sweasel.com

Yeah, this fame thing is going to my head. I heard something on the radio this morning that really pissed me off, and I wrote this big angry howl about it, and then I remembered I’m still getting, like, three times my normal traffic and I didn’t have the stomach to post something titled “Screw Africa.” Maybe when it’s just us again, mmm?

Man, you can see how this medium transmogrifies people into attention whores, though. Whew.

Aw! C’mon, Weas. If the passersby don’t like what they read, well, they can just squat where Jesus flang ’em!

..or sumpin like that. Whatever….maybe…

Well, I was going to solicit alternative phrases for “without genitalia” — I had a few discarded prospects from the above — but the search phrase “synonyms for genitalia” took me to some very scary places and now I think I’ll just drink…

I looked up “Lady of Spain” and found it was not at all the song I was expecting. Silly me – imagining the sailors shanty “Fare well and adieu to you fair spanish ladies” played on a banjo.

However, it puts me in the mind of a – ahem – rewrite.

Synonyms for “parts”? You mean “junk”? Hmmm…

Hey, that Africa thing wouldn’t have anything to do with a a recent drop in a certain item’s price in a particular African country due to a sudden availability would it?

Nnnnnoooooo. But you intrigue me.

I heard Bill Frist on the radio this morning. He’s signed up to a thing called One Vote ’08. It’s from the “Make Poverty History” people. It’s an effort to force all the frontrunning presidential candidates to outline explicitly what they’re going to do to stop world poverty and disease (which, it turns out, pretty much means Africa and AIDS).

On the plus side, I hovered around their blog for a bit and got accused of being a goon in the Heritage Foundation’s mailroom.

Do tell, Enas? I never pay retail for anything and now I must know what you are talking about.

Aw – I was thinking diamonds, but you are probably talking about Africa’s other commodity – AIDS medications.

I read years ago that artificial diamonds were becoming so good that the real thing would shortly plummet in value. I guess that never came to pass.

Never much liked diamonds anyway.

Stop world poverty? With whose tax money – pray tell? Let me guess…

Diamonds. Meh. Way overpriced baubles.

Saw a show on Nova(?) about the synthetic ones. Seems they glow in the dark for a while after exposure to UV. Real ones don’t.

This allows the “real” diamond folks to be snooty, I guess.

I am like a raccoon. Shiny things distract me. My daughter is just like me. If she says you are sparkly she is paying you a compliment.

I don’t know what the lady of spain (the song) sounds like. I’ll have to go home and try and find me a copy. I’d do it here, but my work automatically filters out anything with “mp3,” “midi,” “music,” “song,” and the like. :/ Damn tightwad IT folks. Why can’t you let me hog the bandwidth just a little?

My mother has this ceramic elephant nightstand table thing… I know it’s ceramic because when I was a small kid, I somehow got it into my head that I ought to try butting heads with the thing (it’s one of the rare examples of one of my mom’s elephants that doesn’t have its trunk raised… I guess what happened next gives evidence to the superstition that an elephant without a raised trunk is bad luck). I dove off the couch onto it – a slight trajectory miscalculation on my part – knocked my head onto it and fell to the ground cold, and the elephant fell over on its side and broke off one of its tusks. The mystery of the elephant’s substance had been solved, and one round-trip to the hospital (and eight stitches) later, I had the chance to see it for myself. Had my mother not been so furious with me for using my head as a battering ram, she too would have been mystified by that solid-looking elephant’s cheap innards, no doubt.

Oh. Sumpthin’ different then. It seems the price for machetes (big knifey thingies for you folks in rio linda) has dropped by half in parts of nigeria. They seem to play a big part in nigerian politics. Recent elections there means that there’s a surplus of these things around.

A cynical-minded person might make something out of that.

Weasel,

Goon? Just…goon? Not even a juicy expletive on the front? (sniff) Hardly worth the effort of typing. You’ll have to do better than that, Sir.

BTW: Drudge has the flashing red light up and states sumpin to the effect that Bush commuted Skooter Libby’s jail sentence. Woot! Left the fine and probation, though. (Hey. He lied. He should get slapped on the wrist.)

Double-woot! All that liberal effort – for naught!

Bah! It should have been a full pardon and a complete denouncement of the whole witch-hunt. Nrrk. Politics. Sometimes it makes the machete look like an inviting alternative option.

I’ve been thinking about those machetes, EY. Maybe a good investment opportunity. Are they Nigerian?

Yeah, the whole “Jane Bond” Phlame(?) story was a crock and a setup. But – he can afford the 1/4 Mil fine, and he has the rest of his life to write a juicy expose.

I don’t know Mr. McGoo, but I’ve heard that Nigeria is a good place for venture capitalism.

Whelp, time for class! I was a total lazybones this weekend and blew off my homework assignments so I get to explain how my cat ate my essays about minimalism.

OOH! I can say how my non-existant essays are a minimalist commentary on minimalisim! 🙂

I dunno, Enas. Was Schrodinger watching while your cat munched the essays?

If not, who’s to say whether they exist or not?

They exist. Either next to a dead cat or in a live one.

It’s their current state that we can’t be sure of.

And, Schrodinger’s probably too drunk by now to be bothered.

If a hippie shits in the woods and no one sees it happen, does that shit still smell? And, what if said hippie is holding a flashlight that shines through two boards first with one slot and the other with two slots? What time will it be?

Imagine that every person on earth not already an atheist
suddenly became one today.

http://moralauthority.wordpress.com/2007/07/02/do-u-haz-a-brane-relijun/

What this has to do with anything here, I don’t know. Just thought this might be an interesting group to invite over.

I know the answer! I know the answer!

Poached oysters!

If a hippy craps
While doing physics ‘spearments
It’s time for a blunt.

I remember my philosophy lectures, but not much of the philosophy.

I remain puzzled by the question about seeing the little man at the top of the stairs who wasn’t there.

“If he wasn’t there, how could you see him?” asked my professor. Good question too.

My personal philosophy is a minimalist one, honed sharp by years of living it….

If you can’t eat it or drink it, write a haiku about it.

“The Little Man Who Wasn’t There”.

Many variations here:
http://www.emule.com/2poetry/phorum/read.php?7,153809,153814

Good Morning McGoo!

Since I’m supposed to be working –

There once was a lady from Madrid
Who didn’t, but said that she did
She was an incredible tease such as one rarely sees
I knew her sister too, ibid.

There once was a Lady of Spain
Who enjoyed giving a slight taste of pain
Her peculiar ways and her black bustier
Were fun in ways hard to explain

There once was a Lady from Seville
Who had black eyes and looks that could kill
We tango’d till dawn, and then she was gone.
Leaving my slow dancing dreams unfulfilled

The once was a Lady from Barcelona
Who was known as a soft touch and also a moaner
I tempted this miss with a hot sweet, sweet kiss
But she said, “Jerk, just leave me alone –huh?”

I don’t know any more Spanish cities! (and perhaps, a good thing too!)

“The Little Man Who Wasn’t There”.

This will apparently remain a mystery for me until after work since our “WebSense” site filter says, “No, Lokki, NO!”

There once was a Lady from Valencia
Who was really quite a philosophera
The little man on the stairs who wasn’t quite there
Was (or wasn’t) her lover in sweet silencia

And now, at last, off to the methaphorical salt mines!

Mornin’ Lokki,

Good Spain stuff.

This is shamelessly copied from the link:
……………………………
This appears in the Oxford Dictionary of Quotations (9th ed.) as having been written by Hughes Mearns (1875 – 1965), as reads:

As I was walking up the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today.
I wish, I wish he’d stay away.
…………………………..

I ran into this for the first time reading Heinlein’s “Methuselah’s Children” when I was a kid, and was intrigued. I liked it.

I suspect I spelled the book title incorectly – and I no longer care. I give up.

Geez! “Incorrectly”. I can’t even correct correctly.

For some reason the Little Man poem reminded me of another one from my childhood:

I shot an arrow into the air
It fell to earth I know not where.
Until next day – with rage profound
The man it fell on came around.
And in less time than it takes to tell
he SHOWED me where that missile fell.
And now I do not greatly care
to shoot more arrows into the air.

…and it’s modified short form:

I shot an error into the air
…and it’s still going…everywhere!

My speling is never guud. I’m annoyed that I misspelled
philosopheria, which was already imitation Spanish to begin with. It ruins the scan of my Valencia lymric, which is sort of like saying that my mud puddle isn’t the color I’d like it to be.

You know, it’s awfully quiet here today, considering that we’re in the foyer of an self-proclaimed attention whore.

Guess you and I fixed that problem, eh?

I get in too much of a hurry to spell check, and miss some errors even when I slow down. Can’t help it sometimes – I do enjoy this site and the commenters.

The way I figure it, everyone else is simply incapable of keeping up with our near-criminal witty commentary and stunning mental agility.

But…I’m usually dead wrong. So they’re probably just working or sleeping, or ignoring us with dignity.

I know Weasel claims to be an attention whore – but I don’t think so. If he were, he’d have posted a spazillion articles when his hit-rate went up (again) this weekend.

They are not spelling errors they are typos. And their presence in any post is proof that you don’t agonize over your posts — no, not you. Your brilliance springeth forth whole like Athena from the forehead of Zeus. Because you are just. that. good.

Tough talk from the one person here who can, in fact, go back and edit comments.

I have a to admint that the successful attention whore generally is not one who, upon getting a sudden surge of visitors, creates a post which is mostly about playing Lady of Spain on the Banjo and pondering the ‘netherlands’ of a large cast metal bust of a lady.

Which brings up a request I’ve been meaning to make: PREVIEW. We delicate poets of the mucous-membrane, we wits of the Burning Man, we hatamotos of the haiku–in short, we few, we happy few, we band of idiots–demand it!

I always wondered what Zeus’ head looked like after the “birth”. I bet it was all squishy and ooze-like. Much like a spherical meat pie that’s been dropped from a height.

Agonize over posts? I am not familiar with that feeling.

Oh! You mean “Wincing with regret and shame because – once again – I have shoved my foot down my pie-hole up to the knee”? Uh, yes. That’s me.

Lokki has a point, Weasel. If you really wanted to retain the attention of all those /. geeks and AoSh morons, you’d post pron, or articles with profanities in the title.

jw,

Hammer.
Nail.
Bullseye.

We, the blithering, have been laughed at far too long.

The lady in Spain;
She rests mainly on the plain –
Chaste beneath the rain.

Bogies dangling low
In anger, the poet errs
Typos thwart bogies.

Meh… like I said. My haiku are horrible. I just wanted to comment on the conversation and look witty too. 🙁

Well, Steamboat, we all know that a poet is never respected in his own country (not if his country has a brain in its head, anyway).

If we see farther, it is because we have stood on the shoulders of piss-ants.

Shuko:

Looking witty is all too easy; any bonehead can do it (see any post by Steamboat or yours truly). Simply blather on about something you know nothing about, toss in a word like “synecdoche” (one of my personal favorites), then just sit back and wait for the admiring awe to begin.

–I’m still waiting, btw.

I love diamonds. Mmmmmm…sparklies.
Does that make me a raccoon too?

I so-want to use that “$20 whore” comment again, jw. ‘Cause you say it so well!

There are sound reasons for standing on the shoulders of piss-ants: The better to see the lynch-mob before they get close.

Good haiku, Shuko. Are you standing on a piss-ant, too, or was that natural talent?

Beanporker – if you have enough diamonds, you can be anything you want!

Unfortunately, I’m probably one of the piss-ants, haha. And that isn’t what I’d call talent. Those haiku are the result of 26 years of focusing on things of little consequence almost to the point of perfection. Not really admirable so much as pitiful, but I suppose there’s a fine line. There’s a niche in this world even for us anal-retentive freaks, after all. 🙂

Is that part about poets’ not being recognized in their own countries true? I remember hearing the same about prophets… seems to me there’s an odd coincidence there.

Yup, catching sight of that lynch-mob before it sees us allows us to exercise that better part of valor for which we’re so well-known.

Glad you like Heinlein; he’s one of my favorites, too. Here he is with the definitive aphorism on our work: “A poet who reads his verse in public may have other nasty habits.”

Shuko:

There’s no prophet in poetry. We all have day jobs.

Okay, wussies. There’s your preview button. Real men would just lay it on out there and to hell with them if they can’t take a typo…

mispelled wurd test.

Hm. Don’t know about this preview plug-in. It should bring you to the bottom of the page to view the preview, not strand you up at the top.

And it seems to have blown out the “website” block. Anyone else? Is this working for you…?

Didn’t work, Weez. My cleverly designed test (which required weeks of exhaustive effort from two discrete subcommittees, and then more weeks of mediation when the two committees pulled switchblades over a disagreement) shows a basic, perhaps even fatal, flaw in your new preview feature: It assumes that I will re-read what I typed.

PIME* test #2

“Their are three errers in this sentence.”

*Preview Is My Enemy

Yeah, Weez, wouldn’t hurt if preview moved you to the bottom of the page. I’d imagine you need a bookmark for each comment so you can direct the preview to that bookmark. I don’t notice anything missing, however. Just the need to actually scroll back down the page.

Yeah, it seems to be remembering your URL fine. Just not mine. Which I guess is okay since it’s here, but it still seems odd.

Well, I didn’t write this plug in. I suppose I could put a #bottom at the bottom of the page and have the “view post” thing always jump directly to the bottom, rather than the top. That might actually be better, anyway. Since I don’t break posts into pieces, people who drill into a post are usually looking for the most recently posted comment, anyhow.

Ummm…did a word of that make sense to you people or am I just thinking aloud here?

Is that #bottom a PHP thing? I don’t know much about PHP, even though I’m a software developer by trade, lol. But yes, I was able to follow your musings, weasel. Let’s see what happens if you do that. 🙂

Fried preemies.

…kinda works.

So, just for clarification, “fried preemies” is what you meant to say?

This is all beyond me….

It all seems like that Beatles song

When I get to the bottom, I go back to the top of the slide (post) where I stop and turn and I go for a ride till I get to the bottom and I see you again

But Preview works. Now if I could just spel.

Note: Preview does kick me to the top of the thread where I can gaze upon the Lady of Spain; I have to slide down to her netherlands to see what I’m interested in….
Very Helter-Skelter

I’ve hit rock bottom.
I make a preemptive view.
To the top I go.

Previewing takes me
From the bottom to the top–
Same inanity.

Meh. Can’t figure out where to make the edit. Someplace in the template php, but where?

Not the best of days, this. I had a first thing vet appointment for Damien (booster shots and such). He yowled the whole way there. It was like driving a fire engine. Then he gave me the “how could you?” look the whole time we were there and yowled all the way home. Last seen, he was slinking down the basement steps to sulk.

Charlotte goes Thursday. Same deal, only she’s bigger and hates it even more violently.

I went out at lunch and bought them a couple of cans of that stupid ripoff $1 a can extra fancy Fancy Feast kitty glop. Because I am precisely that pussywhipped.

What do they put in that stuff, anyway? Heroin and mice?

My cats are too spoiled to even eat cat food. :/ They only want dry kibble and if they get something from a can it had better DAMN well be tuna or canned chicken. Otherwise they scratch over the carpet like they’re trying to bury it, and usually knock the dish over in the process. Picky cats.

I think George Carlin had the best story of a finicky cat I’ve heard of. He said that every time he’d try a new can of cat food out on his cat, his cat would turn his nose up and walk away. Moments later he (the cat) could be seen vigorously licking his rear end.

George figures that if someone ever makes a cat-butt flavored cat food, he’ll be a very rich man indeed.

Eh. Screw it.

You know what’s better than preview? Seriously? Write your comments with Notepad. Those blog comment blocks are so small and irritating, and the type is usually tiny. And how many times has a webserver hiccuped and lost your magnum opus?

I’m in the habit of keeping a Notepad window open all the time and jotting things into it (and copying them out of it) all day. Bits of code. Phone numbers. Blog comments. The Coca Cola formula.

I do the same thing! 😮 I’ve learned through painful experience that blogs and forums occasionally cough at me and lose my posts, and were it not for notepad, they’d be lost forever. Heck, I can’t count on my short-term memory to retain all that rambling.

Another cat comment. My big dog, Rocket, peed on our youngest tomcat, Bother yesterday. :p It was so awesome. Bother grew up around the dogs, and he thinks he is one. He can often be seen trailing along after the dogs when they go out on patrol in the backyard. Yesterday he got too close when Rocket hiked his leg on a fencepost, and you get the idea. I couldn’t help laughing at his predicament, especially considering how cats clean themselves. Poor thing. I guess he won’t follow so closely from now on.

Nuisance, the older tom, treats the dogs in the way we might treat a hornet that’s resting on the table in front of us. It’s not an immediate threat, but it can be unpredictable, so it’s best to stay away. Still, I’ve caught him stalking the two smaller dogs on occasion, especially when Bother is with them.

Never mind all that techie talk! There’s important news from England!

Thousands of rubber ducks to land on British shores after 15 year journey

But since cats ARE important (just ask them) our two split the diffrence. The older of the two (Gina, 14) vastly prefers canned food, and it had better be something different every day, thank you Dry food is for desperation times. The little one, Coco, will only eat dry cat food. Period. She’s not too choosy about what, though. She also rejects table scraps except for the occasional bit of tuna.

Hey! I’ve been following those rubber duckies for years! Somewhere around here, I have the program that tracks them. It’s so old, it drops down to DOS.

Charlotte was a half dead feral kitten I snagged in the garage using a squirrel trap. She was about three months old then, so she retains a certain paranoia. On the upside, she is utterly absorbed in a permanent quest for food. She seldom goes farther than ten feet from the back door, lest she miss a meal. This makes her much easier to manipulate than Damien, who is indifferent to food bribes.

I found sardines on sale and the fuzz-headed little bastards wouldn’t touch them. Now I have to eat all these out-of-date brislings.

Guided by a little-known corollary of the 11th Law of Certainty (“Cat skeletons are never found in trees”), we feed our cats whatever the hell we want, and they eat it. Eventually.

We do, however, sleep with a closed door between us and the cats, just to be on the safe side.

we feed our cats whatever the hell we want, and they eat it. Eventually

I lost this battle years ago with Mrs. Lokki. We had an overweight cat (Anton) whom the Vet said needed to lose several pounds. $20 dollars worth of dry Science Diet cat food was purchased. Naturally, he hated the stuff.

Mrs. Lokki was sympathetic. I took the “Paine Position” that, if hungry enough, Anton would eat the stuff. Or starve. Whatever.

Mrs. Lokki, looked up at me with hot wet eyes, and said,
“Better a short fat happy life than a long thin hungry life”

Words to live by. Anton lived to a fat, happy 17.

And me? I quote Mrs. Lokki’s wisdom whenever she suggests that another slice of pizza or another beer is not a good idea for me, speaking weightwisely.

My motto is: I’d like my cats to have long, happy lives. But if I have to pick one, it’s “happy.”

That’s why, when my cats come to the door whining to go sky-diving, I say, “okay — but wear your helmets!”

I like fat tomcats. I have two toms, and only one of them has ever been fat… and even he is slimming down for the summer now. Poor Nuisance just looks caved in. He’s always been that way. He’s a highly nervous cat, and he eats secretively and very infrequently. He spends most of his days hiding from everyone and everything, except the night, when he sleeps in my room at the foot of my bed. He likes to walk all over me while I sleep, and wake me up by kneading my hair under his claws, pulling out single strands at a time and driving me nuts.

Bother on the other hand, is a compulsive eater. It’s the first thing he does when he comes inside (after rubbing all over every dog he sees, that is), and he often makes several trips to the kibble dish before quickly scurrying back out to sunbathe and hunt rodents. And that’s another thing. Bother is a masterful rodent killer. He won’t eat them though; he sets them on the ground in front of the dogs, effectively making little ‘gifts’ of them. We have to watch him closely, because bathing three large dogs isn’t a very small ordeal. -_-

Oh Lordy, now we’re trading cat stories. My cat Isabelle will NOT touch most fish and seafood – she has absolutely no interest in canned tuna. For the canned stuff it has to be Fancy Feast Marinated Morsels. She doesn’t like extra pricey FF stuff though.

My cat drools when she purrs. I only pet her for short intervals because otherwise I’d have to bust out the towel. Does anybody else have this problem?

Yeah. :/ Bother does it too. We got him from an animal shelter as a feral kitten. My neighbor has a black cat that’s the same way, and was found in a ditch. I dunno why some cats do that. But it’s pretty gross. Some mornings I wake up with Bother on my chest, purring and drooling on my neck. It’s so disgusting… I try not to let him in my room, but someone else almost always does…

Does your new preview thingymabobber kill the weasel smiley ;)?

Reduced to trading cat stories? – well none of us can brag about our offspring, houses, jobs, or cars (I presume, extrapolating from my personal situation)

That pretty much leaves cats and cat food as the subjects for discussion until the rubber duckies come ashore, someone new sets themself on fire, or Weasel thinks of some new perverse subject to discuss, such as “Mr. Brain’s Faggots”.

None of our cats drool much, for fat cats…

Nope. ;p It don’t.

No, Enas, I rarely purr, and don’t drool when I do. But I had a girlfriend that did, and…well…nevermind.

(I just woke up from a nap, so you-all will have to wait until I find center.)

Holy sheepshit! A preview button…and it works. Mostly. Good enough!

Weasel, you’re a genius. JW, good suggestion.

I, too, have been following the rubber duck travels. Pretty good of that guy – predicting they’d hit Jolly Ol’ several years later (now!). I bet he is smugly pleased with himself – basking in the glory as it were – and rightfully so. That was some heap-big analysis he did. Hell, I’d be tempted to buy one of ’em myself.

Yeah… cat stories are kind of the bottom of the barrel. xD We could try poetry again…

I once met a ferret named Kiki
With a penchant for everything squeaky.
Though her frame was petite,
She was never discreet,
And was oft undeniably cheeky!

There was once an armada of ducks
That at one point were down on their luck
They circled the Pacific
Their behavior specific
…
And lightning shot out of their ass.

Sorry. I lost my muse-thread there. Um…

Since this is apparently Liberty Hall today where we can talk about what we choose (and I can’t compete with petite ferret poetry – or McGoo)

Here’s my current subject of fascination:

link The Biology of B Movie Monsters

McGoo are you OK? I can do much better, I think

There was once an armada of ducks
That at one point were down on their luck
Beign freed from the tub was both their good fortune and rub
…
And lightning shot out of their ass.

The rubber duck set sail one day,
Below the dark clouds marked with gray.
“I’m free! What great luck!”
So quacketh this duck,
As he jauntily bobbed on his way.

I couldn’t fit any lightning-asses in it. 🙁 I’m a failure. *sobs*

Lokki: that was a very interesting browse. I say that because I’m feeling somewhat distracted today, and couldn’t make myself read it all. xD I wound up scrolling down, finding interesting pictures, and reading their captions.

I do think it’s good that someone noticed that though. I’ve often thought that giant ants couldn’t possibly exist as such… now I know why.

Hey, it’s Liberty Hall every day at Weasel’s place. I’m that starved for attention.

It’s like my mother always said: everybody loves cats and banjos. In fact, that was the last thing she said. Then she jumped.

How about a cat playing a banjo?
http://www.bookmakersltd.com/art/Edinjiklian/Cat%20&%20banjo.jpg

That’s all kinds of lovely right there.

Stoaty, your blog always leaves me with more questions than answers.

Rubber ducks launched in decades long past
Have returned to their homeland at last
They’ve endured many changements
Like bill-rearrangements
And lightning now shoots from their ass!

Close enough for government work. If “Lighght” is worth $750, then the above is worth at least two-fiddy.

Shuko-chan –

Very cute! In fact so cute, I’m offering little counterbalance against sugar shock….

Here’s a little different perspective on Cats and banjo’s.

Cat skins make the best Japanese banjos

All I can say to that is lol.
http://img515.imageshack.us/img515/368/blockxy8.jpg

My dad used to tell a story about giving a tabby to a country feller and getting a banjo head back. I hope it’s not true. I never persued the matter.

Hey, over at Innocent Bystanders, Lipstick has posted pictures of one of the 7-11’s converted tp Kwik-E-Mart. They’re selling Buzz Cola and Krusty-O’s and everything. Pretty cool marketing gimmick, if’n you ask me.

Lokki, Lady Shuko, & jwp,

Vast improvement on my pitiful effort.

Weas’ – Look at all them thar neato links!

ac1,

That’s normal. Reminds me: I need to look up “synecdoche”.

Wait! I’m having a thought as I sound it out…I’ve heard something like that before…um…

It’s gone.

Well, that was scary. I left the back door open so the cats can come and go and somebody just leaned in and barked “Police!” And guess who it was? The police!

They were just checking to make sure that door being open wasn’t something sinister. Considering it’s a July afternoon, I wouldn’t have thought so, so I asked if there was heightened activity in the neighborhood. He said, yes, they’d just investigated a ____ down the street. I don’t know if he said “break” or “rape” or possibly “grape.”

So my question is, should I dig out a holster and wear a gun around the house for a while? I’m scared to death of grape.

It’s after five, and I’ve started drinking already. So that’s okay.

You have grape in your neighborhood? (shudder) Eeeww..

The fate worse than death…

Did you really ask if there was “heightened activity in the neighborhood”? Who talks like that?

Steam: Everybody knows that Synecdoche is a mid-sized city in New York state. You sick the day they taught geometry?

grawg

Uh. Yeah. I asked if there was heightened activity in the neighborhood. I talk like that. Is that weird? Did I watch too many episodes of COPS? Do I read too many True Detective magazines? Is there any hope?

My bad, weasel.

See, I live near the Projects. You learn ways to say, “them darkies ain’t kickin’ up a fuss agin, are they?” without actually saying it.

Hey – I live out here in flyover country. Isn’t New Yawk one of those colonial cities, like from olden times?

Good morning, Wabbit! (I assume that was a wakey-uppy sound.)

And. I. Posted. The. 100th. Comment!

…well, the 102th. Rats.

“Mother was no better than she should have been, as the saying goes.”

Um… how good should she have been?

Yeah, I know where I’m going; just packing my luggage.

I had a great, great uncle that was fond of property belonging to others; specifically, Texas cattle, back in the late 1800’s.

We call him, “Ol’ Rubberneck” or just “Stretch” now.

heya Steamboat.

Lookit all the new people. Geeze. The comment threads are getting to be like reading the Iliad.

Did he like, post a nudie pic?

I can’t find it.

Nope. Seems some folks liked his Burning Man artwork and his new Islamic Rage Boy (with pancake) photo over to the left. And the hit-counter to the right. Woot – he broke 10K yesterday.

It’s all too academic and highbrow for me.

Left out the “Note” in “Note the hit-counter…”

I parsed it all together with my formidable deductive reasoning skills.

That’s sure a lousy way to treat a pancake, though.

Wabbit – it’s a tough cruel world, and sometimes a pancake just has to step up to the griddle and take one for the team. Sad, that, but…well…that’s life.

It’s in a better place now. Ihop.

Ihop. Ha!

Little pancakes on the Rage Boy, little pancakes made of Aunt jemima
Little pancakes, little pancakes, little pancakes all the same.
There’s a brown one and a burned one and a raw one and a small one,
And they’re all made out of Aunt Jemima, and they all look just the same.

And the Rage Boys without pancakes go to school to learn their jihad,
Where they all put on those pancakes, same ‘ol pancakes, all the same.
And there’s Abduls and there’s Mamauds and there’s Joquains- quite a few.
And they all just love their little pancakes and they all look just the same.

Ok, McGoo? THAT was funny.

My mother loved that “Little Boxes” song, because she was an egregious lefty. I’ve always been taken aback by the snobbery of it. Lefties love poor people…provided they stay poor. Once they start to get a little uppity — you know, get some edumacation, buy a house — then they become part of the machine, man. Little Eichmanns. Lefties don’t hate the rich a fraction as much as they hate the middle.

But jihadis! It works for jihadis just fine…

Damn, Weasel, thanks! When the idea hit me (to actually have an underlying point) “Little Boxes” seemed perfect.

I love the original because of the metre and the “ticky-tacky” phrase. It tick;es me sumpin awful.

BTW: Dr. Sanity did a parody called “Little Lefties” a long while back.

Also – how did you know the friggin’ house sprinkler system would wake me up just now?

Tickles. Tickles. Preview don’t work if I don’t use it.

Honestly, I never notice the typos until you guys correct them.

Reminds me of a meeting I was in once, many years ago. There was this woman from IS who was wrapped way too tight. Nobody’s quite sure what about this meeting was so upsetting to her, but she was clearly rattled. Every time I said “hyperlink” she’d clench her jaw and hiss “hypertext!” at me. And so, of course, I said “hyperlink” lots and lots.

My boss still hisses “hypertext!” at me occasionally, for old time’s sake.

I think typos are like smelly feet or armpits: you’re always the first to notice when yours stink.

Hypertext/link? Depends on the context, I would suppose. They each have distinct meanings: but…well…see Paines “synecdoche”.

Did someone say Beetlejuice? Hypertext and hyperlink are relatively interchangeable, and hyperbitch is a chick who thinks they’re not. Reminds me of a far cruder joke, which I will not sully this fine day with.

Happy Independence Day, postcolonial imperialistic hegemonists!