Nice mashup of Reno and Weird Al Yankovic:
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
Great moments in apology, part 27
Driver in gas station: "Didn't you see me backing up?"?
Me: "I was boxed in. And honking at you to stop before you hit me."
Driver: "Oh. I didn't hear you. I was on my way to work and sh*t. Doesn't look that bad...."
Me: "I was boxed in. And honking at you to stop before you hit me."
Driver: "Oh. I didn't hear you. I was on my way to work and sh*t. Doesn't look that bad...."
Saturday, November 18, 2006
el perro del diablo
I returned home from an early morning doctor appointment today to find a Chihuahua on my front lawn.
At least the Taco Bell dog has panache. This two-pound yapping vermin wasn't at all neighborly.
So, no more jokes about rat dogs, since they appear when I reference them.
From now on I'm joking only about supermodels and generous billionaires.
At least the Taco Bell dog has panache. This two-pound yapping vermin wasn't at all neighborly.
So, no more jokes about rat dogs, since they appear when I reference them.
From now on I'm joking only about supermodels and generous billionaires.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
What does it say about you...
when someone says, "somehow in the back of my head I just knew you had all the Taco Bell talking rats..."
and somehow, in the back of my head, I know exactly what it means to fit that description.
Ai chihuahua...
and somehow, in the back of my head, I know exactly what it means to fit that description.
Ai chihuahua...
Random thoughts for a Thursday morning
I'm tired.
I don't have to look at the dial to know what station I'm on - all the KFI (AM 640 Los Angeles) news readers sound like Leah Brandon. Brandon sounds like the sister of John Ziegler, who sounds like the kissing cousin of John and Ken, who suckled at the vocal teat of Bill Handel.
When you tune in to KFI, you know it.
I tuned in to AM 870, home of Dennis Prager and Hugh Hewitt and Michael Savage. Same thing. hosts sound like news readers sound like bump announcers.
I tuned into Air America, but the whiplash effect of stroke-inducing rage and narcoleptic boredom is a bad thing to groove on while driving.
Station branding goes deeper than I realized.
I don't have to look at the dial to know what station I'm on - all the KFI (AM 640 Los Angeles) news readers sound like Leah Brandon. Brandon sounds like the sister of John Ziegler, who sounds like the kissing cousin of John and Ken, who suckled at the vocal teat of Bill Handel.
When you tune in to KFI, you know it.
I tuned in to AM 870, home of Dennis Prager and Hugh Hewitt and Michael Savage. Same thing. hosts sound like news readers sound like bump announcers.
I tuned into Air America, but the whiplash effect of stroke-inducing rage and narcoleptic boredom is a bad thing to groove on while driving.
Station branding goes deeper than I realized.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
*tap tap* is this thing on?
It has been brought to my attention that I have a blog.
*cough* kinda dusty in here.
*cough* kinda dusty in here.
Monday, August 21, 2006
Debbie at the Blog
It's funny how even the blackest clouds can have silver linings.
For every Deborah Frisch, there should be a donthiredeb.blogspot.com. Every crazed troll (Left, Right, or off-center) should have a page devoted to tracking them like my uncle logs Bigfoot sightings.
Granted, low-hanging fruitcakes like Frisch are rare - educated far beyond her intelligence, BDS'ed to incoherence, and so extreme in her efforts to outrage that even though her comments section looks like a never-ending blanket party, it's still hard to feel sorry for her.
The folks at Don't Hire Deb got their start just trying to document for any prospective employer the things she says for public consumption, since a PhD seeking a tenure track position would almost certainly be hired in the hopes that they would bring CREDIT to their fine institution, and her online commenting habits might be more of a liability, especially if they later got on her bad side.
But a funny thing happened on the way to baiting the moonbat. A community sprang up. Friendships formed. A good time was had by all.
Show up for the latest news of "teh crazy®". Stick around for the pleasant company. Whatever your ideology, we can all pretty much agree that Deb is off her rocker.
And who knows...with that as a starting point, we might find even more to agree on.
Deb likes to express herself "poetically." With that in mind, I penned an homage to the recent online dustup, which originally appeared in the comments (later dubbed the Frischmas Eve Poetry Slam) at Don't Hire Deb.
Debbie At The Blog
(apologies to Ernest L. Thayer)
The outlook wasn't happy for the leftist blogosphere,
The protein wisdom juggernaut was like a truck to deer.
And when lefties got their hineys stomped, and anti-semites too
A funereal silence stalked the taunters of the Jew.
The folks from Sadly, No got up to go in deep despair.
From Thersites to Actus? Protein Wisdom didn't care.
They thought, "if only Debbie could but get a whack at that.
We'd put up even money now, with Deb the Proud Moonbat."
Then Deb went after Israel, and called herself a pet,
but comment standards were too high for Deb's soused wit to get.
So upon that leftist multitude grim melancholy stirred,
for there seemed no happy sign of fight from the warrior of word.
So Jeff ignored her ramblings to no great surprise of all,
And Deb, the much reviled, added gall, to gall, to gall.
And when the night had lifted,
and folks saw what had occurred,
there was Ramsey in the comments, from the warrior of word.
Then from five thousand blogs and more there rouse an outraged yell;
it enraged the Right in heaven, it appalled the Left in hell;
it pounded through the mile-high burgh and recoiled in old Eugene;
for Debbie, Doctor Debbie, had surpassed herself in mean.
There was wine in Debbie's system as she staggered to her chair,
there was pride in Debbie's bearing as she thought Colbert would care.
And when, responding to the jeers, she shouted to 'my peeps,'
no stranger in the crowd could doubt Deb's act gave them the creeps.
A thousand eyes were on her as she looked for folks to sue
A thousand comments blazed back that her hubris she would rue.
Then, as Jeff's expert lawyer covered bases one by one,
defiance flashed in Debbie's eye. She made a vodka run.
And now the judge's order came a-hurtling through the air,
and Debbie rocked while clutching it in haughty grandeur there.
Straight from the county sheriff, the RO barely read,
"I got a list --" said Debbie.
"Shut up!" her lawyer said.
From the Blogspot, thick with posters, there went up a muffled roar,
like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore.
"The crowd from VBS is mean!" anonymous demands,
and it's likely they'd have flamed him had not Debbie raised her hands.
Her blissed-out buzz was fading fast, her pitch-black aura shone,
she hit the keyboard one more time and bade the game go on.
She posted Dave Duchoveny, and once more the heckling flew,
but Debbie rapped with "Steve Colbert," as though the folks were through.
"Heh!" cried the online razzers, and some echoed "Heh. Indeed!"
Then one "plushy" pic from Debbie and they thought she'd switched to weed.
They'd said her monkey humped teh seal, they said she'd gone insane,
and they knew that Debbie couldn't let Teh Cycle ® wane again.
The sneer has fixed to Debbie's lip, the teeth are clenched in rage.
She pounds, with cruel violence, the keys that fill the page.
In court, his lawyer hits F5, and when Hizzoner grants,
He fills the courtroom's corners with latest South()paw rants.
Oh, somewhere in the Scholar's world the Left is taking flight.
Ward Churchill's speaking somewhere, and somewhere there's no Right.
And, somewhere men are silenced, and Sapphic women shout,
but there is no joy in Frischville --
Doctor Debbie has flunked out.
For every Deborah Frisch, there should be a donthiredeb.blogspot.com. Every crazed troll (Left, Right, or off-center) should have a page devoted to tracking them like my uncle logs Bigfoot sightings.
Granted, low-hanging fruitcakes like Frisch are rare - educated far beyond her intelligence, BDS'ed to incoherence, and so extreme in her efforts to outrage that even though her comments section looks like a never-ending blanket party, it's still hard to feel sorry for her.
The folks at Don't Hire Deb got their start just trying to document for any prospective employer the things she says for public consumption, since a PhD seeking a tenure track position would almost certainly be hired in the hopes that they would bring CREDIT to their fine institution, and her online commenting habits might be more of a liability, especially if they later got on her bad side.
But a funny thing happened on the way to baiting the moonbat. A community sprang up. Friendships formed. A good time was had by all.
Show up for the latest news of "teh crazy®". Stick around for the pleasant company. Whatever your ideology, we can all pretty much agree that Deb is off her rocker.
And who knows...with that as a starting point, we might find even more to agree on.
Deb likes to express herself "poetically." With that in mind, I penned an homage to the recent online dustup, which originally appeared in the comments (later dubbed the Frischmas Eve Poetry Slam) at Don't Hire Deb.
Debbie At The Blog
(apologies to Ernest L. Thayer)
The outlook wasn't happy for the leftist blogosphere,
The protein wisdom juggernaut was like a truck to deer.
And when lefties got their hineys stomped, and anti-semites too
A funereal silence stalked the taunters of the Jew.
The folks from Sadly, No got up to go in deep despair.
From Thersites to Actus? Protein Wisdom didn't care.
They thought, "if only Debbie could but get a whack at that.
We'd put up even money now, with Deb the Proud Moonbat."
Then Deb went after Israel, and called herself a pet,
but comment standards were too high for Deb's soused wit to get.
So upon that leftist multitude grim melancholy stirred,
for there seemed no happy sign of fight from the warrior of word.
So Jeff ignored her ramblings to no great surprise of all,
And Deb, the much reviled, added gall, to gall, to gall.
And when the night had lifted,
and folks saw what had occurred,
there was Ramsey in the comments, from the warrior of word.
Then from five thousand blogs and more there rouse an outraged yell;
it enraged the Right in heaven, it appalled the Left in hell;
it pounded through the mile-high burgh and recoiled in old Eugene;
for Debbie, Doctor Debbie, had surpassed herself in mean.
There was wine in Debbie's system as she staggered to her chair,
there was pride in Debbie's bearing as she thought Colbert would care.
And when, responding to the jeers, she shouted to 'my peeps,'
no stranger in the crowd could doubt Deb's act gave them the creeps.
A thousand eyes were on her as she looked for folks to sue
A thousand comments blazed back that her hubris she would rue.
Then, as Jeff's expert lawyer covered bases one by one,
defiance flashed in Debbie's eye. She made a vodka run.
And now the judge's order came a-hurtling through the air,
and Debbie rocked while clutching it in haughty grandeur there.
Straight from the county sheriff, the RO barely read,
"I got a list --" said Debbie.
"Shut up!" her lawyer said.
From the Blogspot, thick with posters, there went up a muffled roar,
like the beating of the storm waves on a stern and distant shore.
"The crowd from VBS is mean!" anonymous demands,
and it's likely they'd have flamed him had not Debbie raised her hands.
Her blissed-out buzz was fading fast, her pitch-black aura shone,
she hit the keyboard one more time and bade the game go on.
She posted Dave Duchoveny, and once more the heckling flew,
but Debbie rapped with "Steve Colbert," as though the folks were through.
"Heh!" cried the online razzers, and some echoed "Heh. Indeed!"
Then one "plushy" pic from Debbie and they thought she'd switched to weed.
They'd said her monkey humped teh seal, they said she'd gone insane,
and they knew that Debbie couldn't let Teh Cycle ® wane again.
The sneer has fixed to Debbie's lip, the teeth are clenched in rage.
She pounds, with cruel violence, the keys that fill the page.
In court, his lawyer hits F5, and when Hizzoner grants,
He fills the courtroom's corners with latest South()paw rants.
Oh, somewhere in the Scholar's world the Left is taking flight.
Ward Churchill's speaking somewhere, and somewhere there's no Right.
And, somewhere men are silenced, and Sapphic women shout,
but there is no joy in Frischville --
Doctor Debbie has flunked out.
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