Wild About Harry...

Okay. Why Drudge? Why? I know that the American Media is, well, slimy.
But all Harry wanted to do was serve his country.
But nooooooo. The Drudge report had to blow it.
Now every angry Taliban hooligan is scouring the Afghan countryside looking for His Royal Highness.
(Why did I just have to add Taliban to the dictionary? Has Microsoft been hiding under a rock or something since 2001!?!)
Anyway, the Brits were spitting their Cheerios all over the breakfast nooks as they read the Daily rags or browsed the web and found out young Prince Harry has been serving with his unit in sustained combat operations in Afghanistan.
Now that the cat's out of the bag, he'll be coming home.
Thanks a lot Matt...
Way to go.
Kudos to the British Press for keeping this one under their bonnets for as long as they did.
Except of course to the wanker that spilled the beans to Drudge and the German paper and the Australian Paper that released the story at the same time.
A pox on your firstborn, sir!
Now the next thing you'll see on store shelves is Combat Harry Action Man!
With Kung Fu Grip and camouflaged tea service for four!
Awesome.
He'd be way cooler than the Mitt Romney Campaign Bus Edition with Baby Kissing Action.
You know, I think every potential World Leader needs to spend some time in uniform.
In combat preferably.
This way when they ask the common folk to step up, they understand exactly what they are asking.
Just a thought...

Come With Me If You Want To Live...

What? Am I the ONLY person on the planet that has seen the Terminator? Didn't Sarah Connors tell the world that they were coming? Didn't Morpheus warn us all about the Matrix?
We know how deep the rabbit hole goes, yo. We know.
I distinctly remember the Borg assimilating assorted members of Starfleet. Was it my imagination or did Jean Luc Picard end up with the broken bits of household appliances shoved into a few body cavities?
Yeah. It did look like it hurt didn't it?
So why is the government building robots with .50 caliber machine guns attached to the roof?
At the very least they could have put one those smiley faces on the sides to make it look less like the end of the world, eh? That would have made me a lot happier. Ooh! How about sticking one of those plushy Garfield the Cat with the suction cups on his paws on the front?
That would be awesome.
Of course, it would still have a high powered machine gun, all-terrain tires, combat armor, GPS Navigation and target tracking and an EMP hardened CPU.
Hmm... That actually sounds like a sweet rig.
Can you play XBox on it?
Wait. Machine guns. Right.
All we need is for those things to be patrolling the cities of America. Been there, dont that, saw Robocop in the theater. I for one don't want to end up on the wrong end of a conversation with an ED-209. I don't care if Robocop is on duty.
Television is rife with examples of machinery gone wild.
And not in the good way.
You wanna know what happens to people when you give robots automatic weapons?
You get smurfed.
That's right my friend, you get smurfed royally.
Nothing good has ever come from giving an Android...
Hold on a sec...
(What? What is it Murray? Kinda busy here in case you haven't noticed...
The who? ACL- Look, I don't care what they said.
No way.
You had better be joking...
What the he-
What!?! I have to call them what?
You're putting me on. Murray, I am in no mood for your shenanigans.
Let me see that...
Holy cannoli.
Don't they have anything better to do?
So I can't even call them Robots anymore?
Wow. This is what America has come to...
Oy vey.
I hate those guys. I really do...)
Okay. Sorry about that.
Where was I?
Oh yeah. So if you give a-
ahem...
Organically Challenged Entity a weapon, you are basically sealing the fate of all mankind.
(What is it now?
Of for the love of... Whatever. Fine. Fine. Just tell them to stuff it..)
And womankind.
Sheesh.
Power to the people baby.

Tengo Un Gato En Los Pantalones...

All aboard the nonsense express. I refuse to make sense today. I think I am going to go down Whimsy Lane and just blurt out whatever crawl out of the hole where my brain usually sits.
If you need to take a pill first, now would be a good time.
Tacos are best when crunchy.
Silicone in one of my least favorite words.
I wonder if Hillary Clinton can yodel?
If I take a sandwich and divide into three parts and place them on a train heading east at 120 miles per hour and I board train heading North at 125 miles an hour, will I get hungry before the sandwiches go South?
If Elvis is a live, is he going to vote for Obama?
What happened to Marshall, Will and Holly at the end of the land of the lost? And since we're on the subject, what is a Sleestak and can you grow them like Sea Monkeys?
Hey... what's a wallaby and why do Australians need to see a man about them?
If they do one of those Remakes for film, make sure you get Will Ferrel to play Marshall.
And one of the Sleestaks
Anyone else remember the Bugaloos? Or Sigmund the Seamonster? Maybe you remember the Banana Splits?
I'm old.
It's official.
I am also positive that whoever wrote the script for H.R. Puffandstuff was high on LSD or something.
I have no other explanation for that, do you?
I've just had an epiphany!
Remember the whole not being able to use freaking, friggin, etc.?
We have made an executive decision to use Smurf instead.
What the smurf yo?
Are you our of your smurfing mind?
Smurf you man, smurf you and the horse you rode in on.
Hey... do you know what happened to the Smurfs?
I do.
You wanna know?
You sure you wanna know?
I'm not sure you do.
Just remember that you asked for it.


Feel better?
Neither do I.
UNICEF killed the Smurfs and now they must pay.
Now you know.
And knowing is half the battle.
I better go lay down now.

Busy Little Beavers...

So it's been a few days, right? I had video to shoot on Thursday, plus the second installment of pixy sadist girl (a.k.a. Teeth Cleaning Part Deux). It was all gravy. Got to go out to lunch with the Band we were interviewing (on the Record Label's tab no less! Sweet!) The interview went smashingly. They kibitzed and played a tune.
All in all, good times.
And I got a copy of their new album!
Schwag!
Wait, even better! Exclusive schwag!
Good times.
After the shoot I literally ran to my date with the diva of dentifrice. She pounded on the gums and associated areas for another couple of hours.
I was all woozy afterwards.
She's going to make a fortune in dentistry.
Friday was non-stop. I never did get to blog, not that there was anything going on that was remotely interesting. No funny pics to mutilate, nothing.
The weekend was nice. Got nothing done and I feel good about it.
So that leaves me skipping from last weeks hump day straight to Monday.
There ought to be a law against that.
There ought to be a law against Monday's now that I think about it.
The weekend was basically run of the mill. Had some family come from out of town. They were escaping the horrors of Global Warming that plague New York.
You know, that huge snow storm that dumped like 100 feet of frosty on the Big Apple?
Yeah. That's got Global Warming's prints all over that puppy.
Al Gore has been notified and is responding with his Global Warming Super Hero Force as we speak!
League Of Outstanding Naturalist Superheroes...
L.O.O.N.S.
Yeah. Fighting the good fight!

START SOAPBOX
I think that we have a fiduciary responsibility to take care of the Planet but we have to be rational about it and all the shrill Chicken Little hyperbole is not helping things at all.
END SOAPBOX

So... where was I?
Oh yeah, Cuz and Co. was down for the Disney thing this past week and what would a trip to Florida be without a dip in the pool?
Trouble was, it was only like 74 degrees on Saturday. Undaunted, the tiny version of the Polar Bear Club trooped off to the local pool (with yours truly playing the part of Arctic Guide...) and plop!
Into the pool they went.
My kids went with them.
What followed was a lot of hooting and hollering and teeth chattering and something unintelligible about how cold the water may or may not have been.
When it looked like hypothermia was setting in I ordered the rascals out of the water and over to the playground to generate some body heat.
"Move! Move if you want to live!!!"
They survived. After Pizza and Hot Dogs and Surf's Up, they were good to go.
Good times.
In a couple of weeks, I'll be able to jump in the pool too without worrying about shrinkage and stuff.
Awesome.

Aqua Teen Mean Machine...

I remember watching "The Spy Who Loved Me" as a kid. Well, I just remember watching the small while car turn into a submarine and thinking how freakin' sweeeeeeet it would be to have one.
I remember getting a Matchbox version of the car too. I had to trade 2 cars to get it.
I came out ahead in the trade because I only gave up a Pinto and a Gremlin.
Come on! For a submarine James Bond car?
A no-brainer.
So imagine my surprise as I was idly surfing the world wide web and BAM!
There it is.
I don't believe my eyes.
It can't be!
The Rinspeed Squba?
(hold on... there's supposed to be a video here...)

Crap. There was supposed to be a really cool YouTube-esque video right here. Doesn't seem to be working. They can build a car that swims like Captain Nemo's Nautilus but they can't upload a video to the German Equivalent of YouTube properly.
Crazy...
Try this link to the site if you really wanna see it.

Looks like a Maserati, drives like the U.S.S. Dallas!
And for a cool Million bucks, you too can do 20,000 leagues under the sea.
The only thing I didn't see was the torpedo tubes. It has to have torpedoes. What's a submarines without torpedoes? It better come with torpedoes. And Dolphin snacks. So you can feed flipper. Oh, and Shark repellent would probably come in handy too.
I hope it has that cool PING!!! sound too.
So you can let the Ruskies know you've got a good firing solution on them.
"One ping only..."
So once I actually achieve the Utopian ideal of the Aquaman Body, I will then be able to rule the beaches of the world with Aquaman's wheels.
(I just had to add Aquaman to the dictionary... talk about buzz kill...)

Adios Muchacho...

So is there going to be a party in Miami? You know, now that Castro is retiring? I wonder if he'll move to South Florida and take up shuffle board, canasta and bingo down at the Del Boca Vista VFW Post? Maybe he'll join the Ivy League lecture circuit or pick up a few choice endorsement deals somewhere and make a ton of money.
"Trust Fidel. Taco Bell is the best deal for your money..."
"Got Cucarachas? Stop them dead with La Bandera Negro..."
Maybe he will get his own variety show on Telemundo.
This is sort of unprecedented. How often does a Communist Dictator actually live to retirement?
Weren't we supposed to bomb him before then? That's what we usually do.
I'm way too young to remember the Bay of Pigs.
So I'm looking at Banana Republic Dictators and most of them ended ugly. So who survived to the end?
And by survive I mean didn't end up on the wrong end of a revolution or in prison.
That has to be a short list.
He's leaving of his own volition.
At least that's the official state version. I suspect that in this case he realizes that he can't go on forever and if he want's to catch the Yanquis in the original House that Ruth built, he's going to have to go this year.
In other news, we've gotten a list of words we can't say at work. I'm not making this up either. This is a straight copy and paste.
And I quote:

"* Acceptable Words - The response to the "What's In A Word" e-mail was interesting. I had no idea how regularly those words were used. The responses also listed other words that are very offensive such as "God", "Gee/Geez", "Jesus Christ!", etc. when one is not actually calling on the Lord or "darn" in place of the other word that has nothing to do with beavers. Then there are words such as "suck" and "screwed", (yep, these are listed in Wikipedia as well and they're awful) that can be used in a way that may not seem offensive such as "I screwed up" but then when used as "I was screwed", it is highly offensive. The best thing would be to not use them at all. "

Apparently someone is taking Wikipedia and the Urban Dictionary too seriously.
This makes me tired.
Really.
I'm exhausted. It's one of those petty things that sends people running, screaming and tearing their hair out from church.
Seriously?
What's next?
I am going to add to this list:

Frik
Frack
Frell
Shucks
Sugar
Drat
Poop
Pooh
Jumping Jehosophat
Shucky darn
Tootin
Judas priest
Froggy
Fanny
Pookie
Pokey
Gumby
Daffy
Duck
Woot
Whoop
Holla
Heeeeyyyy
Yo
FoSho
ShoNuff
Uh Huh
Ain't
Cooties
Booger

You know what? I'm just not going to say anything to anyone at work ever again. This way I can be sure not to offend anyone. It's either that or I have to learn Elvish or Klingon.
Hey, better safe than sorry.

Road Kill Mondays...

Okay. So it's Monday. What? I can't look forward to the weekend? I spend the weekend doing a whole lot of nothing.
Wait.
I had some Raisin Bran (No Frills... this blog doesn't cover the cost of Kellogg's) and I made some chocolate covered strawberries.
Mmm. Yummy.
Played some Doom 3 and Quake 4.
Oldies but goodies.
So I guess it wasn't a total waste.
On the Totally Awesome News Front, Major League Baseball Spring Training camps opened up over the weekend so I got that going for me. Maybe now ESPN and the rest of the sports world will get off the whole steroid thing.
Sweet. Spring is in the air.
Can you smell it?
At least in Florida.
Still brutally cold up North? Too bad. Sucks to be you doesn't it?
It was freakin amazing this weekend.
I washed the car, switched out a busted headlight, breathed fresh air and enjoyed the blue skies.
Good times all around.
Today started off on the wrong foot.
Actually, when I stop to think about it, the last few days have been on the wrong foot.
I locked my keys in the car on Friday. Yeah. And no spare. I don't just mean that I didn't happen to have the spare on me, I mean I really only have ONE key to my car.
Smart huh?
I'm a freakin genious.
Can you tell?
No extra keyless remote, no spare key. I don't even have the key to the locks on the tires but I figured I might as well wait for the flat to figure out how to get them off.
I need to get off my butt before I end up like road kill. I have all sorts of items to check off on my to do list and I am sitting here goofing off writing a blog no one really reads anyway.
Nice.
This is going to take magic.
Hey Rocky! Watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat!
I better get going.

But Everybody's Doing It!!!

So... Valentine's Day has come and gone. Now I will never be the same again.
See, I have a daughter.
Well, actually I have two but only one is in middle school.
And unfortunately for me, she is really pretty.
Luckily, boys are still sort of still outside her world at the moment.
At least until yesterday.
I get home from work, long day, glad to see my darling children frolic towards the door to greet Daddy.
Yeah.
It's good to be the king!
The door opens and the calls of DADDY! ring throughout the house. Ahh. Work slides off the shoulders, the stiffness of the drive home leaves me and I revel in the love of my children...
What the?
Why is my daughter holding a stuffed white puppy?
I didn't buy the stuffed puppy...
Wifey wouldn't buy her one...
What's that scent?
Light, like a gym sock left to dry in the summer sun...
Like stale root beer and baseball cards...
Like the early vestiges of testosterone bubbling to the surface...
A boy.
Not my son either. I know his scent. This is different. This is a boy that likes a girl.
Wait a minute. She hugs me tightly, all giggly and excited, squeezing the puppy. I've never seen her so happy over a stuffed animal. It's never been her thing.
"Where'd uh, you get that puppy there?" I ask innocently, the evil Vader like desire to mind crush some prepubescent boy's trachea slowly building.
"Josh gave it to me! Isn't is cool!" She exclaims gleefully.
It's worse than I thought. There were apparently chocolates included in the deal.
Crap.
I need to step up the schedule a bit.
I was hoping to postpone the whole boy "problem" for at least another year. I need to finish that GPS Tracking Device / earring project I've been working on and the boy (my boy, sometimes referred to as my son or simply "The Clone") must get his Ninja Training soon.
Blast!
I needed more time.
I knew this boy was trouble. He sends other kids to knock on my door to ask if she can come out to play.
Come out to play!?!
I know exactly what's on the devious little mind of yours mister.
I was eleven once! For an entire year! Yeah. And in between episodes of Transformers, Voltron and G.I. Joe all I ever thought about was Brenda Colon!
Not that she even knew who I was mind you. That's completely irrelevant to this situation.
Yeah. I know.
You and your little chocolate candies and stuffed puppy.
I'm hip to your little game mister!
Where's my shovel? Where's the shotgun!?!
Crap.
What did I do to deserver beautiful daughters? You want to be happy about it. I ought to be happy about it (make no mistake, I AM happy about it...) but the price of beautiful daughters are the boys that will inevitably follow.
Lucky for me there is a nice big plot of undeveloped conservation land behind the house so if little mister man gets any ideas I got plenty of room to hide the body.
Sure he's a good kid. Polite and maybe he looks after her on the bus to school and comes from a decent home and gets good grades and is in the band and drama club and is really nice to her...
This is my baby we are talking about here. I remember bringing her home from the hospital and letting her fall asleep on my chest afraid that I might break her if I moved!
Fine.
She has to grow up sometime, right?
And she is going to most likely want to go on dates and have boyfriends and ....
someday...
eventually...
get married.
Fine.
I get it.
I don't have to like it.
And I am going to litter the sidewalk with the wreckage of boys that make her do anything except smile.
Usually I feel better after a rant.
Not today.
I was going to go in a whole different direction today. I was going to talk about Bloomberg warming up on the sidelines for a 3rd Party Run and how I was considering tossing my hat in to the ring as well.
(Vote Cobra Commander in '08!)
But I have bigger fish to fry today.
Boys are around and they know she's cute.
Crap.

I've Got Nothing But Love For Ya...

Mitt and Johhny, sitting in a tree.
T
A
L
K
I
N
G...
First comes love...
Then comes marriage...
Here comes Romney as the freshly minted Republican Vice Presidential Nominee?
Sweet! Order me up some Campaign Bus Romney Action figures! And introducing the John McCain G.I. Joe Combat Hero Action Figure with Kung Fu grip!
Oh yeah! Putting the smack down on opponents like an old school kung fu chop-socky movie!
Okay, maybe not.
But the Johnny McCain lovefest continues.
Sort of.
I think Limbaugh still wants to pelt him with peanuts from golden microphone. Or from the peanut gallery.
You know... where did that phrase come from?

[BEGIN TANGENT]
According to the Wikipedia:
A peanut gallery is an audience which heckles the performer. The term originated in the days of vaudeville as a nickname for the cheapest (and therefore rowdiest) seats in the theater; the cheapest snack served at the theater would often be peanuts, which the patrons would sometimes throw at the performers on stage to show their disapproval.
[END TANGENT]

Okay. So where were we? Right. Limbaugh tossing peanuts at McCain and Mitt Romney rubbing his hands together gleefully as he cashes in his chips. Wow. I wanna make an endorsement too!
I wonder what sort of Cabinet position I could get for it?
I doubt I'd get an autographed napkin....
And before you go calling me a left wing, America hating, pinko commie...
John Edwards is next in line to do the same thing and Al Gore is behind him and Nancy Pelosi is behind him.
Obama and Hillary puckering up to woo them over.
Ron Paul?
There is no Ron Paul...
Ask again and we will put you on the list...

Floss 'Em If Ya Got 'Em...

Whoops! I was out yesterday. Had to have the teeth cleaned. Good times. Dental hygiene is important to overall body health.
In case you didn't already know that.
Now I have always had a ridiculous fear of the dental arts. My heart rate goes through the roof, I get that sick, gonna have to puke feeling in the tummy and my cloisters basically get all bunched up.
It's my kryptonite, okay?
Moving on.
Now your annual cleaning is supposed to be routine but it can cost upwards of 150.00 bucks if you need the full Monty.
Which of course, yours truly needed badly.
And that's 150.00 a side yo.
(Apparently I have two side to my mouth...)
So in the interests of saving money, it was decided that I should donate my mouth to science and allows 2nd year Dental Hygienist students do the cleaning.
Hey. It's only $10!
You do the math.
So I show up ahead of my scheduled appointment so I can fill out some paperwork. You know, who to contact in the event you accidentally die from some obscure undiagnosed heart condition. Still, I'm not nervous 'cuz I'm good like that. It looks like a dentist's office.
Reception area, check.
Gloomy patients thumbing through four year old trade magazines, check.
Bored and indifferent reception nurse, check.
Cool so far.
I was surprised. While I wasn't expecting a classroom, I wasn't expecting... Well, to be honest, I don't know what I was expecting.
So they call all of the patients into the clinic at the same time. Each student is required to set their own appointments and, as a result, they have to collect their patients from the waiting room.
Nice.
No waiting.
Let's get this over with.
So I follow this tiny, waifish blond student to her chair. She seems confident and sure of her self.
So far, so good.
We go through the preliminaries and the instructor, an actual dentist, comes over to check her notes before she starts the actual cleaning. He says good job, concurs with her assessment of the sad state of affairs inside my mouth and tell me she's one of the best students.
Alright. The Varsity.
I can do this.
I start to relax, get my iPod going.
And then she starts to clean.
You know, for the record, I would have never guessed she was that strong. Scraping the teeth, wrenching my head back and forth, there was so much work going on in there I thought she was actually pimping my teeth out.
Somewhere between Karma Chameleon (I swear I have no idea how that song got there...) and Rock Me Like A Hurricane, I was going to ask if she was installing an X Box but I couldn't with her waist deep in the grill going at my molars with some sort of sonic tooth jack hammer.
Four hours later, she's stretching like she went twelve with Ali, the dentist is telling me what a good job she did and I'm numb, stunned and feeling a little like a cow that was abducted by aliens and returned to the farm.
Best part is I get to go back for the other half once I can feel the side of my face again.
Or in two weeks, which ever is shorter.
My mouth wasn't the only thing that got cleaned yesterday. Hillary got her clock cleaned (again) and McCain is sweeping up his delegates into a neat little pile, ready to flick Huckabee off his middle finger like a booger.
Is it me or does he look like he has to pee all the time but can't?
I wonder if that's a side effect of the campaign trail because Hillary is starting to get that look too.
Now there's a nice thought.
I'm going to go brush and floss.

Spoiled Sport...

Sometimes it's just too freaking easy. You can't make this stuff up.
Well... technically I am making it up but you do have to admit that the picture makes it really easy to do right?
It happens a lot.
I'm going to have to get my own camera and start snapping pics because eventually, I will reach the end of the internet and I'll run out of funny images to use on my blog.
And that would be the end of Western Civilization.
Or at least my blog.
Not that anyone is actually paying attention.
So. Governor Huckabee. Doggedly hanging in there when the more popular (and definitely more Action Figurish candidate) has called it a day. Good for you. Who cares if there is little you can do to actually win the nomination short of completely sweeping all of the remaining primaries?
Don't let a little math get in your way.
See, I was telling this Tampa Bay Devil Rays fan just last week that it doesn't matter if your team is 47 games out of first place by the All Star break. You could still, mathematically speaking, win all the games in July, August and September and be right back in the thick of the Pennant chase.
Same thing for the Gov.
I like his puckish, never say die, attitude.
He really is a likable sort of fellow. I'll give him the nod on being conservative over Iron John McCain.
Wait.
Steel John McCain?
Love Wolf McCain?
Yeaaah... That rocks!
Lone Wolf McCain!
Except that Chuck Norris is in Huckabee's corner. Well, Arnold is in McCain's corner and the Governator would just blow up Norris. That's be an awesome fight!
Maybe that's how we could settle the whole election thing! Let the celebrity endorsers fight it out in a Gladiator Arena.
To the death!
Let's see who we have. Oprah is in Obama's corner and Hillary has Jeanine Garafolo. Huck's got Chuck and McCain has the Terminator.
Hold on a sec while I run the numbers.
Ouch.
It's not pretty.
According to my calculations, Arnold rips off Oprah arms and club Norris to death with it and then gets flirty with Garafolo until he realizes she's actually a man tries to smash her with a pectoral muscle only it doesn't work like it used to because he's old and flabbier now so she kicks him in the nads and Schwarzenegger goes down like a sack of taters and bing bang boom...
Hillary.
Crap.

Tickle Me Romney

Another week is gone and Friday is here. You would think I'd be more happy about it.
I should.
Except I don't have the energy. I feel a little drained what with the Super Bowl (still smiling from the Giants win...) the whole Super Tuesday thing, my cable company moving the Sci-Fi Channel on me without letting me know where they moved it to.
And let me just say, I nearly lost it when I thought they had just dumped the channel.
I don't exactly know what a conniption fit is, but I'm sure it's close to what I had.
Times two.
I'm flicking through the channels and went from channel 73 back to 2.
Hmm, the battery must be dead.
Click, click, click.
What the...
Maybe the remote is broken.
I was about to start yelling at the kids for wrecking my remote (again) and I happened upon the channel guide channel.
You know, were you find out what is on when and where and stuff?
When what to my wondering eyes should appear?
Sci-Fi Channel 74 had disappeared.
What in the name of french fried twinkies?
I was like, "WHAT!?! Battlestar Galactica is supposed to start in March!!!!"
I nearly freaked.
I ran down the block half nekkid screaming incoherently about the end of western civilization and the coming apocalypse. I climbed the rafters, wanting to shout my displeasure at the cruelty of life like Lieutenant Dan aboard the Bubba Gump Shrimp Boat, Jenny IV.
After the wife talked me down from the roof, she showed me where the Sci-Fi channel had moved to.
Oh, channel 69.
(Heh. 69...)
Whew.
I was scared there for a minute.
If all that drama wasn't enough to make me gag on Chocolate covered Cheeto's, Mitt Romney does a Who-shot-JR type season ending cliffhanger by dropping out of the Presidential race.
How ironic.
A conservative bailing at the Conservative Political Action Committee Convention.
Downright Oliver Stonian.
So there goes my whole Christmas shopping plan.
No Super Malibu Romney Campaign Tour Bus for you sweetheart.
Sigh. It would have been like Tickle Me Elmo Redux.
Almost Good Times.
And then there were five.
I'm kind of sad that Romney decided to "step aside" as he put it.
Romney got the A-Rod treatment from his fans. You could hear the boos and hisses from his supporters. They clearly were not happy campers.
He got more boos than McCain did. And they hate McCain.
I was wondering what he would do to pass the time now that he wasn't Governor and now that he's not going to be President.
I don't think we've heard the last of Mister Romney. Just think... when he DOES make it to the White House, imagine what the Malibu Romney Campaign Tour Bus will be worth then!?!
Sweet.
EBay, here I come.

I'm Assuming Command Of This Vessel...

You ever wake up in a feisty mood? I do. All the time. I did today. I drove into work like Batman on a mission. I was running down the cars in front of me on the freeway like a lion runs down zebras...I'm constantly spoiling for a good tussle. Wait. I don't think I like that word.
Tussle.
Google time.

tus·sle (tsl)

intr.v. tus·sled, tus·sling, tus·sles

To struggle roughly; scuffle.

n. A rough or vigorous struggle; a scuffle.
[Middle English tussillen, frequentative of -tousen, to pull roughly.]

To pull... wait a sec. Yeah. Not going to be using tussle. Might give people the wrong idea. Sounds kind of effeminate.
"Oh yeah? You wanna take this outside and tussle?"
"Yeah! And bring your own pillow this time!"
Do the tussle!
Cue the disco ball and Van McCoy-
"Ooooooooooo E ooo ooo ooo..... Do it. Ooooooooooo E ooo ooo ooo..... Do it. Do the tussle!"
Yeah. I just had a Disco Flashback. We're going to need a better word.
Ornery?

or·ner·y (ôrn-r)

adj. or·ner·i·er, or·ner·i·est

Mean-spirited, disagreeable, and contrary in disposition; cantankerous.

That's better but not quite. I wake up like Captain Kirk on a good day. Bristling for a squabble with some Klingon or Darth Vader Chuck Norris or some really pushy convention nerds.
Well, maybe not Chuck Norris. But those Nerds better watch out yo!
Judo Chop!
Yeah. Roundhouse kick to the head, wrist whip and flip, snap a bone or two and then roll around in the dirt, shirt ripped, knees scraped (owie...) and pop up with phasers set to kill!
Booyah! You got Alien ninjas? So what?
Judo Chop!
In yo face!
Mutant Nazi's from the seventh level of Hades? Ha! I laugh in the face of three armed, nun-chuk wielding mutant ninja nazis zombies from the corner of Hades and Ashbury.
And Chuck Norris.
Wait. Okay. Still not going to go there with Chuck.
Don't get me started today. I'm not making any sense and I don't care. That's right, you heard me... I don't care.
I didn't even comb my hair today! I didn't shave!
I only put deodorant under one pit!
Yeah. Cuz that's how I roll yo.
Whaddayagonnadoaboudit?
Nuthin.
I need to get my out of control hulk-like rage under control before I do something wild like zip a rubber band across the office or rip a sheet of paper in half.
That's right, a whole sheet of paper.
Legal size.
I feeling all Indiana Jones and the Temple of Knockyouupsideyohead. Where's my whip?
Wow. I'm feeling all man strong today. Must have been that whole wheat multi-grain bread and cheese sandwich I had this morning.
I need to do something hardcore like rip open a pack of Twinkies with my teeth!
Whoah! Hold the phone... I refuse... REEEEFUSE to believe that Bill Gates had never heard of the Hostess Twinkie. Come on man.
Twinkies!
Why did I just have to add Twinkie to the dictionary?
That's it. I've had it!
It's game on now yo.
Game on.
I'm storming the bridge like Captain Kirk in the Wrath of Khan.
Like Jules Winnfield in Pulp Fiction...
"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who in the name of charity and goodwill shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy My brothers. AND YOU WILL KNOW THAT MY NAME IS THE LORD WHEN I LAY MY VENGEANCE UPON THEE!!!

BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM-BLAM...

Yeah.
I feel better now.
I need a latte.

My Secret Service Name Is...

I don't know what my Secret Service name would be honestly. I've been thinking about it. I've read a few articles here and there about how the Secret Service gives names to V.I.P's and the President and all his cool friends. I found a cool list and personally, I think Ronald Regan had the coolest SS Name.
Rawhide.
Can't you just hear the whip crackilating? (yeah... had to add crackilating to the dictionary)
George H.W. Bush (a.k.a El Senior Bush) was Snowflake and Sheepskin.
Snowflake?
What?
I'd have had someone fired over that, sorry. Hate to be hating on the Secret Service yo, but, ah, yeah. Definitely lose your job you screw up and call me Snowflake.
Wait. Just checked the list. Now it says Timberwolf.
Apparently he heard about Snowflake.
(Yes, for those of you who missed it, that was a joke...)
So we got Rawhide. Every time I say that word or read it I hear a whip cracking and you should too. If you don't there is something wrong with your internal stereo and you need to get it fixed fast.
Dubya is Tumbler. I suppose that's supposed to be an inside joke about his previous Alcohol problems. At least it still sounds sort of cool.
All this got me thinking. What are the current crop of contenders to the White House going to use if they make it?

Barak Obama:
Official Secret Service Name: RENEGADE
Cool. Can you dig it? Yeah. That's a really cool name. I was going to come up with something clever and funny but man... that's actually a cool name. Moving on...

Hillary Clinton:
Official Secret Service Name: EVERGREEN
Yeah. Too soft. They need something stronger like HARPY or BUSTER or (in light of her recent waterworks) WEEPY. I think I am going to go with HARDCORE or HARPY.

Ron Paul:
Official Secret Service Name: n/a
I don't think they know who he is. I would ask but I would either get a dumb look or get shot. I'm not willing to chance it this close to baseball season. So I am going to go with WINGNUT. Look, he makes a lot of sense but as we all know, if you make sense in Washington your not going to get anywhere...

Mike Huckabee:
Official Secret Service Name: n/a
He hasn't been issued one yet and looking at the current polls the only way he gets one is by becoming someone's running mate (*cough, cough* McCain... *cough...). With that in mind, I think I'll roll with THUMPER or PREACHER.

Mitt Romney:
Official Secret Service Name: n/a
Uh. Not sure about him. I was going to go with KEN DOLL but I don't think you can use two words. Maybe SMILEY or BANKER. Wait. What about FLIPPER? Nope. Too easy. He needs something cool. OLYMPIC. Yeah. That works.

John McCain:
Official Secret Service Name: n/a
Hmm. MAVERICK? Not Tom Cruise enough for you? Okay... How about HARDBALL or PUNCHER? Something that really fits him. FISTFIGHT. Bingo. We nailed it.

That's pretty much it. I might add more if I come up with some later. If I manage to find out what the Secret Service names are for those that don't have one yet I will definitely adjust.
As for me, I don't know. I was thinking maybe SLUGGER or STINKY or FARTMAN.
No?
WINDUP, MACHO, BINGO!
No.
HAMMER?
Wait. I tossed the parachute pants so that's out.
Uh.
Yeah.
This could take a while.

Super Duper Tuesday...

So.
Super Tuesday.
What's so super about it? All we get to do is choose, for the most part, the person we dislike the least. Where's the fun in that?
That's like getting to pick between a punch in the face or in the gut.
Either way, it's going to hurt.
Most years the presidential primary race is basically over by this point. This year might be different what with a really divided electorate.
Electorate, as it turns out, is a really fancy word for registered voters.
Who knew?
Maybe we can finally get to see a political convention that actually has to pick a candidate instead of just anointing the one guy with the most money and friends in the media.
Cool. That's just what I want.
Someone completely disconnected from real life and real people getting to tell me what I should or shouldn't do and how the government will solve all my problems just because he has friends in the right places.
Just like High School.
Yeah. Good luck with that.
How about picking the guy (or gal) that, oh I don't know, is maybe the best person for the job?
Wait. That's just crazy talk.
We need to listen to all the news shows so they can tell us what we think and who we should vote for. Don't bother with silly things like researching a candidates position on a given subject. Just take Fox, CNN, Hannity, Colmes, Limbaugh, Streisand, Winfrey or Olbermann's word for it. They know exactly what they are talking about.
(Wow. Winfrey was in the dictionary and Olbermann wasn't... Guess your not quite there yet Keith...)
As for the rest of us? We're just plebes, man.
Squirrels in the park trying to get our nuts in order.
(Which when you think about it, is exactly what we are doing when we vote!)
I'm not going to get involved in what we need to do about the Squirrels from the park next door sneaking in and taking all the best nuts without asking for them or applying for a temporary park pass. And I won't get involved with why the squirrels with more nuts are forced to share with squirrels with fewer nuts or with those that refuse to go out and get their own.
Stupid fat greedy squirrels.
With their fancy tree top hovels and their ridiculous amounts of stored nuts.
And I will save the discussion on those really squirrelly squirrels that pack their nuts with high explosives because we don't get our nuts from the same tree.
Nope.
I'll just enjoy those snapshots of the candidates on Google just begging for proper captions. I still haven't figured out which candidate I might want to waste my vote on yet. It's early. There are a thousand jokes to tell and people to make fun of. A long way to November. Maybe someone will make me believe again.
After all, anything is possible right?
Super Tuesday.
It pales in comparison to Sunday. Now that was a Super day.
I'm going to savor this win for a while folks. Bear with me. Eventually baseball season starts and I will get comfortably distracted when the Yanks start the final season of the house that Ruth built.
Sad times. Good times, but a little sad too.
But that's still a few weeks off.
Until then there's the Campaign trail and plenty of toilet humor to go around.
Sweet.

All Hail The NY Giants!!!

Can you believe what I just saw? How is this even possible? The perfect team with the perfect coach and the perfect wide receiver catching the perfect passes from the perfect quarterback loses to the East Rutherford Giants?
Is that what you're telling me?
When Brady tosses up that 4th and 20 Hail Mary to Moss zipping down the sideline and it's broken up with one second left I was dumbfounded.
Speechless!
It took a few seconds for it to register.
We just won the Super Bowl.
Wait. What?
WE JUST WON THE SUPER BOWL!
Impossible is possible.
We really did go to the moon. Maybe it tastes great AND is less filling! Maybe these jeans don't make my butt look fat. There could be something to that whole Loch Ness Monster thing after all. Maybe a stitch in time will save nine!
Unicorns! Bigfoot!
Santa! Santa were you watching the game too?
Holy Canoli.
Eli Manning pulled a Joe Cool and marched his team down the field with time running out and the Patriots seemingly destined to complete their improbable run at perfection. They had just scored as methodically as they had all season. They made is look surprisingly easy considering the beating the Giants defenders were administering to Tom Brady.
No worries ladies, he had a helmet on so the perfect face will go on.
The Patriots were out played the entire game and somehow they still managed to get the lead in the waning minutes of the fourth quarter. Oh the agony. Cruel fate! Destiny? Arg...
Crap.
Crap on a stick.
After all that work.
This can't be.
Superman can't die.
Get up Rocky! Don't let Apollo win!
Sweep the leg!?! Oh no Daniel-San!
The GQ Kid strikes again with his perfect arm and perfect hair and perfect smile.
Man that guy gets on my nerves.
(I know, I know. Only 'cuz I'm not him on most days...)
It's hard to watch, the music is playing, a grand orchestral theme building in intensity. They're hugging on the sidelines already. Boston is partying.
It's Luke Skywalker being zapped by the hysterically laughing Emperor, it's Indiana Jones tied to the pole with Marion as the Nazis prepare to conquer the world.
"Don't look... keep your eyes shut!"
It's like Mel Gibson at the end of The Patriot when that evil British dude is fixing to run him through after he's already gotten away with killing his sons. I can't bare it! I can't watch!
Wait.
There's 2 and a half minutes left.
Maybe, just maybe.
Maybe we got a chance.
You could sense that the story wasn't over yet, there was still parts to be played.
Destiny was in the building but she was there for someone else.
David has come to slay Goliath.
Play after play, momentum shifted. 4th and 1 and Brandon Jacobs pushes through for the first down.
Maybe.
Maybe we got a chance.
Tick, tick, tick, the seconds continue to wind down.
Third down, five yards to go and Eli is in trouble.
A sack! No, wait. He escapes. Once, twice, slips through the clutches of Patriot defenders.
The ball is in the air.
Somehow a catch is made.
David Tyree!
David Tyree!?!
How did he hold on to that!?!
First Down Giants!
No maybes about it Pal, we got a shot at this thing. The winds of change are blowing. The laughter has died down on the Patriots sideline. The hugging has ceased. They are looking. They are worried. Perfection is close but not quite theirs yet.
Suddenly you know. You believe. You can see it coming.
Believe.
Time ticks down.
39...
Inside the 20 yard line.
38...
The snap.
37...
Eli drops back.
36...
The ball floats.
35...
Time slows down.
Burress catches the ball and cradles it like a new born child. He's all alone in the end zone.
Unbelievable.
Improbable. Impossible.
Party on Wayne. Party on Garth.
We just shocked the world.
We are the Champions, my friend.
Champions of the world.

It's Alive!!!

I was in the process of getting the whole blog thing done yesterday afternoon when BAM! My ISP lost their FTP and I nearly went all CQD and got my BFG to drop them ASAP.
(Sweet. I had to add BFG to my dictionary.)
Oh yeah. It was like that.
I popped off a quick email as I furiously attempted to get the post updated because, gasp, two or three people might miss out on the inane ranting of a web lunatic.
Plus I had that totally awesome Hillary Nutcracker thing.
You don't find gems like that everyday yo.
So I huffed and I puffed and I got an instant reply email that said the would contact me within 12 - 24 hours with a solution.
That meant I was cooked for the day.
My ISP ain't bad. I rarely go off line but when I do, I can count on 24 hours of dead airtime.
Which if I was in radio would just be the end of the world as we know it.
But I feel fine.
No. This is the web and I'm sure that as dedicated as my readers are, they could live without my ridiculously funny insights into the world in which we live for a day. But who wants to take that chance?
Not me.
Huffing and puffing got me nowhere, so I busted into Uber hacker mode and whipped out the handy dandy terminal link and guess what yo?
Nothing.
Zip.
Zilch.
Nada.
Dead in space.
Nothing worked. There was no way I was going to be able to upload the uproariously funny Hillary Nutcracker thingy and to make matters worse, the index page for the blog went dead so the whole thing took a dive in the third.
Crap.
On a stick.
After my baseball draft and a couple of hours of Diablo II I tried again.
Ditto on the nada.
I got up extra early and BINGO, the crazy Brits that run the ISP had emailed me back and said:
"Sorry, mate, we were a big tied up what with 007 going on about his latest misadventure on the Serengheti. Took care of that rather bothersome server problem you were having and we are quite certain to have ascertained the source of the malady.
We do apologise for any inconvenience. Have a pleasant day.
Cheerio."
Okay. So they didn't say cheerio but the whole 007 thing was true.
Word up.
Anyway. We are alive and kicking again. Make sure to catch up on the reading.
There's going to be a quiz on Monday.