And you thought there were only supposed to be Four Horsemen.
Spice Girls Reunite For World Tour

"Hey everybody!! We're back!! Can you believe it!!" Ginger, Sporty, Posh, Scary and Baby Spice announced on their Web site.

Actually, I cannot believe it. In a world already turned upside down, God has to go and send us this?

The five-member band is the latest in a long line of pop acts to bury past differences and reform, hoping for success where many others have failed.

And why did they fail, you ask? Obviously, from a serious lack of GIRRRL POWA!

I liked this little bit at the bottom:
Meanwhile, Melanie "Scary" Brown largely disappeared from the public eye until a high-profile paternity case involving Hollywood star Eddie Murphy.

Earlier this month a DNA test confirmed Murphy as the father of Brown's newborn baby girl after he declined to publicly acknowledge paternity.

In the face of damnable evidence, even Eddie Murphy won't admit to hitting that.

I'm not a big governmental buff, so could someone please explain to me how a bill that has 22% public approval gets passed by a majority of our Senators? I was made to understand that we're governed by a democracy - you know, for the people by the people - and I assume that means our wants are supposed to be at least approximated in congressional representation.

It just doesn't sound like democracy to me, more like maybe an oligarchy or just a straight up dictatorship. The motherfuckers are forgetting what happens when you piss off the masses.

Since the last time I spoke with God, Our Creator, I've gotten tons of email from people wanting The Holy Father to answer their questions. Since I already have a standing appointment, I figured it couldn't hurt.

Please don't be surprised that God would love to answer your questions. The first comes from Jim, of SBD fame:

What are this week's winning lotto numbers?
Jim, if you ask me this question one more time; I'm going to slap the shit out of you. You've been raking in boku bucks from web hits linking to your horrible blog partners for years. You're the blogosphere's answer to a slum lord and then you want to ask me for more money? You're a straight up ho, biatch.

From Greg in Dover:
I think my girlfirend is cheating on me; am I right?
Good news! She's not cheating on you! Which is a miracle considering how much time you spend in front of the mirror whacking it and grunting "That's the last time you cheat on me, bitch!"

And Lastly for today, John in Springfield asks:
How much is too much?
If you've got to ask, you've gone to far.

Oh, and if you're Catholic; I'm totally watching it and your priest knows. As a matter of fact, he kinda looks forward to your confessions. You dirty little boy you.

Apparently, Apple has come out with a cell phone that is going to revolutionize...cell phoning. Or something.

It takes calls/photos/video, texts, and surfs the web. That way, you're never without your youtube collection of manualists farting their favorite tunes or animals doing stupid stuff; all on a tiny, grainy handheld screen. Thank God for Apple! Where would we be without these guys, eh?

And although texting is fun when you're drunk, I don't really see the point of it. You've got a cell phone, they've got a cell phone; and yet you're opting to push the tiny keys with your fat, dumb fingers. I think there might be an easier way to get in touch with someone in that circumstance.

How about a cell phone that never drops a call? Or a phone that's waterproof? You're telling me that they can put all manner of useless shit on a cell phone, but they can't make them affordably waterproof or aggregate their networks? That might actually be revolutionary. This shit they're trying to sell us is just another distraction for the gadgetry set to add to their collection.

If I can get a phone that does all kinds of circus tricks, why can't I get a phone that actually performs well as a phone?

I will always remember today as the day I have officially heard it all. Here's a link, if you dare.

So it's about 13 hours into hell day 5 of our massive push to meet a development deadline. The first 9 hours of my day were spent on a production support call for another project that would have been complete two weeks ago if our vendor (who is neither Romanian nor Canadian) had half a clue. The Chinese food arrives for dinner and I gather the troops for our evening repast.

Spirits are dragging a bit. Everybody is still trying to wear a game face but you can feel the tension. People are getting tired and grumpy and all they have to look forward to is a weekend of 12 hour plus days followed by a week of the same or worse. My brain is still somewhere in the UK on that support call and I notice that somebody has passed me a fortune cookie.

I open it up and toss the cookie. I can't stand those cardboard vanilla things. Pure nasty. Ever walk into a Chinese bakery? That's because there aren't any. Stick with rice and MSG, damn it!

Anywho, I get a juvenile kick out of reading the fortunes and adding "...in bed" to the end of them. So the typical milquetoast "The honest man earns great riches" becomes "The honest man earns great riches...in bed". It always works.

So I read this thing and "...in bed" doesn't work. I'm stunned. My QA lead asks me what my fortune says. This is the set up I would have been waiting for. This is where I put on my serious face and solemnly utter "You will find great friends...in bed" or whatever mildly humorous thing the cookie has rendered. People smile. Spirits are restored a bit. But this one doesn't work.

Then I got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE PM GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

My serious face in place, I stretch out the paperlet and cleard my throat. "It says", I solemnly utterd as I look down at it "You are only half as popular as you think you are."

"NO WAY!" she replies. My eyes crinkle a bit. Our Graphic Artist catches on right quick. He cracks his cookie and reads out "Your friends talk about you behind your back". Others start to get it.

"Everybody knows you masturbate."

"My lucky numbers are ... Don't bother, you're a natural born loser."

"Your mother masturbates to your yearbook picture."

We almost had to give the Heimlich to one of our analysts after that last one. Spirits were suitably restored.

The project manager's job is so much more than charts and schedules.

Well, everyone else is doing those "get to know you" surveys, so why not follow them right off the cliff?

WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
Not really. I have the same middle name as my mom and I've been through several last names (mom's issues, not mine!).

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
Right before I took my boards. Mainly because I was sure someone was going to sabotage my chances of passing. And because, in my fragile mental state, when hubby mentioned my car was dirty, I was sure he hated me. Yeah, girls are a little nuts.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
Nope. But it's better than some. There is a girl at the bar I work at that dots all her "i's" with hearts. It really annoys me for some reason.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Salami. Hard salami. None of that soft Genoa crap. I like the hard salami...

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
Do my farting, spilling, setting the house on fire husband and vomit machine cat count?

IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
I guess it depends if that other person was clincially insane as well. But yeah, I guess so.

DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
No, I pretty much just come out with both guns blazing. Hence the nickname "pretty bitch."

DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Nope. The docs got them when I was 3. This medical fact prompted my little bro to ask me "can you still play tonsil hockey?" My my, how much 4 year olds know!

WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
Uhmm, I'm all talk. I'm always like "yeah, lets dooo-etttt" and then I puss out at the last minute. Plus, I work in a place where people regularly come in with all sorts of nasty head wounds and all I can think is "wow, it must have been fun until the rope snaped." (not the bar, a hospital)

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
I think my favorite is something like Lucky Charms or another sickly sweet kids cereal. However, I have only Kashi in my cupboard. Because I'm giving in to the societal pressure to not be disgustingly obese.

DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
Nope. But then again, I really only wear flip-flops. I have at least 10 pairs. On rare sneaker wearing occasions, I just kick them off.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Physically, not really. I can carry a few cases of beer and move kegs, but not much beyond that. I'm working on it. But mentally, I'm...okay, I'm mediocre. Me and Freud have some work to do.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
Eady's mint chocolate chip with rainbow sprinkles. I'm 5 years old again-such an easier time.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
I think their overall appearance. Are they all punk or thung? I think it comes from working at the bar and having to make quick judgements about the people that come in. Or I'm a judgemental bitch.

RED OR PINK?
Pink...like the bing on your cherry...

WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
My feet. They are huge! They are really wide and I have pudgy toes. I can also spread said toes into a fan, monkey style. The peeps at the bar call me "frodo toes."

WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
My JaJa. He was my granddaddy (JaJa is polish for grandfather). He was cool-always gave me candy corn and told me when "the neverending story" was coming on HBO.

WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
No shoes, just pink boy cut shorts. I just got out of bed.

WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Ham and cheese sammich, tortillia chips with hummus, and fruit salad.

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
ER re-runs. They are like my crack.

IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
I've always thought this is a weird question. Like "if you could be any food, what would you be?" Gee, if I wanted someone to eat me, I'd like to be a burrito so they shit fire on my way out. But I guess if I had to choose, it would be Jungle Green. It sounds like a ferocious color, but it's actually a bright, happy green.

FAVORITE SMELLS?
My hubby's cologne, freshly bathed babies, fresh cut roses, ripe strawberries, the ocean, outside right before a thunderstorm hits.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
My brother in law; we had him on speaker phone and were hammering out trip details.

FAVORITE SPORTS?
Buffalo Bills Football. Is there any other sport?

HAIR COLOR?
Brown

EYE COLOR?
Varying shades of green. Sometimes brightened by the shade of eyeshadow or color of my shirt.

DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No. I have great vision. I'm supposed to wear reading glasses but I don't. Probably related to reading under the covers with a flashlight when I was a kid.

FAVORITE FOOD?
Hummus, filet mignon (medium rare), corn on the cob (grilled), crab legs, scallops, salad.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
I like scary movies, but lately all the "scary" ones turn into "how gruesome can death be" flix. I want to be scared, not puke up my popcorn. So I got to go with happy endings. They may be so sappy sweet I get cavities, but at least I'm not voming orville redenbacher.

LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Pirates of the Carribean: The End of the World. Three and a half hours but it was great!

WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Green bathrobe. Like I said, just got up.

SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer. My tan is much better, though I could do without the humidity. I like the snow, but I've never been much for frostbite.

HUGS OR KISSES?
Kisses. But not the wet sloppy kind. Unless their from a cute doggie.

FAVORITE DESSERT?
Chocolate anything. And creme brulee.

MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
To flowers and candles.

LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
Slapping my leg with your manhood.

WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
I have several going right now. The Weatherman is one, the other is Emergency Nursing, 1998 version. A textbook, but still interesting. I'm kind of a geek.

WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
It's a dell pad that came with the puter. A corner is cut off because my cat used to chew on it and it was all bumpy and my mouse got stuck on it.

WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Last Comic Standing and a Dateline broadcast about Il Mostro, an italian serial killer. Last comic was hilarious, dateline disturbing. A great night of television!

FAVORITE SOUND?
Babies giggling, waves crashing on the beach, the doctor saying "your tests came back negative".

ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles. End of discussion.

WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
Paris when I was 12. It was awesome. I could buy wine and they didn't even blink! Of course, I was terrified when I was going through customs on the way back.

DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
Yes and it has caused people to remark "Wow, your husband must really love you!"

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
Buffalo, NY

WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Everyone. These are hokey but a good time killer!

From Jeff Goldstein@Protein Wisdom:

St James Presbyterian Church in Littleton, CO wondered, “If you could ask God one question, what would it be?” — an exercise that drew hundreds of responses, most of them (sadly) quite predictable.

Notes the Rocky Mountain News, “the 10 most-asked questions will be sermon grist for the next 10 Sundays.”

The results:

What’s my life all about?
Why are some people healed and others not?
Will you really forgive me?
Why do you allow disasters, violence, tragedies, and war?
What’s your plan for the world?
Do you love me? And, if so, why?
Why are there so many religions in the world?
What’s your will for my life?
Why is there suffering, and why does it have to happen to children?
What happens after we die?

Lucky for the faithful, I happen to have an inside line to God. He and I were on the same intramural b-ball team in college...Man, those were the days. Little known fact - God is a kickass beer pong player. Just devastating.

Anyways, we have a regular lunch meeting setup; you know, just the old crew reminiscing over burgers and what not; so I forwarded these questions to him. Behold, the word of God:

How is it that a word could mean one thing and it's opposite at the same time? Take the word 'cleave' which has two definitions; the more obvious of which is to cut or split. However, it also has another meaning - to adhere or cling.

This sets up all kinds of confusing situations, and eventually renders the word itself absolutely meaningless and unuseable:
A good writer should cleave himself of ambiguity, and cleave to the pursuit of words that cleave themselves from the mediocre mainstream vocabulary.
See. No one could ever agree or disagree with the above statement, because it's virtually impossible to tell exactly what that statement is. And it sounds retarded.

If you take this a step further and use the word 'uncleave', it opens up a veritable literary wormhole of sorts. Since the word is its own opposite, it's impossible to tell which form of uncleave is being used - the one that means uncut or the one that means unstuck. Silicet:
"I thought you told me you cleaved that."
"Well, that's because I did cleave it."
"I can plainly see that it is most certainly uncleaved."
"That's exactly what I'm saying."
"No, you said cleaved."
"Don't be an ass. It's as cleaved as uncleaved can be."
"Listen to me goddammit. That is not cleaved, and if you want to argue about it, we can go outside and I'll cleave you."
"Now that just doesn't make any sense. How bout you go outside and cleave yourself, mothercleaver."

Essentially, a word that is its own opposite can't possibly have any meaning at all, except in context; and context, being merely the perception of the reader, can fluctuate not only among readers, but among readings by the same reader given any number of external and internal events.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, this is bullshit and somebody better do something about it. Pronto.

From the Spinster, because I love doing these little questionnaire things.

On this date in 1885, the Statue of Liberty arrived at its permanent spot at Ellis Island in NY. A gift from the French, before they became cowardly, pretentious pricks, to commemorate the centennial of the Declaration of Independence or possibly the Magna Carta. Although, and I may be wrong, but the Declaration of Independence wasn't written in 1785. Wasn't it 1776? I'm pretty positive something important happened in 1776. That was the year that Crispus Attucks rode through downtown Boston announcing to all who would listen, "Give me liberty or give me death". I believe he received death.

Remember the good old days when immigrants sailed into NY harbor, were herded off the ship, de-loused, beaten and thrown into crowded refugee camps until they could find a slum to live in? Then, depending on your nationality and whatever decade you arrived, no one would give you a job and if they did give you one, your friendly co-workers would rob you when you got payed because you didn't speak English. My Grandfather who was from Northern Italy did get a job because he looked German. He worked for Thomas Edison in West Orange, NJ. My Grandfather was a very intelligent man, specifically in science and math. One day, he invented the lightbulb. When he showed it to Thomas Edison, Edison gave him a dollar and told him to get back to work. That is how Thomas Edison "invented" electricity. He stole the invention from my Grandfather. Luckily, my grandfather was in the mob and proceeded to lay a beating on Edison, prompting Edison to give him a cut of the lucrative NY/NJ Electricity cartel.

Those were the good old days when you could treat people who were different than you like crap. Now, 12 million Beaners run across the border and we want to make them legal and give them benefits and welfare because they broke the law.

My Grandfather's rolling over in his grave.

PS - this post is not "racist". My point is, that through the history of the country, waves of different nationalities would arrive here and were treated badly for a few generations because they were different. Think of it as a kind of hazing. But for a half a century. Then they became the ruling class. The Germans got treated like crap by the English, the Irish got treated like crap by the Germans, the Italians got treated like crap by the Irish and so on. It was a rite of passage. You had to go through it to be accepted.

Except the American Indians and the Blacks. They got completely screwed. But, you got to break some eggs...or skulls, as it were.

From the Spinster. I had a dream about her last night.

WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE?
I was named after my grandfather. It’s a complicated naming tradition that goes back centuries. It starts to get messy after the third son and second daughter.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED?
I don’t know. Maybe the Tony Romo incident.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?
I block print and even that is illegible.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT?
Prosciutto. After that, most other salt cured meats.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS?
I do.

IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU?
Yes. I make no demands of people. I am an island.

DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT?
I’m more of a cynic.

DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS?
Yes. I’ve never even met anyone who had them out. I think that who “get your tonsils out” thing is an urban myth.

WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP?
I don’t see the point. The risk vs. reward factor is horribly warped. Adventure is never fun while it’s actually happening.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?
Frosted mini wheats.

DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF?
For sneakers, no, but I untie them before I put them back on. I wear loafers a lot—no laces. I dislike people who call sneakers tennis shoes. How many people who wear sneakers play tennis? A very small percentage I’ll reckon.

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG?
Strong like a horse. I dislike hard labor, but I can hump heavy shit all day long if need be. If you mean gym strong, I don’t know.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?
I can’t get that excited about ice cream. Chocolate? I do like when the cone gets all soggy with from the ice cream near the end though. One of life’s small pleasures. I’m also a fan of the waffle/ice cream sandwich.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE?
If their eyes are dead or alive. Some people look like the lights are on but nobody’s home, other people have expressive eyes… it looks like something’s going on in there.

RED OR PINK?
Green.

WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF?
I cab be picky and critical.

WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST?
Charles Bukowski.

WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?
Kacki shorts. No shoes.

WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE?
Cornflakes.

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?
Oliver’s Army.

IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?
I dislike crayons. I dislike waxy stuff.

FAVORITE SMELLS?
Napalm? Actually, I like the smell of steaks cooking, new cars, fine leather, a baseball glove, and a woman wearing this. And the smell of Hawaiian Tropic gives me instant wood.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE?
It was a business call.

FAVORITE SPORTS?
Football. Beach volleyball. Football.

HAIR COLOR?
Dark brown.

EYE COLOR?
Hazel. I don’t even know if that’s a color, but that’s what I’m told.

DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS?
No.

FAVORITE FOOD?
Pizza, calzones, fois gras, rabbit, venison, bouillabaisse, steaks.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS?
I’m a big fan of historical fare, when done right. And thrillers.

LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?
Oddly enough, Pleasantville.

WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING?
Grey pocket T.

SUMMER OR WINTER?
Summer. I like everything about it.

HUGS OR KISSES?
I prefer licks.

FAVORITE DESSERT?
Chocolate mousse.

MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
To genital caresses.

LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND?
To teeth on penis.

WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?
The Pathfinder. James Fennimore Cooper.

WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?
Crumbs.

WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON T.V. LAST NIGHT?
Hells Kitchen. God, how I love that show. Screaming, insulting…

FAVORITE SOUND?
A turbo kicking in.

ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES?
Beatles, but I dearly love the Stones too.

WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME?
China.

DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT?
I have this move that ends with a swirl. Actually, I have a gift for music and languages.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN?
NYC

WHOSE ANSWERS ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO GETTING BACK?
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, but I don’t think he’s a reader.

We don't leave until Thursday, but I can barely contain myself. I simply can't imagine having to wait another 48 hours to be on vacation.

I reserved my car today. Each time I go to Vegas, I rent a dream car. For a guy like me, Vegas wouldn't be Vegas if I didn't spend some time behind the wheel of a decent car. Decent meaning:
1) The car must be a coupe, hard top or 'vert is irrelevant.
2) The car must be a sports car, not a Mustang, Camaro, Seabring, Solara, or any of the other useless but oxymoronically ubiquitous designs.
3) The car must be rare. Something you don't see everyday, and definitely something you can't rent at your local Rent-A-Wreck.

My choice this time came down to two finalists, a Shelby Cobra and a Lotus Elise. I ended up going with the Lotus for a couple reasons. Firstly, I feel it's going to handle better through Red Rock Canyon better than the Cobra might. The front engine design and overall power to weight ratio of the Shelby is going to make it a little squirrely in the turns. Not to mention it's probably not going to have the balance the Lotus will. So Lotus it is!

Definitely sprung for the extra insurance coverage too.

The Wife, RN: "...and that's okay, because I know I get on your nerves too sometimes."
shank: "Sweetheart, you never get on my nerves."
The Wife, RN: "You lying cuntass fucktard."
shank: "I love you too dear."
~ ~
(Dancing to romantic music)
shank: "Hey, it's going to be okay. Why are you crying? We're going to have kids and they're going to be fine!"
The Wife, RN (crying): "But what if our kid has an imperforate asshole?"
shank (falls over, laughing hysterically): "A what?" (choking laugher) "Wouldn't that be a blessing, considering his gaseous lineage!?"

Following is a list of what I consider to be some of the most overrated bands of the past few decades. Keep in mind that when I say, 'what I consider', you should just take as fact since I am seldom wrong and 99% of my opinions are just plain right. That said, in no particular order, let's continue.

10 - The Doors. I know what you're thinking - they had that Light My Fire song that was so catchy and Jim was so handsome before he met Meg Ryan and got fat and no one appreciated what a genius he was 'cause he talked to dead indians and shamans and whatnot and was like, totally enlightened. He was on a higher plane than the rest of us, dude.

Bullshit. Jim Morrison was a pompous, drug-addled jackass who thought his lyrics were oh-so-profound. Guess what Jimmy? They are, if you're wrecked on eight hits of acid and a quart of Jim Beam. Otherwise, not-so-much. Listen to The End. I mean come on. Could you be any more pretentious? If he didn't die fucked up and bloated in a bath tub, he would have been a Vegas lounge act in five years when he ran out of money. All in all, a piece of shit human being who got blown out of all proportion because of an ignorant, gullible generation in the absolute worst decade of the century. Die hippy!

9 - The NY Dolls. I've never heard one of their songs. Ever. How influential could they have been if I've never heard any of their songs? Plus, there's that David Johansen idiot who became Buster Pointerdexter. What an ass. Also, I think they dressed in drag. Another strike against them. That's just what I want to hear is a bunch of fucked up, screaming drag queens. 'Nuff said.

8 - Def Lepard - three words: one armed drummer.

7 - Neil Young - If you castrated a Canadian, that's what Neil Young sounds like. He gets bonus points for being really, really ugly. And would it kill him to wash his hair once in a while? What was Crosby, Stills and Nash thinking? That's like adding Snoop Dog to the Three Tenors.

6 - Pink Floyd. The only way you can even listen to Pink Floyd is if you're loaded on quaaludes and pot. Like comfortably numb, dude. Bonus points for having a crazy guy in the band. Pink Floyd is the Moody Blues suffering from severe depression.

5 - The Eagles - The country-rock version of Insync. Packaged, vapid, formulaic pap. You idiots ate it up. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave. And they knew it.

4 - ZZ Top - they had long breads and twirled their guitars...and???? They had two hits and both sucked. Every song sounds the same. But I guess they did have the long beards.

3 - Bruce Springsteen. I absolutely despise the man. He has a grating, annoying voice and his band sucks. Clarence Thomas was a mediocre hack saxophonist and the drummer, Sam Weinstein was horrible. But everyone said they were great. Profound, thoughtful lyrics, they said! How would you know? You couldn't understand a word he said. And he was from New Jersey. Did you know that there was a petition to make Born To Run the state song? That's right - a song about getting the hell out of New Jersey was going to be the state song for New Jersey. And you wonder why it has the reputation it does.

2 - Guns 'N Roses - people actually liked this band. A lot. I'm speechless. A greasy tattoed pussy and his mad hatter side kick. No talent, drug addict, stupid, greasy, losers. Did I mention greasy?

1 - The Beatles. Jesus. Everybody says they are the greatest band ever in the history of the galaxy and before there was a galaxy. Pre-God. Really? This is the band that wrote Yellow Submarine and Oh-Blah-Di. Wha??? Yeah, they had some good songs but were they great? I can't tell anymore I've heard them so much. Frankly, I've had it with the Beatles.

One question though - why would Paul McCartney marry a woman with one leg? I mean, with all that money, wouldn't you want a whole person? And they were the friggin' Beatles for fucksake. You couldn't do better than Yoko Ono and Linda McCartney and then a one-legged lady? That infuriates me. They could have had any women in the world. They could have had threesomes for the rest of their lives and never with the same two women and they chose Yoko and Linda. That's just wrong. And that's why The Beatles are the most overrated band ever.

Dear Neighbors-
Hi! We're the young couple that just moved in down the street. You know, the ugly house. The rental with the patchy lawn and the wrinkled asphalt driveway.

Look, I know what you're going to say; but there's no way in Satan's searing Hell that I'm getting my paper-pushing ass out in the 90-degree heat to walk around behind a fertilizer spreader. Sorry. Besides, it's not like it's killing the property values around here. Don't get me wrong, if it was my own place I'd be out there doing it, because it probably bugs me almost as much as it bugs you. But let's be honest, this place is too goddamned ugly for anyone to actually buy. That's why it's a rental.

Thanks!
The Ugly House People

P.S. Thanks to the folks at 2907 for the pallets! Yeah, we snagged 'em from your garbage pile because they make great fuel for the fire pit in the backyard. If anyone else ever has any, feel free to give us a holler and we'll come pick them up!

Global Warming = Cats Getting Lots of Ass

I gotta call shenanigans on this tripe. Cats balling other cats with abandon is not a function of global warming so much as it's a function of cat owners not following the advice of Bob Barker.

Sometimes, that HoverRound just ain't got enough balls.
Apparently, it's so boring in Paw Paw, Michigan (who woulda thunk it?) that wheelchair-bound guys are riding around mounted to the front grilles of passing trucks. Yee-Haw! I love how the dude isn't even phased; "It was quite a ride." That, my friends, is the statement of a repeat offender.

Paris Hilton, the human punchline.
Paris, probably the most widely despised criminal in recent history, has been sent home due to 'medical issues' after serving only 5 days of her (reduced) sentance of 23. Al Sharpton is all up in arms about racial and economic favoritism. Al, let's be honest here bro, exactly what in the hell did you think was going to happen? You can't honestly tell me you're suprised by this turn of events. Personally, I'm intensely curious about this generic 'medical problem'. Are we talking about simple Blackberry Withdrawal? Or the existing condition of, how do I say this, Chronic and Incapacitating Mental 'Lethargy' that Paris seems to suffer from? Or could it be that she just got the crap beat out of her so bad that she had to go home. My professional medical opinion is that a bar of soap and a tube sock would probably do considerable damage to someone who weighs in at roughly six and a half pounds.

I’m not much of a cook. That’s an understatement, actually. There is almost nothing that I can successfully cook. I dry out eggs from fear of sammy. I burn almost anything that needs to be fried or sautéed. Things tend to be charcoal on the outside and raw in the middle. A few months ago I bought a digital meat thermometer; I thought that would really help but it hasn’t. I’d poke it onto something and all the juice would come out and the thing would read “rare” or I would get no reading at all. Then a few minutes later I’d do it again and it would say “well” and be completely dried out.

I never fared any better on the grill. I’d watch some cooking shows and I learned a little bit, things like cold meat sticks to a hot grill, but for the most part, I’ve ruined a lot of good meat. What makes this all worse is the fact that I’m somewhat of a gourmand. I know a lot about food. The fact that I know what I want and what I like and can’t cook it is starting to wear thin on me. Not that I’m going to start making complex reductions from veal bones or anything, but I should be able to grill a steak without destroying the damned thing.

Last month we decided to get a new grill and I finally fired it up this week. We got a couple of NY Strips and some potatoes and gave it a go. The first thing I notices was if you light this grill and close the lid the thing goes up to 600 degrees really, really fast. My old grill never really got hot enough. So I brushed a little olive oil on them so they wouldn’t stick, some salt and pepper and threw them on. I closed the lid and watched the temperature gauge go back to 600 degrees. When I opened the lid a few minutes later they looked like they were ready to be turned. I flipped them and gave it a few more minutes at 600.

They were perfect. Turns out it wasn’t me after all. You just need to get that bastard up to 600 degrees and keep the lid closed.

Adult suburbia is a lot like high school.

I pick my kid up from dancing lessons and other events. I’m forced to attend the odd birthday parties as well, and I’m here to tell you that high school behavior is alive and well, long after your Camaro’s been sold for scrap.

When I pick my kid up from dancing I am always the only man there. The gaggle of mothers all look up when I walk in and then go back to talking amongst themselves. None of them will look me in the eye. I always nod and smile because I’m polite. They all look away. After a few minutes a couple of them will start staring at me when they think I’m not looking. And I mean stare. Like I have two heads.

Most of them pretend I’m not there at all. Like I give a shit. Every once in a while I’ll look up quickly and catch one of them staring at me and they panic and look away. This goes on week after week. Are they threatened by me? Are they wondering why their own worthless husbands can’t contribute a little more? I’ll probably never know. They have a definite pecking order as well. In fact a couple of the women are ignored as well.

Anyway, a friend of the family started taking her kid to the same dance school and now I have someone to talk to when I show up, much to the dismay of the other mothers. They are clearly pissed off by my talking to this woman. What they really need to do is relax and develop some damned social graces.

The only difference between this situation and high school is the frump factor. And a cloud of dope smoke. Most of these broads look like they’ve had the life beaten out of them. A few keep in shape but most are pretty far gone, and they’re younger than I am. Maybe that’s where the hostility comes from.

The same thing happens when I’m forced to go to a birthday party. I walk in and either all conversation stops or they pretend I’m not there. Like they’re punishing me. Do these broads think I like going to these things? Do they think I want to share they’re company? Maybe get a play date going or something? Because I’m here to tell you broads something. I don’t like you. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you in those horrifying clothes you wear. The sweat pants and the saggy-baggy old crap that’s hanging off of you. You all need to get your fucking hair done, learn to put on some makeup that wasn’t purchased in a Northern New Jersey drugstore and learn to sit up straight.

These women look at me like I have two heads and they’re the ones that look like they slept on the floor in their clothes all night. They’re the ones that better not get a divorce because it’s going to be CAT CITY for them.

I was just at the grocery store and I saw a famous guy. An actor, to be specific. Except I don't know his name.

It's similar to having a song in your head, but not knowing the name of it; except worse, because I can't offer anything up that would describe him to anyone. I'll try though.

He's a medium build guy, short curly hair that's dark, with just a few tinges of gray maybe. He's probably between 40 and 50. He's got square facial features. Not angled like Dolf Lundgren, but maybe more of a Harvey Keitel. The bottom of his face, the jawline and chin; seem wider than the rest of his face. And just a tad younger than harvey.

I can't remember a single movie he's in, but I don't remember seeing him ever smile. He's got a raspy voice, not too gravelly, just kind of a whiskey sort of tone. I've got this flash memory of him being some gritty kind of character who projects a lot of anger. Not crazy, energetic anger; but kind of simmering powerful anger. Can't remember what movie or a scene I saw that in or anything; but he was definitely so pissed he was kind of sweating a little. God, this is horrible isn't it?

Heading back to Vegas the middle of this month. My cousin and some other folks are all turning 30 and they wanted to do it out there. It's going to be good times.

They all want to go eat at one of these fancy tapas bars on Saturday night. Hey, I enjoy great food as much as the next guy; but I don't give a rats ass about exotic garnish and funny-shaped plates. And furthermore, why the hell would someone go to a restraunt that sells you food that other people can eat of your plate? I guess as long as the sangria is flowing we won't have any problems. But I'm not sure, because I've never had sangria. I'm hoping this fruity joint sells PBR or something just in case.

My favorite hole in the wall joint in Vegas is this place called the Stage Door. It's this total dump on Flamingo, nestled in the shadow of the Flamingo Hotel and Casino. You can get a beer and a hotdog for $2.

Go down to the end of the block at Flamingo and Koval and there's Ellis Island. Less divey, but they've got an outdoor barbecue and $7 dinner plates that could feed a small family. They give you like half a chicken and four sides. It's ridiculous. I suggest the ribs.

There's a tond of other places, but I'd hate to give away any real treasures.

Pizza that's been in the fridge for several hours is always better than pizza that's just been delivered; it's even better than pizza that's just come out of the oven.

I've heard many of the tired old hypotheses that attempt to explain the phenomena; but I prefer to believe that it's a mystery so pure and profound that we should just appreciate it as one of life's beautiful little idiosyncrasies.

Behold. Left over pizza!