of the internet so you don't have to.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Another Year, Another Wrinkle. . .
. . .another half inch lower for the family jewels.
Yep, it's that time of year again, that special day when the world came to a standstill as the moment neared and when the tension was all but too much, I poked my big ol' melon out my mama and proclaimed, "Dammit man, somebody turn up the heat!"
Yes everyone, tomorrow is my birthday. And a lucky man I am too. Already scored two bills from dear ol' dad and I dunno what Beatrice has got in store for me, but it's a big box and we all know big boxes mean big presents. Unless you are like my brother who once stuffed a 4 foot square box with newspapers, magazines, and phone books so that it appeared to have not only size, but considerable weight only to find out on Christmas morning that there was a lone Matchbox car down in the bottom. I think it was a 1972 Ford Pinto on top of that.
But anyway, I digress. Last year, I offered some historical moments that took place on September 19th, so this year I will offer a list of people who are lucky enough to share this great day with me. Me and that godforsaken idiocy know as International Talk Like A Pirate Day.
Famous people who'd rather be me:
Antoninus Pius
Leo IV The Wise
King Henry III of France
Orson Pratt
Mika Waltari
Ferry Porsche
Adam West
Antonio Margheriti
Mama Cass Elliot
Jeremy Irons
Twiggy
Lita Ford
Victoria Silvstedt
Well suckers, thanks for taking away from my sunshine. I can't believe I share a birthday with Mama Cass. This calls for some 1980's hair metal courtesy of Lita Ford.
Good lord that's horrible!!
Gotta make up for that gheyness somehow. . .
Ok, so Maynard was born in April, but I'll cut him some slack because he reminds me of the little man who lives in my head and controls everything I do. Wait. Did I just say that? Where am I? And who the hell are you people??
I tell you a little secret, my nickname was Boo Boo when I was growing up and I never understood the significance of it, until as a young man and after my fourth Hurricane at Pat O'Brien's in New Orleans it occurred to me that I had seen an old black and white of my parents from Pat O's from back in the 70's. I asked my dad about that picture once and he told me about going to New Orleans for the 1970 Sugar Bowl which pitted Archie Manning and the underdog Ole Miss Rebels versus the Razorbacks of Arkansas.
As I sat there in the courtyard, my brain swimming in a red oceans of mind clarifying white liquor, a brief flash of realization was born deep within my cerebral cortex. It was cloaked in uncertainty at first, but the longer I thought about it, the clearer is became. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was conceived in New Orleans on New Year's Day during the Sugar Bowl festivities! I grabbed my best friend Laddie by the arm and screamed, "Jesus man, my folks were having sex here in the 70's!!"
The other patrons, bless their hearts, were politely curious. Most moved away from us.
With this new knowledge, the next week I broached the subject with my dad.
Me: Hey dad, you and mom were in 1970 New Orleans for the Sugar Bowl right?
Dad: Yes son, why?
Me: Uhh well, was there any chance that I was conceived at same said event? You know, like nine months prior to September is January.
Dad: You goddamn right you were and it was upstairs in your aunt's spare bedroom!
Holy Mother of Baby Jesus! Too much information, too much information, too much information!!
Well it figures though, conceived at an Ole Miss football game, born during an Ole Miss football game. What a life.
Oh well, go Rebels! And Happy Birthday to me and all those not so famous folks!
Yep, it's that time of year again, that special day when the world came to a standstill as the moment neared and when the tension was all but too much, I poked my big ol' melon out my mama and proclaimed, "Dammit man, somebody turn up the heat!"
Yes everyone, tomorrow is my birthday. And a lucky man I am too. Already scored two bills from dear ol' dad and I dunno what Beatrice has got in store for me, but it's a big box and we all know big boxes mean big presents. Unless you are like my brother who once stuffed a 4 foot square box with newspapers, magazines, and phone books so that it appeared to have not only size, but considerable weight only to find out on Christmas morning that there was a lone Matchbox car down in the bottom. I think it was a 1972 Ford Pinto on top of that.
But anyway, I digress. Last year, I offered some historical moments that took place on September 19th, so this year I will offer a list of people who are lucky enough to share this great day with me. Me and that godforsaken idiocy know as International Talk Like A Pirate Day.
Famous people who'd rather be me:
Antoninus Pius
Leo IV The Wise
King Henry III of France
Orson Pratt
Mika Waltari
Ferry Porsche
Adam West
Antonio Margheriti
Mama Cass Elliot
Jeremy Irons
Twiggy
Lita Ford
Victoria Silvstedt
Well suckers, thanks for taking away from my sunshine. I can't believe I share a birthday with Mama Cass. This calls for some 1980's hair metal courtesy of Lita Ford.
Good lord that's horrible!!
Gotta make up for that gheyness somehow. . .
Ok, so Maynard was born in April, but I'll cut him some slack because he reminds me of the little man who lives in my head and controls everything I do. Wait. Did I just say that? Where am I? And who the hell are you people??
I tell you a little secret, my nickname was Boo Boo when I was growing up and I never understood the significance of it, until as a young man and after my fourth Hurricane at Pat O'Brien's in New Orleans it occurred to me that I had seen an old black and white of my parents from Pat O's from back in the 70's. I asked my dad about that picture once and he told me about going to New Orleans for the 1970 Sugar Bowl which pitted Archie Manning and the underdog Ole Miss Rebels versus the Razorbacks of Arkansas.
As I sat there in the courtyard, my brain swimming in a red oceans of mind clarifying white liquor, a brief flash of realization was born deep within my cerebral cortex. It was cloaked in uncertainty at first, but the longer I thought about it, the clearer is became. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was conceived in New Orleans on New Year's Day during the Sugar Bowl festivities! I grabbed my best friend Laddie by the arm and screamed, "Jesus man, my folks were having sex here in the 70's!!"
The other patrons, bless their hearts, were politely curious. Most moved away from us.
With this new knowledge, the next week I broached the subject with my dad.
Me: Hey dad, you and mom were in 1970 New Orleans for the Sugar Bowl right?
Dad: Yes son, why?
Me: Uhh well, was there any chance that I was conceived at same said event? You know, like nine months prior to September is January.
Dad: You goddamn right you were and it was upstairs in your aunt's spare bedroom!
Holy Mother of Baby Jesus! Too much information, too much information, too much information!!
Well it figures though, conceived at an Ole Miss football game, born during an Ole Miss football game. What a life.
Oh well, go Rebels! And Happy Birthday to me and all those not so famous folks!
And The River Keeps A Flowing. . .
The river of stupid, idioctic, insane, non compos mentis ideas from Washington that is.
The pointy-eared man from Mars, er Akron, say he's got a great idea for funding universal healthcare. And it's so easy, even a caveman can do it.
Forget all that free-market jibber-jabber, profits are for pussies. The government will just take all the profits from the insurance companies to pay for 'free' healthcare!
Hey, did someone just fart in here? Because something stinks.
But you know, Space Man Spiff from Ohio is right, we're gonna have to spend a lot of money if we intend on caring for the health of illegal immigrants and what better place to get it from than those evil healthcare companies! Fantastic idea!
What? I'm a liar? Joe Wilson too?
Nay dear reader, I'm just parsing words here. The truth is in the pudding and the hambone is in the lake. Turtle soup for everyone! Yeehaw!!!
The pointy-eared man from Mars, er Akron, say he's got a great idea for funding universal healthcare. And it's so easy, even a caveman can do it.
Forget all that free-market jibber-jabber, profits are for pussies. The government will just take all the profits from the insurance companies to pay for 'free' healthcare!
Hey, did someone just fart in here? Because something stinks.
But you know, Space Man Spiff from Ohio is right, we're gonna have to spend a lot of money if we intend on caring for the health of illegal immigrants and what better place to get it from than those evil healthcare companies! Fantastic idea!
What? I'm a liar? Joe Wilson too?
Nay dear reader, I'm just parsing words here. The truth is in the pudding and the hambone is in the lake. Turtle soup for everyone! Yeehaw!!!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Some Of You. . .
may ask, hey, what's Beatrice been up to?
Well, she's still that hardball, gun-shooting, Jager drinkin', little Texas-toastette of my life and lately, she's been learning how to ski.
Uhh, I mean schooling others on the art of the waterski.
Big smile baby! You gotta love her. I know I do.
Well, she's still that hardball, gun-shooting, Jager drinkin', little Texas-toastette of my life and lately, she's been learning how to ski.
Uhh, I mean schooling others on the art of the waterski.
Big smile baby! You gotta love her. I know I do.
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