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Happy Hallowe’en, everyone!

Our clocks change Sunday, so I get an extra hour’s sleep Monday.

What? Yes, yes…I know I’m unemployed, but I do actually have to be someplace Monday. I’m applying for my National Insurance Number (the Limey version of the Social Security Number). They make me do it in person. With a buttload of documentation. In Maidstone.


October 29, 2010 — 9:14 pm
Comments: 27

Nice puss

This handsome feller is from the inside of the church of St Peter and St Paul, the Norman church next to Peasmarsh Place.

The village of Peasmarsh is a mile from the church. Legend blames the Black Death. Originally, homes were built all around the church, as usual. But when the Plague came, they burned the houses to the ground and rebuilt a mile off. The rector had three symbols carved into the church to keep death away: a stag to ward off rats from the drains, a unicorn to keep plague from the door, and a bird to keep plague from coming in the roof.

Or so they say.

This guy, however, is a leopard — one of two on either side of the arch leading to the altar. It was his job to protect from leprosy. There was a lot of it about.

Charming place.

I love exploring village churches. They are traditionally kept unlocked, and they’re chock full of Norman bits and weird pagan-y iconography.

Christianity came to Britain bass-ackwards — the early evangelists were told not to disparage pagan tradition, but to quietly absorb it. By, for example, building churches near sacred trees and groves.

The result is kind of Jesus meets Harry Potter. I honestly don’t know how else to describe it.

We recently watched a very interesting BBC program called Churches: How To Read Them on the history of British church imagery. Presented by a man with a seriously annoying lisp.

BBC loves doing that.

October 28, 2010 — 11:11 pm
Comments: 8


Behold, Scrabb.ly, the massive multiplayer online Scrabble game. That’s a zoom-out snapshot of the map, showing our little corner. It’s a couple of months old now, and whole thing is much, much bigger — passed four million tiles on Sunday. Kind of cool to look at.

Because it’s multiplayer, the rules — and strategies — are a little different. It’s always your turn. After the first word you play, you can only play off the tiles you’ve already played. Other people’s tiles appear grayed out. The only way to play their tiles is to bridge your word to their word — and then, you only free up the one tile you touch.

In other words, if you get surrounded, it’s a stone cold booger to break free.

The square in the middle, up there? That’s us about an hour ago. We had to spell like a bastard to get down and below that guy on the left, spelling at us hard. One day, I’m going to wake up socked in tight, several tiles deep, and it’ll be all over.

So the strategy is: make word shapes that are easy to build off, and spell your way away from the continent. Fast.

You code monkeys may enjoy this article on the why’s and how’s of building Scrabb.ly.

October 27, 2010 — 9:58 pm
Comments: 28


NPR chief executive Vivian Schiller is defending the firing of news analyst Juan Williams after his comments on the Fox News Channel, saying his feelings about Muslims are between him and “his psychiatrist or his publicist.”

The “psychiatrist” part of that smirking little Vivian Schiller remark has gotten a lot of attention, but I think the “publicist” part is full of burn, too. As in — if you say you’re scared of motherfucking muslims on the motherfucking plane, you’re either crazy, or you’re just doing it for attention.

What? I know, I know…the logo is for PBS, and Juan Williams got booted from NPR. The PBS logo was simply funner to play with. Anyhow, fuck it. Defund the lot — PBS, NPR. CPB, while we’re at it. That’s a start.

Yes, yes…there’s merchandise. I whipped up a batch hours ago, but Zazzle is so constipated, none of it is showing up yet. Well, there’s a bumpersticker.

But remember — none of this hilarity will be possible unless we win AND WIN HUGE next week! Forget the Democrats, it’s got to be big enough to scare the shit out of Republicans, or they’ll all sink back into the warm, comfy slops together.

October 26, 2010 — 11:27 pm
Comments: 10

Can Alice come out and play?

Peasmarsh Place is a dreary-looking old folks’ home in the village of Peasmarsh. Natch. At least, it looks dreary from the outside; it ain’t cheap, so it’s probably pretty nice inside. It does have ten acres of very impressive gardens — trees, mostly — that are open to the public two days a year, Spring and Fall.

We went yesterday. I’ve wanted to go since forever. Gardens, schmardens — the occupant in the 1860s was Charles Liddell, Alice‘s uncle. In these grounds, Alice was told some interesting stories by the Rev’d Dodgson.

At least, that’s what their marketing blah says.

Most of the trees were blown over in a hellacious storm that flattened Southern England in 1987, but there are plenty of gigantic specimens left. And interesting young trees. And spooky abandoned greenhouses with invasive whatnots pressing their leaves against dirty cracked glass. And a gorgeous Norman church next door.

And wild pigs. Apparently. After dark, they come out of the forest and roam the grounds and make themselves dangerous, so the signs said.

And, yes, I turned my ankle in a rabbit hole.

Amusing exercise: know who else lives in little Peasmarsh? Paul McCartney. Not sure where. All we know is, his house is up a drab lane of carefully deceptive boringness. Peasmarsh Place is here. Have a Google around, if you’ve a mind to.

One more thing: a link to Ace’s latest Be The Wave post. Expectations for this election have gotten so crazy out of hand, if the Republican wave isn’t HUGE a week from tomorrow, the Dems will call it a win for their side. And a mandate. With all that entails.

Please please pleeeeeeeeeease</whiny kid voice> do what you can to turn out your fambly, friends and cubiclemates on November 2.

October 25, 2010 — 9:54 pm
Comments: 34

ROUND ELEVEN: now with fresh dicks!

MrCaniac snags it with Barbara Billingsly (almost three months, this round took). Dude, shoot me an email if you want your dick. It’s not rotten old out-dated dick like everybody else got, either — I’m going out to buy fresh dick!

The roolz:

1. Pick a celebrity. Any celebrity — though I reserve the right to nix picks I never heard of.

2. We start from scratch every time. No matter who you had last time, or who you may have called between rounds, you have to turn up on this thread and stake your claim.

3. Poaching and other dirty tricks positively encouraged.

4. Your first choice sticks. Don’t just blurt something out, m’kay?

5. It’s up to you to search the thread and make sure your choice is unique. Popular picks go fast.

6. The pool stays open until somebody on the list dies. Feel free to jump in any time. Noobs, strangers, drive-bys and one-comment-wonders — all are welcome.

7. If you want your fabulous prize, you have to entrust me with a mailing address. If you don’t want the fabulous prize, you’re too smart to be a regular reader. It takes me forever to put them in the mail, packages go by slow boat, typically take minimum eight to ten weeks and lose the will to live along the way.

8. The new DeadPool will begin 6pm WBT (Weasel’s Blog Time) the Friday after the last round is concluded.

The fabulous prize? Sweasel dot com’s unofficial sponsor, Aunty’s Spotted Dick! Mmmmm…it’s dickalicious!

October 22, 2010 — 6:00 pm
Comments: 195

It’s not about the money

Okay, so NPR has sacked Juan Williams for admitting a perfectly unexceptional uneasiness when forced to share a plane with people who conspicuously display their Muslimness.

Of course, he was explaining why those feelings are wrong, but NPR has been itching to get rid of Williams for some time. A doctrinaire liberal who occasionally blurts out things that are not retarded, Williams has gotten a little too comfy being Fox’s pet lefty.


So anyway…blah blah blah…usual calls to defund NPR. It would be a nifty first nibble for our (pleaseohpleaseohplease) new Republican majority, but we’ve been teased with this so many times before.

Did you know, less than two percent of NPR’s funding comes from the federal government?

“Well, that’s easy!” you say to yourself, “why doesn’t NPR voluntarily divest itself of that 2% and save itself the ass-ache?”

Because, my reliable wingnut friend (and watch your language), lefties love, love, LOVE the idea of state-sponsored media. If they didn’t get that little two percent squidgen of tax money, they couldn’t look their friends at the BBC in the eye. They wouldn’t have the imprimatur of a public service, or the pleasure of making you pay for their services whether you like it or not. It would ruin everything.

In fact, if you look at NPR’s funding picture, it’s got ALL the things lefties love most. Taxes. Big grants from enigmatic groups with important-sounding names. Individual donations (hidely ho, George Soros!). Corporate sponsors (what we in the straight world call “advertisers”). And all the money they raise every single quarter by hectoring their customers and guilting them into paying “their fair share” for the privilege of listening.

Man, did I love yelling “no!” at my radio during pledge drives.

Remember, Dead Pool tomorrow. Six o’clock WBT, sharp. Be there or stay dickless!

October 21, 2010 — 7:28 pm
Comments: 28

Ye olde Franke and Beans

Uncle B has been working hard lately and I’ve been watching him do it, so today we took a break, broke out the Weaselmobile and drove to Bodiam Castle, which is this stunning 14th Century semi-ruin along the River Rother.

It’s got everything you want in a Medieval castle: a big square sandstone thing with round towers on the corners and square towers in the walls, with gatehouses, crenellations, portculliseses, murder holes, machicolations and a big giant moat full of carp and fornicating ducks (well, they were certainly fornicating today).

It had a cameo role in Monty Python and the Holy Grail (as the establishing shot of “Swamp Castle“) and I caught Uncle B humming “Brave Sir Robin” under his breath in tune with the crumhorn music once or twice.

The castle wasn’t lived in for long and was deliberately ruined (or “slighted“) after the Civil War (theirs, not ours, duh) to keep it from being used as a fort again. Then good old Mad Jack Fuller bought it in 1829 and started excavating and shoring it up. Which they’re still doing.

The lady in the long linen cape and jingle bells (god, I hope she works there) told us that workmen on the sewer lines found a complete medieval pot and a piece of wood with a nail in it, just this morning.

The whole thing is covered in incised graffiti — mostly from the 19th Century, when it was an early tourist attraction. But I’m guessing this handsome meat and two veg, carved on the wall outside the guardtower loo, is a bit older.

What? Yes, I went to a beautiful 13th Century castle on a lovely Fall day, and all’s I brought you was some crude penis graffiti. Geez, learn to use Google, why don’t you?

October 20, 2010 — 10:17 pm
Comments: 17

It’s not easy being green

Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. But we won’t see the Incredible Sulk for another couple of weeks.

For those too young to remember — once upon a time, if you pissed off Bill Bixby, Lou Ferrigno turned green and ruined his trousers.

October 19, 2010 — 10:39 pm
Comments: 13

No matter how lack of experience you have

Well, I speak as a 26-year-old woman. And my problem is that, no matter what, Christine O’Donnell is making a mockery of running for public office. She has no real history, no real success in any kind of business. And what that sends to my generation is, one day, you can just wake up and run for Senate, no matter how lack of experience you have. And it scares me for a lot of reasons, and I just know in my group of friends it just turns people off, because she’s seen as a nutjob.

Ohhhhhhhh…savor it, my friends. Let that roll around on your cerebral cortex for a while. Its rarity. Its purity. That there is the sweetest, strongest, melt-in-your-skull stupid you’re likely to see in this whole delightfulfully moronic political season.

Shame on Christiane Amanpour, whoring out this chubby retard for cheap ratings points.

Somebody — somebody who loves her — must sit Meghan McCain down and show her how to diagram a sentence. Then make her watch Mr Smith Goes to Washington until her eyes bleed.

At least it’ll keep her busy and off the air for a while.

Don’t remember the source image? Enjoy.

Now with AUDIO!


October 18, 2010 — 7:38 pm
Comments: 31