People never cease to piss me off amaze me.

I was over at Jeff Goldstein's place today just cruising around, and this nutjob starts going on about how the war on Terrorism is 'your' (the right's) war; and how the right and Republican's should put their money (or body, as it were) where their mouth is and volunteer for service. Basically arguing that you shouldn't say we should go to war if you're not involved in the war yourself.

As I was reading this mindless drivel, it occured to me (firstly that it was in fact, mindless drivel) but that the principle it was based on was fucking retarded. No. It was re fucking tarded. By this logic, you wouldn't be able to vote on property rights unless you owned property. You wouldn't be able to make gun control decisions unless you owned guns, and so on. Whether or not you choose to go to war, it is your duty as an American to make your opinion heard. Fucking guy gave me a headache.

And people go on about we should just leave. Fucking QUIT. Well, I dunno about you, but quitting is not part of the American ethos to me. Yeah, maybe we fucked up, we really stepped in it big time. Fine. People make mistakes. But part of recovering from that mistake is paying the consequences, sticking it out, and learning. You don't just make a fucking mess and walk away. That's short-sighted and self-centered. If America made a habit of quitting all the goddamn time, we'd be just like the fucking French or someone. Except we'd smell better. And have beer. Fucking quit. Who's idea was that?

And lastly, I got my water bill this month and they charged me for 23 HCF (hundred cubic feet). We usually use about 5 HCF. So I was like, hm. Weird. And the bill only totalled about $45 bucks, so the increase wasn't exactly going to break me. Then I got all numbers-oriented (because that's what I do). One cubic foot of water is about 7.48 gallons of water; meaning I usually use about 3,740 gallons of water per month (500x7.48). So for the past two billing cycles, the meter's been saying I'm using about 17,200 gallons. Of water. Okay, so I started listening for leaks. I mean, if I'm using seventeen thousand fucking gallons of water, I should be able to hear a leak, or at least find that firehose I left on. Didn't hear any leaks. Called the water company, they said they already did a re-read. Called the management, and of course, they'll get someone out to check for leaks.
"Really, I listened for leaks, and I'm no plumber but I'm thinking any idiot can hear the difference between no leaks and 17 thousand fucking gallons of water." I'm thinking it sounds something like waves breaking on the Great Barrier Reef, but what do I know. 2300 cubic feet of water is enough water to fill a room larger than 13x13x13. With the average swimming pool holding between 15 and 20 thousand gallons; that puts me right up there with the goddamn Jonses. Hey! C'mon over! We're having a fucking pool party ya'll! Yep, just filled up the fuckin' family room from the tap, and let 'er rip!

WHAT THE FUCK?

So the other day we were out enjoying the beautiful Atlanta weather. Bear spontaneously started dancing a little jig and singing to himself.

[spin, twist, dip]

Hey now there you

[cabbage patch with head bob]

Can I punch you

[shoulder shake, butt shake]

In the

[stop moving, protracted pause after looking up and realizing everybody is watching, revert to normal voice]

I have no idea what I'm talking about.

So politics are not in the future. He's going to have way too many skeletons in the closet.

Things are looking good for being the next prophet of Scientology though.

The Production Manager at my old job in Buffalo had a green plastic button on his desk labeled "Make Everything Go Smoothly". It was just a plastic novelty piece and obviously didn't do anything but when things got stressful he's press it and it would make him feel better. Sort of a psychological soothing feeling came from pressing that worthless button. I just discovered that this concept is widely implemented.

Elevator doors irritate me. When you are moving toward them they are closing. When everybody is on or off the elevator they stand open. There's a solution for the latter one though - the "Close Doors" button. But does this button do anything? It makes you feel better when you press it. You are actually doing something concrete to address your current situation. It is empowering. But is it useful? It never actually seems to make the doors close any faster than they normally would.

Just now, on an impulse (I get these quite often when I'm alone on in an elevator), I popped the "Close Doors" button out of the console. While it was definitely a button it was no more functional than my old PM's magic green button. There was nothing behind the button at all. Just empty space and the unfinished interior wall of the elevator.

I can't decide what to do now - spread the information around to the people here or keep it my secret and giggle inside whenever I see somebody pressing the magic button.

Or maybe a mixture of the two? Wait until the satisfied expression lights up the face of the button presser and then give the news that their action is ultimately worthless.

Yeah, I think that last option is the one I'll go with.

We have a multi-tiered phone system at work. For inter-office calls we use our own lines or VOIP. For external calls we use Sprint. This normally works pretty well. Yesterday it did not work well.

My cube neighbor popped over and asked me if I knew what the light on the phone meant. One of the unlabeled buttons on the phone was lit up with a red light. The lights are always red when lit so the color itself wasn't a concern. What was a concern was the fact that an unknown light was lit.

I pressed the button for that light. The phone did nothing. I picked up the receiver and pressed the button. The phone display changed to "Sprint unplugged". Interesting.

My first thought was that Sprint had followed in the hallowed steps of Nirvana and other lesser rockers and released an album sans electrics and were simply taking advantage of their wide distribution of phone services to market it. Then I recalled that Sprint is a telecommunications company and not a rock band. And apparently they are a telecommunications company that only has one plug.

I hung the phone up, picked it back up and pressed a button for an outside line. The display changed to "Cannot find ARS". Now that made perfect sense. Sprint simply can't find its own ass.

This is an insider position at the moment as it won't be posted until I actually leave the slot. If you have experience with software QA and are interested in the position let me know.

Incidentally, I know this site sucks lately. Two reasons. First, I'm hella busy at work and work thoughts have been intruding upon my normal stream of consciousness. That's the background brain noise that writes the stuff that I regurgitate for your reading pleasure. Things will settle down once we've got our new processes defined (yeah, I'm part of the three person team defining our PQA process - sweet, eh?) and fill out the holes in the team. That should be settled in the next couple of weeks. Second, I made the mistake of reinstalling Medieval: Total War. Yeah, I know. I must have accidentally doubled up on my stupid pills that day. I think I'll be done with it as soon as my Spaniards finish annihilating all of Africa and the Middle East.

Almost forgot! I do get a finder's fee if I refer a person who gets a job here so that dinner offer is a definite thing if you can fill out one of the open positions.

So, I was driving home Friday night and I stopped at the gorcery store to pick up some beers. I came out of the grocery store parking lot and hopped onto the main road. Maybe a second later I see those old familiar blue lights flashing in my rearview. Fuck

Fuck 1) because I hate getting pulled over. I have a great driving record and it seems like cops know that and they try to fuck it up all the time. Fuck 2) because I had four drinks in the past 80 minutes or so.

I pull over immediately, flick on the dome light, and start fishing for my registration. Cop walks up and syas something obligatory. I ask what's up, I know I wasn't speeding. "Well, you blew the stop sign pulling out of the Food Lion back there," he says it like I did it to tease him.

"Oh damn. Honestly, I didn't even know there was one there."
"Have you had anything to drink tonight?"
Shit. I sigh. "Yeah, had four drinks."
"When was the last one?"
"Ah, 'bout fifteen minutes or so ago."
"Mind if I ask you to take a breathalyzer test?"
Shit. I sigh. "I guess not, no." I breathe into the tube, he says, "Well, looks like you blew a .09; right above the legal limit."
I die inside.
"But since you just had your last drink, I'm going back to the car and I'll be back in a few minutes." He returns to the cruiser.

So I'm sitting in my car, reviewing the scenarios sprinting through my mind; wondering why the hell he didn't show me the breathalyzer. I scrape my tongue, swear under my breath, check the rearview. Shit.

Cop comes back, I breathe. "Still showing a .09 pal." Fails again to show me the breathalyzer. "But by the time I get you downtown, you'll be below the legal limit, and you're less than a mile from home. I'll cut you a deal here sir. You get out of the car, walk home, and I'll just give you the ticket for running the stop sign. I've got to run, but I don't want to see you driving this car."

"Thank you officer." I'm releived, confused, but glad that my life hasn't been screwed up. I grab the beers, a few items from the car, lock it up and begin the short walk home.

Now, after getting home and reviewing the events and checking my ticket out; I come to some weird conclusions:
1. The back of the ticket is not filled out. It doesn't say if I have to appear in court, fines, court costs; nothing. I remember him saying I had to go to court, but the entire back side of the ticket was left blank.
2. I never saw the breathalyser results. I've never had to take one without the cop showing me my results.
3. There's no stop sign pulling out of the grocery store and onto the main avenue. I went back the next day just out of curiosity and there's nothing.

I talked to a few lawyer friends and they think I should take a few pics and fight the ticket. I wonder if I could just mail the ticket in with a picture in the envelope. Case closed right?

We've got two PM positions open. One is mine! Back off! Don't make me cut you.

The other one is open to applications. If you're interested in a PM job and willing to work with me (I'm sure there's some form of salary compensation for that) let me know and I'll send you the particulars.

If I get a finder's fee I'll even take you out to dinner.

Jim thinks he's hot stuff because he got this.

That is mere tripe. I just got these and believe you me: Monkeys in costumes, driving cars and playing golf, are a lot funnier than catchy songs and educational cartoons.

Glen Reynolds gets his first Shankalanche. He'll thank me later I'm sure.

...that Kitty rocks!

I just received this fantastic little number in the mail.

Many hours of educational enjoyment lie ahead. If the kids are good I might even let them watch it.

Thanks Kitty!

I went to WalMart today. Nothing froths the milk on the aromatic, subtly flavorful cup of fine cappucino that is real misanthropy like a trip to Wally World.

It's like an obstacle course: get in, get what you need, and get out before your anger meter reaches the red zone and you flip out in the Health and Beauty aisle, pummeling some idiotass redneck with a box of Q-Tips.

Honest to God, we get to the cash register, and some old bag just gets in line right in front of us. Even the woman behind the register thought it was weird. What a rude bitch! But the thing that really got me was that the cashier noticed. I wasn't aware that Wal Mart hired non-catatonic people to work the register. I'm wondering if she knows she's over qualified; but maybe she was the manager filling in for somone who couldn't make it to work today.

Oddly enough, I saw a guy I recognized. It took me a few seconds to place him, but then it hit me. I knew him from a blog! Unfortunately he's not really up to blogging much lately; I thought about leaving a comment at his site, but his latest entry was sometime in April. Oh well, he must've gotten a job or something. Fuckin quitter.

All the talk about this boy who got lost in Utah had me thinking the other day. Mostly about what kind of idiot child gets lost on a gravel road; but also about the time I got lost in the woods.

I had two little projects. They had a lot in common and seemed like they would get along with each other really well. So, I played matchmaker and put them in a meeting room together for a couple of hours.

It's a week later now and I just assisted in the birth of a mega project.

Damn things breed faster than bunnies.

Half of y'all sensed that Fishkill was a bit too fishy. It was indeed a sham.

There was a fish fight one summer at the farm and "You can throw perch all day, but nothing flies like a crappy" did generate from it but everything else about the story was the product of my fevered imagination. We used to fish a lot up there but the catch tended to be very small - mostly young perch, smallmouth and crappy. We'd bring our haul back to the farm and bury them in the fields. This was supposed to be some natural fertilizer. As far as I know it just made the fields stink like rotting fish.

Anywho...one day while we were sticking our dead fish in the dirt somebody threw one at somebody else (the identity of the instigating cousin has been lost to the ages). It was as if somebody had stood up on the lunchroom table and screamed "FOOD FIGHT!" Fish flew fast and furious as we pelted each other with deceaced piscines. It didn't last very long since we each had only a few fish, but it was great fun.

A few days later we got bitched out severely by Uncle when he found unburied dead fish scattered all over his lettuce field.

One point to each of these folk. For the rest of the guessers this is one that got away.

Contagion
Rob
Jeff
Victor
Clancy (A year and a half, nothing. Now two in a row!)
Helen
Margi
Boudicca
Diamond Dave

I helped to move Dopple-G this weekend. He (fortunately) wasn't in the immediate area to hear most some of these:

Oh! That was unfortunate.

Did you just hit the wall with that truck?
No.
[crunch]
How about now?

A little masking tape and that hutch will be as good as new.

[At a stop light a black Denali (that's a big-ass SUV, in case you're not familiar) with oversized racing tires drove past.]
You've really got to feel sorry for a guy with a penis that small.

That dresser will go in the bedroom.
Really? Thanks, Galileo.

So that's what 'fragile' means.

What the hell is on that mattress?
I don't know, but it sure is salty.

It'll fit, just deflate it a bit more.

What are you doing in there?
Christening the new bathroom.
Christening?
You're right - it's more of a baptism.

You're drinking beer?
Hell, it's twelve o'clock somewhere.
I think the phrase is "it's five o'clock somewhere".
Shit. It's five o'clock somewhere too.

Good times.

But really, what's the difference between believeing in Scientology and believeing in any number of the equally preposterous religions in this world? Granted, Scientology may be a more obvious scam for your money, but there are any number of less obvious scams that don't makes targets of your personal wealth so much as your intellectual and spiritual possessions. I guess that's a bit of a cynical thought, but really, that's how humans socialize eachother, we form orders and organization structure. Granted, we like to differentiate ourselves from pack animals with alpha males; but really, what's the difference between choosing a leader based on strength and dominance; and choosing a leader based on who wears the pointiest goddamn hat? REally, if you're going to take a focused lens at dismantling any religion, we shouldn't just pick the easy targets. We should also take those critical lenses and turn them inward, and question things about ourselves that we never thought about before. Are my beliefs just as equally outlandish as those people who belive in all that weird Scientology/Mormonism/Buddhism/Islam/Christianity shit? How are mine more grounded in reality? It's then that we discover one of two things: One - being that ours are just as flawed, we are but another human on this planet doing the best we can to make sense of all the things we don't understand and maybe we'd just do better to accept than busy ourselves trying to prove everyone a fool; and/or Two - that ours can't be wrong because they're ours, because we believe in them. The second logical process only helping to prove the basis of the first.

This meme is too damn good. Thanks to Jim at Snoozebutton for bringing it to my attnetion.

1) Has your father the cheerfulness which is known you?
I was born a poor black child...

3) It is many the dog and the cat it spreads out how, it has?
I'm pretty sure that's illegal though.

4) How many licks it adopts obtains to the tootsie popular music center?
Actually, I prefer a slurpee when someone's going downtown.

5)If I enter mine pinky finger you in the mother, hoped I arrive exhaust together with the thunderclap sound?
My mechanic friend actually thinks it's the cylinder walls, but I gotta say you need to get the plugs checked friend.

How it works:
1) When you post this on your blog get rid of the first question, bump up all the numbers and make a new question for #5. In other words, you are going to be answering your own question #5 and not answering my question #1.

2) You make a new question by writing it in English, translating it to a foreign tongue, and then translating it back to English. Don't tell anybody what the actual original question was.

3) Trackback to this post or return here to make a comment and let me know where you are because I'm keen on seeing what y'all come up with.

4) Make sure to trackback/comment to the person you snagged this from too because they're going to want to see how you answer their question #5. Responses to the Engrish questions are hillarious when you know what the original English was.

When your neighbor has so many sexual encounters that he keeps them catalouged in the thousands by sexual encounter, personality type, and hair color; you know he's gotta be a pimp. Or a felony child abuser.

What I though was interesting was the way the article described repeat child abusers. People who use their power and position to lure needy or easily corruptable children into easily controllable situations. And this guy's been doing it for like 30 years or something without every registering as a sex offender. I mean, what's it going to take to put a child molester away? Do we have to wait until my kid comes back from the playground walking crooked or what?

In an effort to clean our country of all this unsightly native culture, why don't we burn it to the ground and leave the rubble as a reminder to all indigenous peoples to assimilate or else? I mean, who wants to come to a country to see the culture that's been present there for thousands of years, when they can come gaze upon the newly razed homes and social flotsam created by the ignorance of a few leaders? Hey, you know what they say; nothing draws tourists like homeless beggars and smoldering foundations. Before you know it, we'll be on the cover of Conde-fucking-Nast.

As much as I'd prefer to pay hard earned money to wade through throngs of miscreants, be robbed blind for soda and popcorn (quite possibly the two cheapest food items to produce), only to sit in a chair fit for a pygmy, trying my best to pay attention to the flick while seven people use the theater as their own private phone booth and the Bloods settle gangland disputes in the center aisle; I think I'll just wait til it comes out in the rental store. I mean, I dislike the middle third of the population as it is, no point in trying to test my limits.

Talk about you're pooping on high. Damn. Those people must've really wanted som solitude.

The grunion memes are running. Some are good, some are bad, all of them are serious introspectives. Time to inject a bit of levity! I give you the Engrishmeme:

The questions:

1) You think of that any one will make really this meme?
I think somebody already did. It's like, here now, you know?

2) Has your father the cheerfulness which is known you?
My cheerfulness knows no bounds but Dad has a bound or two in his cheerfulness limit so I've got to say no to this one.

3) It is many the dog and the cat it spreads out how, it has?
They generally spread through population expansion, just like bunnies.

4) How many licks it adopts obtains to the tootsie popular music center?
I think the answer is "one" and the subject in question is "Christina Aguilera".

5) Which thing fairies for one life?
Leprechauns. Definitely leprechauns.

The gimmicky part:

1) When you post this on your blog get rid of the first question, bump up all the numbers and make a new question for #5. In other words, you are going to be answering your own question #5 and not answering my question #1.

2) You make a new question by writing it in English, translating it to a foreign tongue, and then translating it back to English. Don't tell anybody what the actual original question was.

3) Trackback to this post or return here to make a comment and let me know where you are because I'm keen on seeing what y'all come up with.

4) Make sure to trackback/comment to the person you snagged this from too because they're going to want to see how you answer their question #5. Responses to the Engrish questions are hillarious when you know what the original English was.

Fini:

1) That means it's the end and there is nothing else.

2) You're done.

3) Pretty pointless, this section.

Well. Jim has told us why he's not here ("Just been flat out busy, y'all.") and promises he, like MacArthur, shall return ("I shall return."). I have no idea what to make of the mild curse ("Dang.") because I can't tell if he's upset because he hasn't posted, because he's flat out busy, because someone else is posting on his site, or if it's just a general exclamation of frustration. Who really knows?

Besides Jim, I mean.

Then there're the threats by some BlogSnot poseur going by my old nickname of Wolf (that was the nickname I had before Bunny, for what it's worth), who promises he will, "have (Jim's) goddamned Charter pulled," which is amazing to me because the only person who can pull Jim's "charter" is his LW, though Jim just might let Wolf pull his charter since he has one of the gayest blogs around.

That is, of course, between Jim and Wolf. Anyhoo.

Due to the underwhelming reaction to my last movie offering, I've decided a different, shorter one is in order. I hope you all enjoy the late '60's PSA VD is for Everybody as much as I did.

Before anyone starts asking the Snooze Crew^TM why Jim isn't posting, I'll answer: We don't know. Jim may be a benevolent God, but he doesn't tell us everything. I suspect he's just being Fashionably Late with his next post.

In the meantime, for all those waiting patiently for some Bloggy Goodness from Jim, I invite you to watch this short film, Squeak the Squirrel, about a cute little squirrel who perseveres (and suceeds!) despite all of the obstacles put in his way by The Man^TM.

I can't drop a deuce in any of the bathrooms at work except the one on the topmost floor.

The other bathrooms see lots of traffic; I can't concentrate or relax enough in that kind of environment to get comfortable enough to drop trow. I don't know if anyone of you out there has ever had to take a hurried shit, but they suck. There's nothing worse than being in a pressurized situation, having to coax a stubborn log out of your bum. It's the worst ever. So I can't use these bathrooms that have constant people going in and out.

The other bathrooms are much dirtier than the top floor units too. I think that's probably mostly due to the traffic thing; but they're also a little newer. And the ones on the top floor are the most spacious; with these big windows that look down over the city. A man can really relax and get some shitting done in there. It's peaceful. And that's what I need out of a good bathroom. Tranquility.

I told you , you fuckers. She was brain dead. Couldn't see shit, didn't know shit, didn't care. And you wanted to keep her alive, against her wishes. You bleeding heart pussies.

So last night there was this thing on TV called "48 Hours: Mysteries'. The episdoe they did was on a guy named Michael Blagg who was convicted of murdering his wife and daughter. Without any hard evidence or even eyewitness testimony.

Apparently, he wife was shot in their home, taken to a dump, and left there wrapped in a tent. his daughter was never found. Blagg's alibi is that he was at work that day; he even left voicemail messages for his wife and child on their home answering machine.

They never matched the bullet in the wife to a gun owned by Blagg. They never said his alibi wasn't true. I mean, if he was at work, people would remember it, the timeclocks and surveillance video would prove it. The neighbors don't remember hearing a gunshot in the iddle of the night, or seeing the family van leave at odd hours. There is nothing connecting this man to his wife's murder except circumstantial bullshit.

The best part is, a witness for the prosecution (the wife's mother no less); admits to making shit up on the stand. She got up there and made up her testimony as it popped into her head, saying that Blagg choked his wife once. She continues to go on saying she never reported the incident, and has never spoken about it until that very moment in the courtroom. She got up on the stand and was allowed to make an unbased, unverifiable testimmony of something that may or may not have happened years ago. Shitty.

The media made him out to be a cheating (a claim later revealed to be completely unfounded and untrue) porn addict. The media reported all this shit for a year or something until the trial date, inundating this small community with all sorts of fucked up opinions. Needless to say, by the time jury selection came around everyone had already made up their minds. The public defender didn't stand a chance against such fools, and he went to jail.

I can't imagine coming home from work to find your wife and child dead. I can't imagine not being able to join the searches for them because the media made people think it would be a conflict of interest. I can't imagine being sentanced to life in prison with no hope of parole, when the two people you love most in the world aren't even alive to come visit you. It's like a fucking horror story.

Honestly, I'd kill myself before I'd ever go to jail for some shit I didn't do.

A very genteel Southern lady was driving across a Savannah River Bridge in Georgia one day.

As she neared the middle of the bridge, she noticed a young man ready fixin' to jump.

She stopped her car, rolled down the window and said,

"Please don't jump, think of yoah deah momma and daddy."

He replied, "Mom and Dad are both dead; I'm going to jump."

She said, "Well, think of yoah wife and children."

He replied, "I'm not married and I don't have any kids."

She said, "Well, think of Robert E. Lee."

He replied, "Who's Robert E. Lee?''

She replied, "Well, just go ahead and jump, you dumb ass Yankee."

(Hat tip to Lovely Wife)

This worked so incredibly well* that I'm going to dip into the well again.

I need another round of happy thoughts, mojo, considered discourse, best wishes...hell, whatever your bag is it's wanted. Half of you can guess what it's for. Four of you know for sure what it's for. For the rest of you, rest assured it's going to a very good purpose.

* Although it did so apparently by causing a tropical storm. Hey, you can't make an omelet without breaking some eggs.

I need an unabridged thesaurus to properly express my contempt, disgust and outrage at this situation.

Mukhtaran Mai was invited to speak at a conference on women's abuse in America. A few days ago she was put on house arrest and listed officially on government enforcement lists as a person not permitted to leave Pakistan. Today she was arrested and brought to Punjab.

If the name Mukhtaran Mai seems to ring a bell for you it's because it was well publicized in 2002, shortly after she was gang raped on the order of a tribal council. Her 12 year-old brother had offended a powerful tribe by befriending and then being sodomized by a clan member. To punish the boy for his affrontery the local law (tribal council) subjected Mukhtaran to being gang raped by four men of that tribe.

After her story was publicized internationally the Pakistani government gave her a pile of "shut up about it" money. She used that money to start a school. Her students include the children of the men who raped her.

The shut up money didn't work so now the Pakistani government has kidnapped her. They have coerced her into making a statement that she does not want to come to America to speak about her experiences. Mukhtaran managed to contact a foreign reporter and explained that she and her family had been threatened with serious repercussions if she did not issue the statement.

Pakistan is our ally? Personally I want nothing to do with "friends" like this.

Muhktaran needs to be freed immediately and her right to travel returned to her. Any other action by the Pakistani government will say far more than she ever could about just what sort of place Pakistan is.

(Items from after she was placed on the No Exit list were from an NPR story I heard on the way home today. I can't find a link to it and am too pissed off to try very hard right now.)

I'm only linking you to this top secret site because we should all know the truth. Link

So, tonight I need to make an appointment for us to meet with a DJ and a baker. The DJ thing I think I can handle. Stereo shit, a masculine feild if there ever was one. Even though picking one out should be pretty straight forward, once the woman throws her monkey wrench of femalogic into the cogs, who knows what'll happen right?

As for the cake thing, I don't even wnat to know. I'm not a big cake person, but apparently that's something that gets you drawn and quartered in the nuptial world; so the fiance has layed down a gag order. I totally want to needle these bakers, but I'm not sure if it will be worth suffering the consequences. I mean, what the hell do I need edible flowers on a cake for? Why can't we just have a regular old cake? Why the hell do you need cake at a wedding? Since we're spending all this dough on food, why spend a lot on cake, when we can spend an equal amount on something like sorbet that's awesomer? Or cheesecake?
"No, those are all options for the grooms cake."
"The groomscake? What the hell is that?"
"It's a smaller cake that's usually chocolate if the wedding cake is vanilla, you know, so there is a choice of flavor."
"Well, it doesn't make sense to have two cakes. Why don't we just get something cool for the same amount we'd spend on this hyped up wedding cake?"
"Because wedding cake is what you're supposed to get, it's what we're getting, no more strange ideas from you okay?"
"Doesn'tmakeanysense."
"Are you done?"

Michael Jackson. What can I say - luckiest child molester I know.

1. Has America made such idols of it's celebrities that we cannot convict them of any misdeeds? See also, O.J., Robert Blake.

2. There is a difference between doubt and reasonable doubt. I guess defense attorneys have done such a great job blurring the line between the two, that they are now interchangeable terms. If a man allows young boys to drink alcohol in his presence, shows this his porno stash, and then asks them to join him in bed; how can you possibly reasonably doubt what his intentions are? If I did the same to a woman my age my intentions would be pretty damn clear, and I would assume if I did the same to a child my inetions would get my happy ass sent to jail.

3. Even if Michael is suffering from some sort of advanced Peter Pan Syndrome, why would he be interested in sex, porn, and alcohol? These are all things that adults become interested in. If his aim was purely to find a playmate, why would he sleep with them? How many of the fellas out there had sleepovers where you got into daddy's liquor cabinet, looked through his porno, and then all climbed in bed together?

He's a sick fucker, and he should have at least gone down for attempt to molest and the alcohol charges. It's a complete boondoggle; and I hope we see him in court again.

And did anyone get a load of those damn jurors? What a bunch of fucktards

Trey wants to move to our neighborhood. Being inclined to rationality he's realized that Wordpress is icky and that Munuvians kick it old school. Heading to mucountry is a no-brainer once you nail down those two facts.

Anywho...head on over to his nomination thread and chime in.